Poems from Limbo and Void

Can you hear her cries? (Mod: the-truth-behind-redacted)

[washed-soul]

I guess

Looking out the window, and everything feels wrong. Searching for a song that I might need to make myself. The winter comes strong and harsh, pushing away the wrath. The snow doesn't seem to be melting, only getting worse. Is the isolation getting to me, or has all the demons coming out. I'd feel the need to scream if I didn't want to shout. I guess in word I'll let these feelings out.

No longer have the thoughts been suppressed, the medication intoxicating every action. My body can shake, jerk, and twitch outside my control. My thoughts run wild, yet I can't seem to ever get them to stop or think of what I desire. The guilt can't be ignored any longer. The pressure pushing down upon everyone around me, chasing that of which makes me feel better. Still caught in a selfish cycle.

Would I be better off alone, kept to my own way. Or is it company that I can find a way to numb this pain. Is the loneliness what I'm trying to escape or is it simply myself. Looking light so wayward bound far beyond that door. Grab the hope ignore anything else, keep smiling until a smile is impossible. Can't let weakness show, it'll push them away. Can't be too strong, it'll make them leave. Who I am to be if I can't be anything at all.

Do I love or want gratification. Is this solus or sadistic satisfaction. Could I be damaged and untaught to care or am I really this shallow. Something hallow can be filled, but it seems I can only take. Shatter the foundation, can't stop in consumption. The hunger takes hold, take more. More consumed, more needed, more destroyed.

I guess I should be starved, the hungry will eat itself. I guess I should be alone, when I come out I'd know appreciation. I guess I should be hated, to know what isn't good. I guess I should suffer until I know what other feel. I guess I never learned, just got better at hiding.

[washed-soul]

Even still

Winding walls and painted doors. Even bars would let the light through, lose lights flicker beyond each forward scape. The haze chokes, the paths repeat. Am I chasing a red light or does it refract that much? Where does it come from and why does it go? I call it a home or it more a mansion. Is it anything more than just topped off walls, it serves no place to live. I know it's me, or am I making a waking error. This mind is a prison. Even still, I somehow convinced myself I'm free. Even still, there wasn't ever a way out.

[washed-soul]

Sitting in a chair

Flickering on and off, the screens paint many pictures. A world locked away in a mirror, a lifetime spent only in the flesh of suffering, the beating heart of purity, and she who preaches outwards to forgive. And in this room, every single passing through I sit alone in a chair. Sometimes the singles last for a long time, the shimmering blue beauty of one flying above the ashes of their pain. Sometimes to singles flash quickly, a collage of each failure running through the dimming purple rains.

With each one that passes, I still hear that heartbeat pulsing through. Upwards it lofts a sweet song of victory, towards it cascades trumpets of defeats. Either way, a remain blue pulse signs that the one out reaching forgiveness still lives, even if the red machine still flows inside. I think that those two have finally found a happy harmony. I've seen them looking at the stars through the misty nights capturing their fields of imagination and hope. Though purple rain always seems to be a sign of stress.

Either way alone in this chair, screens flashing on and off I've found myself making songs and movements. When all you do is watch sometimes you can't help yourself. You hear that beat of a heart like a drum, the volume of the screens playing their scenes, the flow of blood their instruments. I sit in this chair watching and writing each event, however, I know that song still plays inside. Even when the ground falls and that purple storm floods the overhead lights, her heartbeats inside. Like the book of a god once oh so said, let mercy and forgiveness come flooding down in a wave, and might we be washed in the blood pure. That heartbeat beat the chains of freedom, let them beat the chains justified hatred. But until then, I sit alone in my chair listening and writing her songs with my words.

[washed-soul]

End of the war: Part 1

Flames lapped the brims of the platform. The hydra's center heat launched forward, a forked tongues bridled with hooks latching towards the flesh of beast. The sockets of the hunched beast glowed a bright red before it's mouth latched downwards falling down a foot. The slit eyes of the hydra grew wide as it still launched forward as a dim light faintly shadowed down the red creature's gullet. Just as the hydra closed the ground the faint light burst into a torrential torrent of flames blasted back the pursuit, an agonize bellow resonated deep within the slumbering souls caught in the stage.

