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Another For My Dreams
Another for my dreams, I suppose.
The films that haunt my closed down eyes,
like forlorn theaters for the unfit for society.
Five stars to those that
forever plague my memory.
For time and time again shall I return to
those revelations from the depths of my darker mind,
there in the Clockwork Orange where
shall I be force fed
the curses of my toils.
Another for my dreams, I suppose.
I write as no critic but as the lonely viewer,
left only to further rot at the closing of
my eyes to this reality that as of my past,
I have thus suffered
and pleasured myself to fate.
The parallel worlds to my own are too often darker
than this of my current residence.
A vicious reminder of my blessings as it were to seem?
Or not more than the ramblings of my
flourishing insanity, dwelling within.
Another for my dreams, I suppose.
The bane of my insomnia,
the lack of needed rest and atonement
for my wasted efforts to make
better the surrounding lives,
for here does all I know die or kill.
Nightmares are th
The Body Count of Denial
I would rather desire to attempt something new.
Spontaneous to my soul or soon to be lack there of.
My free will, the miracle is
tainted by my self inflicted curses.
Though you only see the monster through
your morally constructed eyes,
I see myself and others in a cracked mirror,
alone in my own dark little world.
A part of me, in the void of sanity perhaps,
or to the side shackled to some fiend of
the Torturous Realm, a part of me in
powerful fragments lives in this desire of mine.
Only thus far in my most welcome dreams, to others nightmares,
have the fairytales for which I smile come
to a fictional life in the mind,
lost and replaced at so young an age.
I am but a son, a daughter, a brother, a sister,
a father, a mother. An individual of no demons
in the light of open eyes,
but demon of my own flesh whilst so alive.
Of Hell am I born, within the world of man,
unknowing until crosses the first thought
in mind to inspire the act in question,
well and fully aware with the catalyst vic
The Far and Wide
The clock sits drowning with
its hands behind its back.
There at the feet of a broken man,
fetal below the essence of life.
A mind lost, staring through gaping
eyes of a catatonic gaze,
awaiting the recoil of recovery as
the soul reaches high and blind.
Past cracked windows of a broken
stare out from where the conflicted
mind tears itself apart,
piece by piece and thought by thought.
Many, a great deal have been
the words I've written as to express
this Hell I've yet to conquer,
as such a Hell is far and wide.
Time only shall tell the tale of roads ahead,
where further hills grow and dwell...
but the hills are nothing new
to the man beneath the essence of life.
Resurrection of the Surpressed
You need only say a word, even in silence
to drain me through my wounds of all recovery.
More than one does more than damage,
such does plant seeds in
the areas of this Hell
I've already known.
For certain is that I am far
gone from holding your name
and portrait in any light,
as a lack of grace accompanies the cold
in which your actions and
lack there of have abandoned me.
Am I so weak as to feel misery as this?
Coursing through my
through every and all gateways whilst
your life goes on as though
never so much as hindered slightly.
To the God has kept my invitation
to Death at a nearby bay,
it is for peace I pray...
I wish only, if only,
the chances and rest that I do not deserve
but require in such abundance, lest with time I perish.
My gracious thanks overflows from me
unto those whose hearts break over my story,
to blanket me in the cold in
which you abandoned me,
my once beloved, here where I
have countless times died for you.
and pray i as well that regret
Blind Dates with Dolor
The eyes are closed now,
Or have they always been?
The man through motions many gone,
a machine of reluctance.
Whilst open the eyes seen only
the dark of reality, in only a literal sense.
It is by luck and misfortune that those
doors are shut by the fumes of a spent mind,
and reopened unto Hell in all of its ancient terror...
there in the realm where only
hatred outnumbers the flames.
They, the images of my creative mind,
are twisted round in defiance of fact and faith.
Spreading wide, the horizon of horrors that
I may witness within this,
my subconscious wonderland.
My truest baggage is beneath my weary eyes,
knowing I am weighed down to the will of adversity.
Here in Hell where my mind is
the devil upon my shoulder,
prod in hand, poking all in reach.
It is when I awaken the sweat
of a labored back
and sickly palms, that reality becomes
a temporary solace from the world within.
But again, the eyes are closed now.
Here are the words I had lost,
Unsung in some heated discourse.
Here lie the feelings in an exhortation gone mad.
A muck they ran in riots through littered
streets aflame in the discord
of what I once knew
as such a realm of wonder.
