destructive criticism.

i guess it;'s time i turn the pen on myself,
what is to be written, what is to be said -
is like a 44. caliber placed to my head.
let's criticise the critic.

excelling in arrogance to the point of smotherance,
hiding insecurity behind big mouths and words.
an internal-clock ticking backwards,
with no knowledge nor preconceived notions of when the alarm is set.
a void that was once filled by the songs of a muse,
now drowned beneath waves of substance and inward self-infliction.
already unable to cope with a hand reaching down his throat
as he constantly forces his own deeper. he can't feel his heart yet.
who among you word-absorbers would rather take their time to dust off an old book,
when the libraries inventory lies open before the reader?
sure this has been done with the bible for years,
but this text is no where near as insightful.
who has the time to venture through fog,
when within sunlight lies a more direct path to your destination?
obsessive compulsive, more so the former.
restless, relentless; like a storm during flood.
vulgar and needy, pretentious and greedy.
for the few things he stands for,
ten thousand more he'd fall for
and for the ten thousand one he'd fall for -
near a decade figure he's will to die for
but these falls are by no means harder,
than how he has already fallen.
a bottomless pit, an attempted suicide.
twice over, processing thoughts for years,
tenfold, harvesting flowers amongst weeds.

i'm sorry my dear poet, i'm sorry my dearest friend.
you are as flawed as the damned,
you are not but a human.

address this letter to myself.

confusion I

what can we ultimately put down to the human condition?
the godless preach every action is a conscious decision on the part of their peer
while those whom seek security in belief put down the evils of humanity as the works of a demoned, shadow-being -

presentation of skin and taste-testing flesh,
cutting short a reservation, creating more immobile vessels.

can one transcend the formula of religious bounds?
or that of an utterly futile stance against species-superiority?
the immortal never sleep to those whom believe
and to those who don't they are but a dream.
a lucid dreams, carried on for millennia.
Those who dream, deemed dumb and blind by the restless
and those with unrest, titled damned by those who sleep.
Both humanitarians in their own rights but both incite war and poisonous thoughts.
kissing necks with metal tongues, coated in spirits and aliments,
a shaped and sharpened dagger, piecing into their minds with disbelief.

i work in etching over ancient texts; rewording and rearranging.
the greatest words of fiction, double as fact
and works of speculation used to confirm theoretical acts.
anyone can write a religion landmark, cult leaders have proven that.
when a child is stuck between the two, both are of theory, neither match.
what follows in my rationalisation and breaking down of such.
i'm not planning to be as prolific and testament new or old
nor as ground breaking as darwin -
what follows is my attempt to understand.

parallel.

we move parallel, bound only by the constraints of our bodies.
we move in tandem, together as one, a single moving vessel.
tastes linger; blood, spit and sweat - they fade.
like sunsets devoured by the horizon and the stars hidden by oncoming light,
like a final breath taken, like a heartbeat fading.
feed me to the river, i'm at one with its flow,
let me drift downstream, leaving trails of blood as i float.
birds tweet in harmony with their friends
and the trees hold hands with their lovers across the bank.
clouds collide and become one, becoming new lovers and images in the skies,
like a final breath taken, like a heartbeat fading - i am alone.

we move parallel, unable to met and incapable of seperation.
like a teardrop falling, like the winter season ending,
like the final chapter closing, like a fire burning out -
an ending by all but its own merit, a final, fleeting farewell.
sevred threads, ripping apart at the seams.
naked before the path ahead; i am afraid, i am scared.
dwelling on my lack of courage, dwelling on something fragile.
like a glass sculpture, the slightest knock can destroy my stance.
i am frail, i sway with the wind. i am nothing that hasn't been seen before.

i am a roman bust, cracked by time and worn by weather.
we move parallel, i am afraid.
we move in tandem, i am alone.

false wings

kiss me, just kiss me one last time,
i swear i'll roll off your tongue like a whisper.
kiss me, just kiss me here tonight, finally
your taste will linger on my tongue and passion on my gums,
release me from my tourment, end this imprisonment -
bite my tongue off if you wish,
i will never speak another word -
just kiss me one last time
i swear i'll roll off your tongue like a lie
i'll set forth on false wing, watch me fall.
i am a liar, a lie has crafted myself.
if you just kiss me one last time
i cannot be content with a final goodbye,
just lie here and feed me those lies
so long as you kiss me goodnight.