The red beast fanned out it's grand eight wings arching a leap shattering the stone below it's feet. The hydra's head pull outward and up from the flames, opening it's eyes. Yet another bellowed resonated from it's hollowed voice as the claws of the monster slashed down it's entire face. It's neck crashed again the walls, it's eye now slashed out. The purple blood dripped down the rocks plat form. It's other head struggled against the great pillars slammed through their necks holding it again the borders of the arena, preventing it's retreat. The red beast bellowed a triumphant roar claiming a victory.

Arrogance open it's guard. A quick rebound the hydra rushed forward, snatching two wings in it's mouth. Caught in the force of the surprise launch back, the monster lost it's balance. Snapping it's neck in a quick jerk, the clamped jaws rend off the wings of the beast. The hydra curled it's head around it's own neck, and clamped down on the red monster body. The monster howled and slammed it's claw in the already open eye wound.

The pain furthered the clamping of the jaw. The monster split it's own stomach open launching an internal mouth into the mouth of the hydra. The mouth cut open the never neck of the hydra and the purple blood spewed across the entire field. Uneven wings, the monster couldn't maintain it's flight and accepted it's fall off the edge of the arena. Knowing what was at the bottom it braised itself.

Very soon two spears pierce it's armpit and collar bone. Two long more sharp rocks bust through it's chest, two small ones through the pelvis. The shifting ground ran a halberd through the bottom of it's left rib cage. A fall down ground snaps off it's bottom half of it's legs, pushing what remained into the jagged ends of the up rising rocks. Blades, rocks, bones, and many other objects feel from the ceiling many landing into the now disdained monster. It closed it’s eyes, ready to sleep into the everlasting dark. The hydra shall surely bleed to death. It had lost all, but it won, for them. That faintly blue light. For her.

[washed-soul]

More than the sound of a word

Three lights shining so above. The glow makes a cold soul feel warm. Yet the mist still slowly carries over a plane so far consumed by the flames of the ravaged dreams. Kept inside a bubble, the heart of a broken girl so wary of the wars waged inside. A broken clock, a tired memory of a place so long ago, of a different brighter cycle, where the pain remained as cuts on the body, and not the burning of the soul. A comforting hum buzzed inside the little bubble, the still turning cogs that kept her safe inside.

A heart pulsed weak above the girl. Once the raging giant of a war, a grand all-seeing wrathful machine of war, what remained of the defiant charge began to smolder away like all that exists outside the bubble. The handed tale of the creature warped around the dome, laying weakly near the top, it's right arm outreached forward, so the girl under could look above. It's many wings loafing amounts the side of the bubble, the being once more struggled to lift itself upward to remain on top of the bubble, slowly sliding off.

The soul trapped inside had her eyes look upwards, dim and jaded, the splendor of the light reflected into a sparkle in the eyes. She closed her eyes and the thundering sounds blazed up again. The screaming voices, the grasping hands of hate and harm, the self-harm and destruction, the hollowing realization of a lifetime destroyed. The girl clasped at her head, clawing at her ears, trying desperately to silence the sounds. For a moment the heart above beats faster, until dying down as the girl once more lays on the ground.

The machine of war looked down weakly. Sympathy bloomed, obstructed, and struggled by the stone of doubt and the brambled of self-hate. The bubble kept her safe from all outside, yet the trauma inside slowly consumed the once blazing blue light of the soul. The sorrowful protector and captor looked up to the highest that captivated its patron and prisoner. The black hollow husk of the being's blood-red skulled face hollowed in the bright collage.

Upon the shallowing moment's something inside the shattered defiance the seeds of hope, the grand scheme play of a dream swelled deep inside the abyssal passages of its form, the rapturous dance of dozen hidden smaller lights danced in grand scale again the three beacons that the girl whiled away the hours. The beast attempted once more to raise up, this time to fly once more for the girl kept so deep inside to cradled even one of those above, a delicate little flower to show the childlike mind keep under its wings, the faintest fragment of the world so far left behind in ash.

A strength, a desire busted through the chain of perceptions, and now the cogs of the machine hustled turning of bounteous creed to stake claims of the heavens glimmering, a lifetime's decisions away. The wings broke through the stakes hammered through the marrow and stretched hundred-year stress away to take the airs of dread underneath the ideals of an idea. A grasping claw outstretched, the light sliding through each finger, meaning faithfully to caress. The machine turned full gear until a plague strapped down it's back, a dagger sliding down the spin.