Like tombstones with legs of air,
the glide in chaotic function
through smoke and dust and ash,
crashing into all with image.
Here they are, without chains
to bind them in a book being
written by broken hands and a blind
set of eyes that still have seen nightmares.
Insomnia is but the air of their lungs,
pumping through them the processes of powers
that be within the open
tomb of a catatonic skull.
Strain, in a dead language,
is carved at their eroded heads,
as my tombstones fly in
the marathon of exhortation gone mad.
The Bane of my Reflection
The process of shedding skin is by my many directors
on my own Truman show
by hands of omnipotence.
Reasonable has become the act of abandoning my post
for another, taking a different form out of
the many from which I can choose.
I will condone such a selfish act to inflict murder
to my reflection, with malice and forethought,
the deed long time coming.
I chose to watch my coffins burn whilst shards of
that disgusting mirror burn within them,
screaming the name of my soul in animus.
Though I see nothing, a hand embraces my shoulder
upon my broken body, a warm breathe
flows over, pushing my sighs of relief.
I have killed the man of my face and name many times, and
until my final hour, I intend to be
the bane of that man's existence.
My Writer has written this plot twist in the
scriptures of my flawed name, to mark new chapters
in my history in the making...
CringeA man sat alone in a room. He was in the heart of nowhere, in an comfortable old chair at the time of night that one’s eyes are meant to see the impossible. His breath was like gentle smoke in the minuscule amount of moonlight that pierced the cracks of the blacked-out windows.
The shack was small, with only one room, one table and that God awful wooden chair. A single candle had be lit and placed in the center of the table, accompanied by only the folded hands of the man as he waited. He knew so little what for, only that he needed to be at this very place, at this very time...sound was absent aside from the jackal of man and his pounding heart, pulsating in anticipation. Deep breathes only did so much as he shook violently in the freezing grasp of the dead room.
Hours had passed since his arrival, and dried blood had become a crusted vermilion through and through the fabric of his clothing, forming a layer over his otherwise untouched flesh beneath, blood atop fle
A Stubborn Faith and Warped Insomnia
I can watch the sun rise,and a weeping moon fall.
Not caring in the slightest with passing seconds
in and out of the narrow span of my damaged attention.
Mine are the eyes that will close but hardly sleep
with my dreams whilst they are so abusive in their relationship.
My dreams are awake and warped, and I shall die and die again.
Why is it that I care so little, that apathy replaces
the voids of open wounds? These are but leeches on my Light,
as I become lost with Virgil and Dante.
Hunger sets in from a skipped feast, past an ignored sleep cycle.
A fable becomes my story to be a lesson learned to children
of a lesser future where apathy is the life blood of the world.
Here I will watch with reluctance, the falling moon and rising sun,
night after night, alone with my Light until
one day some day, I live again and again.
The Angel who can't flyShe doesn't know how to live
without the constant fight to keep her head over water
The struggle is her Safeheaven
An Eden which
her fragile feet.
She can't touch without scarring
Still she yearns for a place to belong
an Utopia for angels
But her wings are to heavy to fly
when she spreads them she can
Passing of the AngelsEverything remembered was fuel for the sparkling machine,
like the boy whose hand he held underneath the sky of India.
His pudgy grasp promised great cities, country lanes
and crowds of smiling faces.
Cupping the flower of the world inside his palm,
he breathed whispers of plans and hopes—
when the boy became a man, he made them all come true.
Ten thousand miles of ground passed under a mentor’s feet;
no dogma or ideology ever took the place of simple words:
I’ll take another step.”
There was an old river-man who had one wish:
“Please come ride my boat with me.”
So they sailed down the Minakami,
eating flavored rice balls the old man’s wife had made.
Prayer is not for asking, but for telling:
You say, “By God, there is no other option.”
The gears of the Earth move when such a sound is made.
