bells

And when time no longer quells that which in silence calmly dwells

will it swell beyond your veil into your own personal hell?

the torment, did you foretell? Were you blind as it befell

you, now on your own, tolling the dreaded iron bells

the black hand

Time is but a knife plunged deeply into the backs of men

who had once thought to be eternal

refusing to believe they had an end

and it was their ignorance’s betrayal

that last held this fateful knife

which would deplete the crimson rivers

that once filled their flesh with life

Noah

Each morning I wake thinking the same thoughts that have plagued me since consciousness tore my sanity asunder. I inundate myself with questions that have yet to see any form of answer–asides, of course, from those heard in philosophical clamor. And though I wonder whether this eternal chase will lead me nowehwere, I keep an eye on the borders of nihil, and still wander. A wise man had once warned me that such ventures would bear no fruit–that my hunger would remain unsatiated on such frivolous pursuits. But in matters of truth, no words rang wiser than those of Father Time, afterall, he had all answers. But as history had shown, Father Time reigned in silence… leaving madmen like myself to squander life in wooden caskets.

fade

And as the final tear my eyes could expel rolled down the side of my face

I caught a glimpse of my world  being whisked away in its reflection

So I closed my eyes… tighter than I ever have, trying to hold on to the remnants of a life once known

But the universe had a different plan, and only darkness it bestowed

And now darkness… Again with the same fucking darkness

Which I don’t know whether to embrace  like an old friend or have it chase me once more

to the far reaches of oblivion.

Mr. Ror Rim

He was the tour guide for a ghost town inhabited by rogue stars who selfishly kept  mortals’ wishes to themselves.  His face told the story of a man who once longed to escape but now gave his weight freely to gravity.  He stared at me for long durations and would  only turn away when I would.  When I spoke to him, he didn’t seem to listen, but instead he would open his mouth and mimic the movements of my lips, but  never created sounds.  I was lost and unsure if this man could even truly help me, though the locals of the town nearby stated he would be the one that could lead me to my destination.  I thought to myself maybe he doesn’t speak English? But when I tried speaking to him  in other tongues, his reaction remained the same.  Like a soulless mime who didn’t have an act of his own, he would only replicate my motion, as if we were playing some sort of child’s game.  After a moment’s pause, I gave up and turned away for the last time.  I grabbed my hat from under my arm, placed it on my head, and slowly walked out of the barren town… That was the last time I saw the man who wore a mirror for a face.

my dearest friend

For hours, though it seemed like days, I led him to the far reaches of my imagination.  I made sure it was  a place that not even a single soul or thought would ever come across, not even by chance.  We ventured deep into the woods of forbidden wisdom, where the fruits that bore the knowledge of the gods grew in abundance on grounds sustained by sin.  The canopy so thick that it was seldom that light managed to puncture through the leaves and illuminate the passage, but we kept on.  We crossed bridges of denial over creeks and rivers which flowed with regret and housed the spawning pools of remorse… but we finally made it.   It was here that I stood above him, or at least what remained visible to my eyes.  As I released the last bit of earthen sentiment from my grasp over his remains I remember thinking to myself,  “Sympathy, my old friend… may you rest in peace.”

wear and tear

I browse through old photographs of my youth and I try to remember– try to feel what it was I felt in the pictures.  It’s more than just  nostalgia.  It’s a poor man’s time machine that I’m quietly and selfishly building inside my head.  I can hear the laughter, feel the joy and the innocence that came with childhood ignorance bliss.  Not yet had I peered through the seams of a reality created by thoughts such as the grass being  greener on the other side of the hill.  Not yet had my shadow become the mutineer it is today.  Not yet had my reflection become so unbearably agonizing to lay eyes upon that I would soon choose not to recognize it.  Not yet had I laid my dreams down as the stepping stones I would use to climb unto higher grounds which they had claimed would set me free.  Not yet had I been clipped, caged and allowed to sing the songs which would help deafen the cries that escaped me in the forms of  hollow banter.  You see, I’m trying to salvage my humanity, but most of the pieces don’t fit anymore.  No, sir.  Not anymore.

marla

It seemed that everything about her had changed, but her eyes- they told me a different story.  Her agonized smile could no longer mask her cold gaze which pierced through me and into my soul hoping to find comfort in the warmth of my existence, but I knew better than to let it dwell.  And so she stood there… much like an infant too weary to walk any further and hoping to be carried the rest of the way, but I knew better than to become encumbered with illusions of mortal pleasures.  She slowly rose her hand  and pressed it softly against my cheek, as if to reassure herself that I was really there.  She was broken- A long-forgotten toy that had seen better days, but now only served to collect and hold dust and memories of a past severed from the present. I had finally done it.  I had finally destroyed something beautiful.

alas, omelas

Reality rings hollow…

the product of a master artisan whose only skill is that of gilding

a world lavished by empty promises, empty eyes, and mouths which only palter

a world raped of mornings, dreams and given screams to replace laughter

and all anyone could hope for is sleep

just a single night’s worth of nonexistence

but I still remember a time before death

a time where life and love was all anyone could keep

a time where nothing was ever his or hers, yours or mine

but alas, we now wear the chains of guilt

pulling our own weight uphill towards a false horizon

cannibal hermit

causing mental decay in ways unimaginable
less you hold the creativity of a hermit cannibal
it’s understandable, standing under a sky that’s gullible
you’re not falling down, kid, the floor’s just being irrational
but it never really does seem to work out now, does it?
stomping on everyone’s shadow ’cause my feet can’t step on it
losing the only grip i have on any of your realities
so i’ll host tea time with a mad hatter spilling dreams or so it seems
boiling over steaming water that stream into the mouth of armageddon
filling teacups with all the answers to nobody’s questions
while at the crack of dawn i foresee without the means
victory in a nutshell for the pawn but not the king
and these will be the stories I will read my children before they fall asleep
tucked under the false pretense of human immortality
and when they ask me “Daddy, what ever happened to Alice?”
I’ll tell them the truth and reply with nothing but the sounds of silence