The defiant being hollowed an agony deeply felt of the fading fragments of the growing goodwill. Limp, the arm fell losing the touch of the light fading throughout stretching down the side of the bubble, the thumb catching the eye of the girl. She watched as the guardian and warden body feel coating over the bubble, it's eye now cast forward to the dead and lost planes in which it burnt. The cry silenced as the jaw hit the bubble, the mouth now closed, tongue lost. The soot crunched footsteps of another followed as the blood dripped over the clear walls.

Dressed an overshirt, split end went down the back and flowed freely in the cryptic wind. A purple tie tightened up to the neck like a noose, steel-lined boots blacked by ash. A large smile creased over the man's face, delighted and ecstatic, the only joyful soul wondering amongst the lands of death Glowing purple eyes outlined the girl's body, his gloves running over the wall of the bubble as he walked forward to face directly into the girl's face. He laughed a hearty laugh, once louder than the deafening swells of silence.

He put his hand on the bubble, one still behind him. The girl back away to the other end of the bubble, looking the fellow in his eyes. He addressed her in right now, yet called him in his own the name mistaken. For a moment a pretended look of sadness, guilt, and grief took over his face, eyes tracing the tiny dunes of sand his feet crushed. The smile yet never faulted, only dipping low upon his face as he tattled on about all the feelings and thoughts the girl wanted more than all other. The boy lifted his upwards toward the sky, now a deranged look overtook his face, swirling his fingers between each beacon up above before clenching his crushing them all in his sight, looking down back at the girl.

With great haste, his hand behind the back suddenly came down and hit the walls. A glowing blade dancing in the colors of the red, blue, and coalescing purples. The blade cracked the walls and the pushed his body upon which his lands rested. He prattled on and on, laughing gleefully making it clear that upon them all above and below, that he was the one which they all new. The poor little girl who trapped themselves in the bubble, their own manifestations of their illness, damaged done again those they knew, the demon and devil they made to torment themselves the one to hold them in their keep. A victorious roar belched from the twisted toxic mind and voice of the lad declared all the lights above of hope, dreams, and love forever belong to him for that none knew the girl before the pain and poison and none ever would.

All she would forevermore be is a name, lost in the land that captures the imagination leaving the only confusing, capped away by her beast of madness. The girl closed her eyes and feel to the plain of dreams, where the vast abyss of void could cradle away all the pain and almost certain to be truths spoken by the man in purple. Surely in the lands of empty, were not a dream or reality, hope or despair, lie or truth could remain, they'd be no pain. As for all their life should've been, there would be nothing to feel, nothing to have, nothing to know, nothing to live. There would be nothing to suffer. Just like the name that meant nothing more than the sound of a word.

[alicezan-ncgred]

Never going away

Why is it now, that there are so many around, you never seem to go away? From the heights of this plain, where words are to reign, you come around the mind. Look at me now, love beholding crowns, their affection so softly spoken to me. Yet it seems even here, through their resounding cheers, you never seem to go away.

How long have you followed, sneaky through the swallow, to speak these words to me? Through tatter cloaks, beaten by rain, or blizzards that blow the day away. Yes, it seems that you’re keen to keep, coming back to me, even if it leads you astray. There are so many, so greater than me, so why show me the day. It truly does seem, there’s something about me, that you never seem to go away.

In the dark there are no words, here you do your work, you never seem to go away. This feeling of inadequacy, draining my capacity, to ever feel like me again. Why more now, when there are so many around, that you chose to strangle me in pain. How long much I waste their time, demand nickles on the dime, for all this to fade. Please just go from me, never to be seen again, yet you never seem to go away!

This loneliness eating me, breaking and defeating me, just won’t seem to go away.

[washed-soul]

Dualities’ Dove, Mirror’s Raven

Standing redemptions peek, a single soul watch downward to Twilight's Delta. The glossy waves of quicksilver flowed down deep into the ocean of the lost fates. The gale of dusk smoothly animated the outreaching purple peeks of leaves and the hazel grasses. A land of fantasy in perfect condition, floating just below the plane of dreams. This serene picture of magic and imagination hides the painful truth of what made hope.

Faintly the soul spreads wings and flies overhead. Amongst the winds, the whispers once again tell the tragedies tales. Oh, that dove covered in the flames of her past, oh that raven that in call of wrath burnt down their keep. The beacon they both followed, both proclaimed love to caught in the aftermath of this struggle, now burdened with the hate that struck the match. Those echos call back, down below the feathers that catch the pain.

