in the empty bottle

i'm not going to murder
this man that I love

but I know him like few others
no
like no other

and i loathe him
with all my heart

i am wounded and not afraid
to cry about it

like a little girl
forget the boy i've always been
never had a chance
to truly be

exalted in my pain
i am pathetic and deserve ...

far from in love and there
always there
and alone

in dreams and other blissful days
when manic i am

in reality abolished nightly
daily recriminations boil up

falling down the rabbit hole of
my poor me poor me poor me

empty
nothing left to pour

emo mojo rhyme

Somewhere in the middle
of nowhere, senseless
at the bottom of the top
or the top of the bottom,

Against a backdrop of two score
and three years of greyness
filled with spots of light and darkness
stars and holes;
Bright stars, pitch dark holes,

I would as soon press God into my service
as service such an ogre myself.
E'en as Lucifer, Prince of Lies though he Reign,
would cast away his chance for His love.

An be there Prologue
should beget such horrid honor?
All things have their precedents
in wishes and chance.

Would that I could explain
in Truth, with fictions left to day dreams,
then so might I understand
faults, unrepentant,
and return, at last, to Heaven.

Yet, when Passion is diminished
and the font of Hope turned dry,
some glamouries fetch me back
to sit upon the stones, in doubt.

Would that If would end;
that pity and its fuel, hope,
would leave off and send me no more rope,
hovering relentlessly.
The Morningstar sets free whom He saves.
-

Fucker... what a waste.

Two Haiku

My foot, tasting burned
Still I munch it. Ecstasy!
No rare occurrence

For a friend.

Sanity subsumed
True/False light envelopes me
Hopeless? Not as such

For me.

Wish I Was Here . .

. .



fasm push 'em
lost an' roll
crock-a-dill
dilly
over the pole
holp
nope
I can't
but would I
could I
nonsense
none of it
all, now,
run dry
"Pinklequickle", my ass...

tumult

Rantamble? How 'bout strollin'...
'round about and
far too much lollin'
but that's alright
may be should be
which is oh! so frequently
how it's done
anyhow

along I came
and there I go
succeeding
failing
what's to know
that I can't grasp when
times do come
until it's done
damn! it's done

so now to truth
and sense it so
the wind inside
it swirls slow
as longer
shorter
fuller now
I am again
what once
was how

but all of that
is not to say
that things once done
have gone the way
of dreams and potions
taking lightly
sweetly sipped
no longer nightly

pain escapes
and eases me
into the past
the futures be
all of my time
though wasted still

or what
what will ...

acCid3nt 0f b1rt4

just this once
nevermore and only
unless because
because well
you know
what if I didn't

what if I didn't take that chance
and I was left
yet again
hanging in the wind
the cold
the emptiness of being
me
alone
as usual

and then again
I feel that I'll change
I don't
I don't have any reason
for that feeling
maybe it's just hope
that shit I won't abandon

even on the edge
so far away now
so far away



On Wikipedia, it goes like this:

"The artist is nothing without gift, but the gift is nothing without work." - Émile Zola

Either way, I'm still one lazy, unmotivated sumnabitch... Catch freakin' 22, eh.

Silence

I'm so fucking messed up. I mean, sure, most of us are to some extent. I know that. I'm just more so and further along then most "normal" crazy people.

Even explaining that makes it seem enormously apparent.

C'est la fucking vie.

I can't help this longing
...
and I wanted to believe ...

I need a white wave.
I need ...

ego distended

...in vainglory
emptied of all but life's shade
...gladly let go by the way

sadly informed
...of madness in grey
and spectral colors

...lonely for all
and slept in
...unatoned, bereft

seduced by others'
...realities long lost
vacant and unadorned

...simplicity answers
mocking
...in the know and smug

lest somehow
...somewhere
......everything falls into place

and I breathe again
...still yet to sample
the silence of forever

On the Ebb

Of a course and so it matters
and now so sorely so
that lost in shreds and ghostly tatters
disjointed ideas
ebb and flow of colors prime

Limping forward, pulling free
towing me along
a question, hard, once heard howling
screaming out
its same unanswered song

A darkness piercing brightly
in fullest emptiness
here, take this
what is left 'me
I did not seek its kiss

Through eyes ripped wide
and wrinkled shut
through purpose lost
a tuneless rut
In timbre, hue and what I feel
though ringing true
yet far from real

As all those
timeless
faceless
moist and empty dreams
I recognize in everything
the goal of all my schemes

Escape away 'til sunrise sets
reality's great weight
upon my neck
And opens up the gallows' door
falling away
the scrawl of Love's face
fallen away

Not yet
arise
get up
meat needs turning
bread is on the rise
the wine is fit to drink

Another sun and moon
have their stories to tell
their song still left to sing

True . .

. . and False.
Whilst true that many lifelong habits - both those with which I'm good and those I'm still to kickin' - do hold prominence in my daily being, it is even more accurate to say that those habits from the first half have been built up or whittled away to form the background on the canvass which is the evolving critter that be me.

So, I totally get where dude was coming from. I just ain't locked down with it, eh.



By the way, clickin' the pic takes you to the same place that it does when clicking on it from the iGoogle home page. If you don't use it yourself, it's just one of dozens of distractors you can add to your own.

/unpaid-shill