untitled #999999

we've long since repressed our holy existence
and now we live amongst the damned.
near every face has formed a likeness to lucifer,
now divinity and destruction, go hand-in-hand.
i can smell absence and decay on the breath
of each and every fallen jerusalem whore.
where will we ever find sanctity,
when the skies above us freeze over
and angels fall to the earth like the leaves
of early autumn trees.
line the street with your mistresses,
and your concubines too
for their lives of promiscuity and smut
will eventually fall back on you.

my chest is growing tighter.

cut out my tongue, it has become useless anyway,
i stayed up for hours talking, i could see the dawn break.
over the horizon my words flew, but they must've gotten lost on the way.
now i sit here writing, poems and songs about things that would never last
and things that i no longer want to last.
endurance has faded,
the mortar once laid, has now broke and split.
i can see light ahead, dancing with the thunder
and they're strafing to the right,
i am inclined to follow.
my chest is growing tighter.

fuck.

i'm cynical because every encounter
and every action taken out against me
has shaped me thus.
every betrayal and every insult -
whatever, fuck this. i'm done.

religious gesture #2

i don't think anyone will ever understand how much i hate this man and every disgusting, false word that leaves his mouth. i would gladly blind him, he may as well be blind anyway because he sure does fucking sound it.
fred phelps is the devil, if there is such a thing.

escape.

i smoke in chains to link my thoughts -
if not coherent, at least they're strung together.
an elaborate story, bordering upon absence,
words as thin as air upon hallow pages.
nothing can replace the ecstasy of memories,
there exists no placebos, my mind is beyond dead.
sweet methadone drip.
lull me to sleep,
lull me to sleep.

sweet little child, run away from your fear
but expect no rest, there exists no escape.
unless through a hole in your head,
which you've crafted yourself -
to escape from your memories.
to escape your enemies,
to escape your failures,
to escape yourself.
i hope when you fall, you can catch a halo
when you fall through the hole you've made in your head -
to escape your memories,
to escape your enemies,
to escape your failures,
to escape yourself.

sparrows.

our passions but a whisper -
carried upon the wings of every sparrow in the sky.
they gift us solace upon the winds,
carry it to our unresting ears and eyes.
to our desire so present, laced with lust and sweat
keeping the river desire from ever running dry.
it flows down every mountain, it surrounds you and me.
the river flows faster as it comes down your thigh
and finally drains into the ocean of devotion
where so many lovers renounced emotions lie.
from up in heaven the seraph angels sing -
harmonised by each individual sigh
and crescendos with the seraphs final, smothered cry.

from heaven these hymns soar down, like songbirds from a tree.
swept away by the winds, towards the tempest of antipathy
but instead picked by sparrows and carried to lull us both to sleep
their voices like a drug, addictive and mysterious,
like a needle to a vein, the notes dig in deep
but acting like a medicine; mending lover's banes -
imprinted on our chests, the songs that angels weep
and in our induced dreams we see them,
make an agreement they plan to keep -
they'll sing a verse for every hour that we've lost sleep.

unbirth.

as the armies march towards the horizon's edges,
their hollow, glassy eyes behold the city of perish.
home to people sustained by the fountain of youth,
where vanity is their torture, an immortal prison.
they don't fear time any more than the dead
but their bodies have become frail due to hidden senility's spread.
their enemies attacked at night and left their roads flowing red.
their structures in ruin and their populace under threat.

innumerable legions reach the gates and this is what awaits;
overflowing fountains and shell-shocked victims.
their bodies revert to fetus -
losing bones and self-awareness.
they are unborn from this life,
their existence erased in a backwards sense.
the priests from the churches pray to their god,
whispers ring out on thinly-woven woollen wings.
the waters refuse to spare the divine,
the flood engulfs all and strips the palace of all time.
thrown back through the years to the time of it's erection
the floods persist to grow, the streets are overflown
the buildings of the city crumble back to stone,
and collapses on the bodies of the unborn children.
'let the flood swell.' said the general to his men,
'there is no need for us to punish these beings again.'