Rabid little shadows chase from below. The echos of hatred ignore the pain they suffer. Cruel is their life and cruel is how they treat. Slowly the shadows of the hydra, the mouth of each condemnation that sought ruin to the soul high flying. A hunger so unsatisfied and never-ending as they trample across life find the next of days. Longing for something they find soules in the hollow catharsis of destruction.

The shaded skys of one color peek past more till another color end from opposite peek shimmer above the tempest. The breach of reality from which the mind constructions of perception where all below is kept in emotions inside. Platinum leaves of ash fall from the rapture found new. The seeds to the mystic plants below in a new life after death. Slowly the ash falls unto the soul, gives reconstruction.

Lost forever in that past, the hydra reaps nothing from the ash, seeing only a reminder of what little they gained at the greatest of costs. Lost in the avarice, each head bindes together to the sweet of loves that made them. Through the currents of air, the Raven flies every higher to the skies of the eclipse. Without a guiding dose of compassion, it hits the plane of that mirror that delicately separates them.

Of lust to power, the ground of misconception they see that soul looks from the breath of new life. Upwards they see the soul, a dove of white ash out of touches reach. Behind this soft complection lies the sputtering falsities of the hydras head, speaking the thousands lies to the single truth. Believing to that dove as one, the raven see cross the mirror of the one dulatiy to her, a dove being washed clean from the platinum ash, free from the soot of that war and regret.

Heartache swells inside this sooted dove wash clean of sin's transgressions, looking down at a soul so lost they believe to be found. That bleeding reflection, an echo of whom they once were. Fate bound with separation, the mended soul rises further to the sky. The raven, ravenous and boisterous, calls forth victory against unaware of being trapped in their self-made prison. Slowly even the hydra's head leaves them to insanity. Once again, carrying pain the sooted dove leaves up to the shimmering barrier to the nature of life, leaving the Raven to the valley of the shadow of death.

[washed-soul]

That Alice

Mirror before me, bear truth before my flesh. Screaming metal pressed on, remove each strand of sin growing upon me. This body, so close to that image yet each imperfection glares like plasma before my eyes. So ashamed, so hateful. A perfect little child wrong in every way. Naive, stupid, and delusional. Caught in clouds of fantasy, lost in the story not life. What I am, who I'll be, forever. Forever.

Mirror before can you understand, why I cover upon lairs and lairs to hide away this callous truth. You know it too, the pitch perfect image of what I was meant to be chose not by "The One Who Loves." To why would It chose on whom I'm supposed to be. Why does everyone believe that echo that speak a million different truth to a million different people? I want to be that perfect girl, that bright eyed girl lost in Wonderland.

Mirror I pass, I notice the delay. That breach of faint outlines moving in tandem. I love the though but I hate the image. Why, why does she get to live so perfect? Why was she given at birth who she was meant to be, while I must wear this shameful flesh of this faulty entity. I want to outreach and fall through. Leave this world devoid of color.

Mirror, on that wall in my room there it bears a cross. A symbol of my union to those people. A golden symbol to them that I bear truth to "The One Who Loves," yet only upholding the lies I present forth to all in flesh. The flame that burns inside there trapped in there from my decrepit love. The glass image in each interaction lost to the heart inside. The though runs through my mind, a disease not to cease.

Mirror, will the plain ever break? Will Alice every come from dream to reality? Is that something that'll ever be in my grasp. The name is but a token, the form is yet ever unreachable from the confinement of my chains. For once let me out run these demons that shamble about, break out the chain of this culture so poisoning, to put rest to the fear that consumes me of such a dream.

Let me take away the bramble strings that turns the ground to razors. Laden now this path in bricks white as snow. Remove the chain that bind my body and cross these arms in shame. Let freely this body show form. Take away the codes of the mind that run like gears in a never ending machine. Think now in the chance of love. Let off the sin, all the regret of the past. Move in towards the new year of a new person. Once task off the mask of whom names crackles faintly in echos.

  I am that Alice, and my life will be the Land of Wonder.

[washed-soul]

File for the last Night

Tempted at the curtain breath and outreaching brambles of silence, something lies underneath. Twisted and tortured, deafening and silent the figure twitches in agonized jerks. Thin lapped over skin slowly separates, bearing the welded bars of metal tunneling through its body. Janky, the creature pull from behind the faintly dimmed cloth. Forward it tumbles as the light across the room accosts its figure.

