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DanteAnd I peered back into memory, alone in the cell with hardened vinyl walls... seeing souls in the stains and scratches... my water under bars on the floor... where I screamed my scream... and even the ghosts and demons shuddered. And after the scream, everything was immeasurably altered forever after.
Virgil! Why would thou lead him and not me!? And so I still wander this plane... and yet am I not a crusader?
Thus Lilith hath been the only one to still desire to place her hands on me... and her flesh feels as festering unmortality.
Jane, Jane, (my Chain)... why are you never real?
To Minus Lightrivers of air inside a careless breeze
struck down in the prime material negation of
charged senses in electric countdown dropping to
acid lime vectors
Shape, Color, and Sound looping into
endless dishwasher cycles
clapping ceramic to the floor
striking words into chordless irony praise
for the prose in position ready to draw or defeat
a morose application to the eyes
to minus light in grayscale gradients
meaning found through meticulous manicure
striking fingers poised with slipping shoes
flickering dancing figures in blazing kindness
the shame that youth ends far too soon
Old ThoughtLaid to sleep by the lilting of the ocean; birds cry and fly in the salty air, yet no land is to be seen. A faint whisper of a dream dances behind closed eyes; a bow gently is drawn upon spider-web strings. Many eight-legged bodies can be felt quietly crawling over each other in a silent dance.
The moon rises and casts its delicate light from the horizon; the soft drumming of a heartbeat undulates in a firm rhythm. The faces of lost loves rise and sink with the waves; a chain of rapture and disappointment.
A spectre floating on subconscious introspection speaks ancient secrets in susurrations. Gray hairs slowly replace color, and lines are etched by concatenation. A smoky bouquet is breathed into the nares; embers of failed resolutions burning to cold ash in the mind's eye.
Caliginous MemoriesA pause, a shift in the wind, a mirrored reflection in the now still water; honesty divided, weakness refracted, a ghost in the machine. Crows sing their twisted songs at a cautious distance. And while music flows, thoughts are damned; rotten clumps of chaotic whims floating on a sea of sin. The quiet beating of a light rain brings flashes of luminescence, followed by muttering doubts. In this surge of electric epiphanies, glimpses of future fortuity is perceived; followed by draining tremors of guilt, hardened into the silence of an unfeeling heart.
In the crux of self-sanitation is found the need to forget; to dull the cutting edges of caliginous memories.
Misfortunatea shadow behind the masses
weaving between smiles and endless faces
a smoke on the horizon
too faint to be seen
too familiar to be recognized
monikers lost in yellow pages
incompatible with photographs
thoughts too dense to be scried
alone in the middle of nowhere
living in some when-else of time
too meek to seek out company
generations of alternate reality
never there when the moment is prime
a flare for the surreal when all are blind
To Gain by HomicideLycocaine Enable
to gain by homicide
all purple scars
and torn sleeves
cresting the dune
sand stinging skin
until skinless skies
walk, haunt the desert
bleached bones in human arraignment
hammered into brass
bleating streams of sunlight
while hungry teeth masticated igneous stone
obsidian eyes reflected quiet rage
anger at all greedy fingers
carving with filing nails
names where namelessness evolved
cleansed in atomic fire
rinsed in rising ocean
dried in solar flare
folded by time and space
placed away in singularity
Time Passes in SheavesTime passes in sheaves,
while blood grows older and colder;
Addiction steals the soul
piece by piece in unnatural melody;
dead cells burn effigies of living dreams.
Although my heart is warm and kind,
it is hard as a stone;
tumbling deeper under waves of memory.
A life full of regrets,
yet I would never change the past.
Fade, fade away behind the curtains.
Dim, dim the lights with forgotten song.
Oily EventsOn a Juane day I breathed the Graphite Grey of a Dianthus Pink. A Blue Violet sang its Dodger Blue in synchronization with the pulse of Winsor Lemon, which was on its way to a Cadmium Yellow.
At Mauve I bought a Winsor Emerald, a Winsor Orange, and a Raw Umber; it then became Indigo and I was compelled to return to Terra Rosa and make these together in Burnt Umber;
And when Mars Black arrived I retired to Davy's Gray; only to dream of Gold Ochre in Perylene Black, hoping for another Viridian Day.
I wish youI wish you an eye to see the wonders,
A listening ear to understand the word.
I wish you courage to speak your mind,
The resolution to suffer without complaining.
I wish you to have an eye for a sad heart,
The desire to soothe the other’s pain.
I wish you the light that illuminates your life,
The friend who follows you until the end of the world.
I wish you thoughts that make you feel happy,
The perseverance to swim against the current.
I wish you the insight not to pick a fight,
The wisdom to laugh also about yourself.
I wish you the patience to understand the pain,
Steadiness not to doubt in yourself.
I wish you the greatness to forgive the enemy,
The power to raise your voice against injustice.
I wish you a heart that beats only for you,
The helper that voluntarily carries your burden.
I wish you the courage to keep your word,
The strength to avoid trouble and disputes.
I wish you the joy of benevolent giving,
At all times the question for the purpose of life.
I wish you alway
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
Acrylic RainWaiting for Color to return, for
it to be new again. I watch as my
portrait rots; it feeling the
guilt and shame that I do not
Acrylic rain, painting the ground
in plastic; yet I do not see it.
As my feet affix to the surface of
the earth, I feel less and less...
watching light flee for the
The shade of Shadow, I know it
well for I dream in it every
night; Chaos comprised of
distorted memory; nothing ever
being made clear or to serve any
So as it can be seen, ofttimes I
wallow in self-pity... but, it is
for the stupefaction of my sensory
perceptions, that I claw to find
beauty in waking reality again.
Little Miss It“Do you enjoy her company?”
That, Avadaci concluded, had been the extent of his grandfather’s kindness. Thank the stars he had broken his neck after a failed attempt to ascend the castle staircase. Not that many were privy to this information. The official listing on the cause of death involved something along the lines of falling in battle after slaying at least a dozen demons, although this was treated with quite a bit of skepticism by the general populace. Yet, interestingly enough, a decent portion of the locals believed a tale about the cannibals of Unkhtom devouring him whole.
Not that Avadaci really cared how his grandfather had died. He was just glad he was dead. And if he was glad his grandfather had died, Avadaci wondered, why did he have to attend his funeral? In fact, the whole kingdom was glad his grandfather had died. Why did they have to attend the funeral?
“Oh Avad,” proclaimed his mother, “obv
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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