8.15.11

I'm cut off that
selfish breed
I'm cut from
misfires and
miswires, a
past I can't
make worse
A faith that
was baptised
in lost of this
purity I never
had, now I
walk and
shake to
realize who
I was then
Looking
forward
is too bright
for these
dilated eyes
or skin that
holds these
veins too
tight, mirrors
of me I try
to be, I try
truth to see

fragile

Hit a stride at a regular life
shaking hands and saying
hello to anyone with a smile
Darker souls have infected
my fear turning quicker than
turbines of jets, my circuits
exposed, burns ignored
I'm slipping away and
don't have a grip to start
stranded without a signal
I could send to the stars
All alone in this abyss
where the echoes play
and the shadows bend
to the sounds of the
bleeding intestines of
my holiest keeper

7.29.09

Almost my next pill
been up ever since
my fault, my ways
my liars daydreams
The sun peaks through
the color pencil skies
greys shaded right
to left, black shaded
up to down and I'm
sitting here, waiting
for them to go away
two o clock, tiny
pill swallowed and
hope normalcy
returns, enters or
just leaves me
to my old ways

"The Happiest Day" by Poe

Edgar Allan Poe

"The Happiest Day"

The happiest day -- the happiest hour
        My sear'd and blighted heart hath known,
      The highest hope of pride and power,
        I feel hath flown.

      Of power! said I? yes! such I ween;
        But they have vanish'd long, alas!
      The visions of my youth have been-
        But let them pass.

      And, pride, what have I now with thee?
        Another brow may even inherit
      The venom thou hast pour'd on me
        Be still, my spirit!

      The happiest day -- the happiest hour
        Mine eyes shall see -- have ever seen,
      The brightest glance of pride and power,
        I feel- have been:

      But were that hope of pride and power
        Now offer'd with the pain
      Even then I felt -- that brightest hour
        I would not live again:

      For on its wing was dark alloy,
        And, as it flutter'd -- fell
      An essence -- powerful to destroy
        A soul that knew it well.

The Conqueror Worm by Edgar Allan Poe

The Conqueror Worm

by Edgar Allan Poe
(published 1843)

  

Lo! 'tis a gala night
   Within the lonesome latter years!
An angel throng, bewinged, bedight
   In veils, and drowned in tears,
Sit in a theatre, to see
   A play of hopes and fears,
While the orchestra breathes fitfully
   The music of the spheres.
Mimes, in the form of God on high,
   Mutter and mumble low,
And hither and thither fly-
   Mere puppets they, who come and go
At bidding of vast formless things
   That shift the scenery to and fro,
Flapping from out their Condor wings
   Invisible Woe!

That motley drama- oh, be sure
   It shall not be forgot!
With its Phantom chased for evermore,
   By a crowd that seize it not,
Through a circle that ever returneth in
   To the self-same spot,
And much of Madness, and more of Sin,
   And Horror the soul of the plot.

But see, amid the mimic rout
   A crawling shape intrude!
A blood-red thing that writhes from out
   The scenic solitude!
It writhes!- it writhes!- with mortal pangs
   The mimes become its food,
And seraphs sob at vermin fangs
   In human gore imbued.

Out- out are the lights- out all!
   And, over each quivering form,
The curtain, a funeral pall,
   Comes down with the rush of a storm,
While the angels, all pallid and wan,
   Uprising, unveiling, affirm
That the play is the tragedy, "Man,"
   And its hero the Conqueror Worm. 

Synapse

Body melt head spin
falling into the abyss
It's be ok, It's be
fine, everything
in it's phase and
time, the wind
blows cool
to the skin
and muscles
numb to relax
to relax, to
relax while
the thunder
climbs through
the head, synapse
collaboration, brain
trait, brain bath
Collapse

NSFW ADULT ONLY THIS SHOULD BE ON AMERICAS GOT TALENT

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