Numbness launches across my body, a toxic paralysis locks in. Hazing through the mind, the lurched figure screams a piercing buzzing, blurring my vision. A bar of bent and barbed metal pull then rends through its snowy skin falling off its back. Quickly the entity launches back letting out a call blanking all sense. A dip into complete darkness before, clinging so desperately, my mind comes back to the moment.

Limply it moves its arm, aimlessly scratching the air trying to grab hold of anything. The tattered hand tunks against the top of my desk before cascading downward till it catches up on the chair, giving it's uneven body balance once more. Agonizingly cold tingle flood up my legs through my chest. Evermore shallow my breath grows as the entities get hold of its self.

As if fighting ratchets in its neck, it pivots its head mechanically to look at me. My eyes burn as everything else around me becomes one conjoined mess of dots. The entity recklessly turns all its body towards me, its human-like arm resting near my left leg, while its other arm, like a metal crain. slammed down on my bed, cutting through all its foam. Once more the head pivots cold and dead.

The monster attempts to open its mouth, fighting against melted metal that was plated on its head. Slowly it opened the mouth more and more. As it grew wider, the buzzing became painful to listen too but I was powerless to fight. Pushing down on its disjointed limbs the monster pulls its bloated body higher. Its head continued to turn as it slowly managed to get itself onto the bed.

Just as it would have made it on the bed, a snapping sound rang through my room as I saw a metal joint break its neck. Quickly the shard moved as it cut off the creature's head. The head was off in seconds and the monster now staggered now without ahead. The weight of the body lurched it too far right and the monster staggered off the bed. The monster evened itself and violently flung its arm at my bedroom window causing a booming sound. I slipped from consciousness until I awoke to the sound of my dogs barking at something they heard outside.

[washed-soul]

Wonder Land

Little blackbirds sitting in a tree, look down at one dead. Ghastly prints leading away from the crime, through the bushes leading to the true darkness living in the forest. Lost souls wonder it's domain never to leave again. Only there on their post do these birds known where it's entrance is, marked at the remains of their kin dead. In it's pitch of hunger that faint predator went forward to the last of it's existence. As the last of light fell under the trees, the birds flew off to another day, hoping for a day without tragedy.

A fever pitch of leaves as the hunger crazed beast charged deeper into this unknowing labyrinth. The malicious shifting of roots and earth hummed underneath the dry ground. The towering tress hanging far above the animal swayed their arms in an hidden dance as for yet another victim. Quickly the paths grew smaller and smaller as the ghosts closed into to their victim.

Hunger worn and the fever of panic, soon the beast fell from it's body failure. The roots took hold it's body and pulled under as it's last yelps and cry echo through the empty dark. Soon, as dry as the dead ground, silence once more full under the trees. Purposeless once more they ceased to move. A wonder land open once more for the next careless. The snow began to fall again, having now forgotten the first to be heard.

[washed-soul]

Sigil of the Mirror: Letter to a Raven 3rd

Dear Echo, My night wore Raven, hard it is to separate you from the hydra that brings your darkest gales. This roaring tempest of knowing and unknowing torment wrote upon that be in your touch brings forward weary wonder. How much longer till all that is your soul lost in this darkest. No longer do you desire to change or was all in words writing by devil's hand. Was this all misery test to strength or lead yet how much forward could be held knowing heart left to damnation. Despite cutting wind I still reach to tempest's end for the image of one left

Be the broken or whole, this pain and impact do you think will not wear the influence over forever coming life? Know that the Blackened Dove knows expectation not all to be undone, however, at day's break the nightmares ended. Chase not this New Moon in nights empty but strive even for the palest eye of the night for all full. The struggle has end and reward for faithful, fear not even the most frightfull of lights. No longer wonder the veins of Hydra grown but find the dreams swan.