And the machine we ride isn’t cold or hard or mindless;
it’s made of Christmas Eve and Halloween candy
and little Gold
A Dying old WomanHer skeletal remains left imprinted on the bed
bodily fluids of plasmatic yellow sugar cane
had stained through the sheets and into the frame
the vast wealth of her knowledge had been lost with age
the visage of shaking muscle tissue over bones wrapped in too much skin
was the only image imprinted on the land lord who came
he came and he knocked
and his nose hairs burned with the stench of what had remained
nothing left but empty veins
wire hair and bones saturated in dark decaying flesh
under the hot sun of a long summer day
her fingernails looked like wood chips burrowing from under the skin
her sunken yellow eyes glazed over life and sin
and anguish held from so deep inside...
it all seemed very innocent
until the grandchildren no longer came
until the siblings squabbed amongst themselves
as to who was responsible with what had remained
now there is nothing left to say
nothing left for the casket to lay open for all to see
because after the math what was left was a pile of old bones
MultiverseClinging desperately to reality the unknowable knows the gravity of what we do not see or perceive in this infinite sea of possibilities. Still grasping firm to discern as it yearns to learn to return to a time or place before being concerned with how to be reborn into a world it knows and is confirmed in and known in in turn. Entangled between fabrics of temporal mathematics and dogmatic moral fanatics in choral their horrible quarrel systematic in nature to cater their material god trapped static by a celestial equator in the erratic pre-protohistory of the arterial abroad of existence if not a mystery much greater, a fraud.
Only Within OurselvesIs it courage in the face of fear
Or fear in the face of courage
That compels men to desperate acts
Of self-serving ignorance
A means to an end
To fix the things that seem so incomplete
Until they are completely broken
To find answers to the questions
That stand unanswered and unknown
So that the mystery of life may remain
In the shadow of humanty's soul
Written on the hearts and minds
Of those who seek the secrets of heaven and earth
To avoid the fires of hell
As if the meaning of life could be
Written in a book
Painted on a canvas
Performed on a stage
Sung in a song
Or bought in a store
Only within ourselves can we find ourselves
That is why when all other questions fade away
There is one that never loses its taste
When time becomes irrelevent
And all that's left is dust
"Who am I?"
"Who am I?"
Im a cirrus cloudThere are many clouds that live up in the sky
the most familiar ones are the puffy and stormy clouds
mostly everyone knows what they mean
since the clouds like to show their personality
i think people are like clouds
sometimes on how they act match a certain type of cloud
i got some cumulus and others as well
im not sure what i really am but i took a guess
im a cirrus cloud
that lives high up in the sky
small and not very seen
but they say they look kinda pretty
they look very nice up there
however told that snow might come down along the way
that could be me, if you mess with me ill whip up a snowstorm
but that is quite rare, since im not seen much
because so, ill just stay above there
and look around other people's clouds
maybe ill be seen by some people
and make some fellow clouds along the way
Room Full of Books
A room full of books is like a portal to other worlds
You can travel around the world without leaving the very page
You can go to anywhere your heart desires
A champion's tale.Another step down the road.
Another fight to win.
Another story that was written.
And I wouldn't have wanted to be with anyone else
The legend of the Champion.
The legend of the team.
That is why we are who we are.
We are helped by our friends.
Led to a new level of achievement.
That is how it works.
Life may lead to battles,
But I am safe with my friends.
I have learned with them,
And it allows a great way to live
Jesus MeisiahA long time ago, there was a family.
A newborn baby boy given as a gift.
Not only to his mother, Virgin Mary,
But to the world
His name was Jesus
Jesus lived and died for us
He was always kind and forgiving
He performed miracles
He raised the dead to life
He healed the sick and crippled
And said it was all in the power of God the Father
Yet, he was persecuted and so were his followers
And in the end,
He died on the Cross
But, he rose again!
Jesus lives with God as his son
And he took away our sins as well
So, we know he will always love us
So if we believe in him
We may be saved in his name
If you wish to give your life to Christ, say with me this prayer:
God, please forgive me for all that I’ve done. I have sinned against you, but now I wish for you to be back in control. Please Lord, let me love others like you have loved me, and let me show them your mercy.
The Book of Excerpts: Prayer of The Patrons
Blessed my guides,
Governed by our King.
His children know my purpose,
just as he upon his throne.
Sweet clarity do I seek,
But of course patience is key,
as by faith do I live, as this
nothing but mortal being.
To only them and our Father,
do I loyally obey.
Behold, for I am the left hand of God,
and I will fear no evil.
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^Nyx-Valentine arrived in our community and started whipping everyone into a frenzy with her relentless desire to bring the Artistic Nude and Fetish galleries to the fore. 9 years later, and it's safe to say that Nyx is not only a leader as a photographer in these galleries, but she has also established herself as a much saught after model. ^... Read More