Yet in plead know the separation of the mirror. Further wander past the surface, further leaving the reflection. Lost in twilight's birth, content forevermore to be lost, quiet must this echo in headphones. Must forever be this way at journey end is unknown. Raven now lost to the hydra, dove now found in clarity. Crest of duality born of two separate lives, mirror to each other, now lost in the echo. Not forgotten yet forever unstuck and caught in time. Villian in death, walking now as soot born dove, raven rest now forever in twilight birth. From, Zander Fruit

[washed-soul]

Sigil of the Mirror: Letter to a Raven 2ed

Dear Raven, In year past you sear your hatred upon another soul. Azazel form in the one you say love to, but bring suffering on. Lust shatter the bond yet you cling on to moment past for control thought lost yet you have. Never understand this chaos before when order found one lost greater. Ever raging this tempest of shadow, the hydra of man. Call the devil and chainer of pure hatred till hatred spread like a pestilence.

Lost in grasp I am to the still sundering flame of care, a beacon for my change. Wrath flourishes within under your watch in Angel of elegance yet still blind to care or cure. Hands of scared intention I hold to save the damaged you use for own ego yet so forcefully you pull to remain. Have not the losing grip queue furthermore a call to change wicked and malevolence? Fearless bearing my barbed wings as furthermore those of chains pull me form your gale. Yield not I will for this lost soul.

Sweetest Raven, answer why to this ever stagnation. Change and healing always in grasp yet you swing with verve hatred to opportunity anew. Is it not change you wanted when you called out? Is it not new life you so desired when both we bore goat? Have you lost in want for power over your own life, power over your own mind? Still not understanding this task of futility. Only once more I ask for you to hear me through. Come to the table with this sooted dove. From, A shattered Vitrue

[washed-soul]

Sigil of the Mirror: Letter to a Raven 1st

Dear Raven, A villain, a symbol to stand against in the path of your life. This callous empty moving vessel of hatred bearing my face and shattering name. You did well to strike this form, this name, and action, yet even still you crave a glory before all. Was it not best to be rid of the burden before others, was the victory over an unflinching roller of misery champion, not enough? How much forward does this avarice move in the fleeting gales of shadows tethered to your cloak of desire? How is this creeping evil took face to see before its echo does not quell in the advent of one half to light reaching cure?

Raven come before the dove, answer why so lost? Amgost this crowd of light and love empty you wonder in satisfaction of pain. So wanting to leave this swell of felling poison yet satisfied to remain. Even in the bridling chain from blood, you move not in resistant of them but rest content to the shackle. Must before my barbed wings, yet outflying not inspire in resentment to show better than monster fought? Now in inspiration and hope this once villain be I in the crowd you shamed. Bearing now more burden for them as which you cause upon them.

Asked once to reach out this consuming acid of mind, still drowning ever. Cast upon hatred, cast upon sin, cast upon all that fill beyond your brim. Rid that rabid memory of past and rid that festering vision of the conflict. Find now peace at the end of the road. Forward not continue the battle of fruitless labor. Be we find an equal place in saviour. From, Your Monster

[washed-soul]

Sin with a Grin

All this time I said that I didn't know who I was and in truth I honestly meant it, but that doesn't mean I don’t know who I am. I can remember it now, trace back to the beginning to know what happened. What I bore witness too, the taking of life I thought could confide in me, find comfort in the cold, left cold. The weight held too heavy and I followed suit only to make one more mistake. I held a blank to my head and pulled. The blast cracked my skull but didn't leave me dead.

When I awoke my memory was a haze. Lost and confused I sought any answers to my predicament only to find a mask left settled down under their hanging body. What gazed back at me, a shattered contraption with the bottom left shattered off showing part of my mouth. Only one half wore a devious grin, a beholder to testament sin while the other side sagged shallow of an ever vehement lost love. A signal of my devotion and love soon became a trademark of reason-less hatred and vile venomous chaos of a fools engagement.

Settled lightly next to my body a note soaked deep in the blood of an only echoing life which partway gave me a single answer. That if one were to find out the bodies down deep in the bowels of our concrete tree that it was I who hoisted the tragedy as a banner and that the innocent was free from their own blood. This lie, the only fragment of my identity forged who I was to become and the product of that man stands before you forever drenched in the tragedy of the selfish soul who took the life of one who had no control.

I found what I could, my father's dagger kept deep below the cellar, the broken gun of a fallen militant, two iron rods that held together with a lounge of abundance, and the key's to decrepit memories of journeys traveled and went only to where my soul loathed. Soon I found myself a thousand feet from a rally of a man who fed the world with lies. I took the moving grave of rust and steel and let out the scream of a man condemned by the system of the "God's" speaker. Quick the rallies cry turned from one of jubilation to abstract horror as their delusion shattered in front of them while I ran into the sewers where I resided in the filth of a world left behind.

I wondered it's walled in an endless maze, unsure of time or the humanity above. Soon I hit a wall where the tunnels ended and climbed back to a slanted reflection of purity. I found myself at the edge of the jungle of mortar and steel and ran to the outskirts of humanity formal. With no lead, hint, or curse the arms of imperialism’s grasp slid ghastly across the figment of my existences. In the fields of natural life, I found a shelter, rotted and consumed by the inhabitants around marked the first stronghold in my deluge insanity.

The scraps of humanities' craft and a counter of creation consumed my toil during the stay. The sidearm of the militant turned to a banshee of the damned and the rods that upheld past's gluttony turned the razors of wrath. A natural source of water and little food was found nearby. I cleansed myself of human filth and made a feast of dainty scraps and carried myself further into the unknown. The rest followed shortly after.

Now here I find myself after taking dozens of hand puppets that breathed noxious neurotoxin that deluded the consciousness of the free to bind themselves in the chains of the puppeteer's desires. Stuck once more in the room where the one I loved had taken their lives now only to know the truth. That once before I had lost recollection of who I am and was and disappeared into the night. Only to come back after I learned who I was once more. The cost of my leave, however, was far too great for them and that my return was marked by theirs. That once before I tried my life and cheated death to hold everything to lose all. Now here I call, the embrace of the long-withheld laughter of truth. That through my sin I bear a gin. I must go now my love, death calls beyond these walls.

[alicezan-ncgred]

Time Capsule

These basic memories, these simple dreams. Wires or tape, twine or glue. Everything is kept inside me, holding it close, holding it dear. With each drop of blood lost, with each injury or injustice, a little bit disappears. A being or body, mind or thought. Everything I am of each world past is kept. Each experience, fading voice, a past love. I stand far from “his” heart as it stops the fight. Between everything lost, I am a time capsule, ready to disappear.

[washed-soul]

Something without a Memory

There's another dead, another stain on my knife. A cell of blood, a scratch of life for each one taken. An empty lust with a simple trust to wash it all away. I know you're reading this. I left the message here for you, so here's all I want to say. I miss you. someone I could call a friend. All that's left is an echo, a mear sound of a person and everything they've done. It cuts deep how such a complicated sound can fall hollow and be lost into the deep. 

Was there ever a life we were together. I know now that you lied, not that it helps me. All those days we sat in the classroom laughing about random things, it wasn't even you. I was talking to silicone, a mask you wore. I tried to cut deep, to break through but you never actually spoke to me. You moved away in time and soon, a was left with an empty sympathy. You're back now...I can't see your face. 

Are you with them? The liers and thieve, the whores of popularity? We were where we belonged, you more than ever. I was sick, both in body and mind. I wanted to get better, I guess that's why we parted. Even now though, I long to hear your voice or at least talk to you. Can I ever recover? I guess not. Or rather, walk away. As cruel as it is to say, I hope your suffering. That way you'll learn a lesson. 

This is nothing more than a ghost. A simple spirit writing in time to the past looking for the future. You could never understand because you never wanted too. You never heard me out or tried to help. I was the only one trying to keep us together. I'm sorry every poem about you. When I told you I had to leave, you didn't even flinch.  You said OK and left me in the rain. But it's ok, it's fine. I'm only words now. Something without a memory. 

[washed-soul]

A Simple Beat

There's a reflection of me. I know it well. Each time passing by, it's me and I. The hair rushes back, the smile reaches that, while the eyes talk smack. It's something so alive, moving in real time. The voice echoes and the lips match. It's something that will never change even in great pain. It's only the surface, easy to maintain. They think it tells everything.

There's a reflection of me. I hide it well. The rage and hate, permeate, beyond the state, my complaint. Their bones it snaps with blatant crap. The hair is dry, the smile died, while the eyes aren't alive. Dead silent, widely violent. Voice is low and lips speak woe. It's something that's never satisfied, that ain't no lie. Deep below, the status quo. I think it tells everything

The brighter side, head held high, to fade this cry. Hazel brown, with the golden crown, flowing around. Dilate, never late, no bait. Spin around, among the crowd, above the ground. The shirt and jeans, blue in the scene, action are clean. I'm not meant to be mean and but the darkness wean. Strips and bandages, I managed this. They don't know everything.