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Her... II
When the last,
Toast of a recent hopeful fate discovered glass inner black cosmos in a bottle eye never human witnessed message is read by the ghosts of fireflies, Attempting to whole life heart of everything force translate the solitary apparition long vanished man's isolated mouldy paper pathetic love psalm event, An ode to a love infinite life distance blood lost.
Then, at the edge of an oblivion ice shattered glass melted down apocalypse day like every beautiful moth insecurities other, the translated diction will speak of acceptance's grand conjuring, From a single wraith soul's dying functionality organ; compassion's empathetic imagination engine, How the Elysium stolen muse that inspired love's 'until the finality requiem do us part' unqualified mediocre artificially spell woven reincarnated Shakespeare, Her indefinite physical epidermis phantom imprint on his life exhilarated courage to pretend that anything he wrote... Mattered, even a minute wee bit.
Thusly amidst the host of transformed yet allure still held in disfigured cyber mechanized demon shells, Once captivating mythical fire angelic flies whose paper clipped in prayer folded vane memory ache half swollen hands were fed to the augmented CPU human pyre at the end of the terminal conflict, The decoded Lord of Files articulately hell's fury unholy interpreted the humanity equilibrium intent directive held in the holocaust post anorexic skeletal main hard frame hand wired drive attached via chains of life to the anti miscreant hero's bullet slit wrist, For in truthfulness not even the greatest of villains survived the entirety battle of sandcastle fallen war captured earth! The above was derived from a single line: Glass inner bottle eye discovered message, inspired by Her...
And yet, as I close my eyes to dream this night, there is never a smidgen of complain on my well furrowed brow, Contemplating the universe and wrapping it in vernacular metaphor, For she... Her, I mean, is my muse! Expounding my creativity her awareness of the two once individuals known as us who've digitally nerd united to become one.
In earnest anticipation of,
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Malefic Condescension: Architect in Ruins I
Congealing intellectual,
Crystal hammer forged hand me down goddess arbiter of faith, Heart of fate replaced by toxic irrelevant every malignant day lethargic greed expressions, Nurtured by a terminally unsighted accepting cancerous vision of the swollen epidermis social cocoon belly of consent unto cost blind effective lies,Socially Evaporated! Displaying amnesty vital suicide eulogy signs to the world on Death's bed abyss side monitor, Root dropping unnaturally under pulse ground where the ghost worms of the white life theft tunnel dwell, At the edge of it all...
In earnest anticipation of,
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Rag Libel Doll I
Dearest Lover,
What a beautiful rag libel doll of conviction's aspiring hope we have made, Together under the tree of li(f)e's shame, Her double you & I gold self ever present marionette D.N.A heat of purposeful gold, A historical multiple slavery trafficked source pariah, Reincarnated is our Aggelos, She Brings to the union of our slimy one night in forever's covert stand against darkness unto completion.
She is the realization of all my life's intel, An amalgamation of the gorgeous overcoming will; set cerberus upon the beautiful insecurities that consume the sum of this black austerity cursed epidermis sheep's communion of vile holocaust reappearing ethereal saint fears!
Counselling swollen haemorrhaging lines swirling inside the trapped contingency of doubt grotesquely protected within the trinity of self's faith lost head, To follow the heart off my chest's tattooed sleeve into inescapable, too much to say...Tears!
For each cob droplet woven web one, Architect of her eulogy spoken, I have justification!
For the pulsing adage palace of her few - joy of my life - faint hour dismay stained earthly memory ache glass realm of existence will never be published...
But by this unqualified poetic jest...
In earnest anticipation of, Nothing is worse, I am living my own worst lost of life fears...
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Malefic Condescension : Beginning of Black
If the world,
Began with a thing... Surely it was an impressive spawn of Our Father outside of Time's linear appearance sworn diligence oath's reunion with power, Consciousness lingering in the forgetful void, Where all is obsidian no sheep's white pretend wool black for opaque is but a blotch of grey thoughts staining the jet caption of onyx smeared across His sedated conscience!
Vast polar cosmos sleeping beyond our moments in the forever expanse outlined by the circular algorithm logic of every side of faith's greatest treasures and all their protests upon our sandcastle eternally peace extinction threatened universe, Because to some... Lives dedicated to a debate is more important than the unending Mother Dying Battle Earth Field's nearly all attention diverted unto loss of universal never yet found equality.
In earnest anticipation of,
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Malefic Condescension: Tearing Down Heaven IV
Hell,
The upside of heaven down, Is Invasion shining skyline through, Upon the impending ruins of sandcastle earth, If God is an out of time astronaut whose ageing this falling universe but reserving himself from the gift of white apocalyptic tunnel death, Then He isn't majestic at all and every pathetic saint David to child threatened psalm is but a beautiful insecurity spoken aloud... As a seed of lightning attempting to speak, Benignly in hope vain are the strangely dim prayer bolts of fire, A scoffing mime pariah attempting to mimic the voice of thunder!
If The Buddha really does embrace the reincarnation algorithymns of Karma, Surely He malignantly hates the tragic poverty caste failed bushido reign of life's unfriendly blows, As if the no longer winged ashen creatures entitled demons, Who never sought atonement after their paper wing clip of fates clash of magical being, Were making every upside chess sunken down battle match board ship was but sticks to be thrashed in the wind and the reincarnated children of karma's malnourished eternal destiny were but marionette souls, Pawns trapped in the throws of a God's maleficent will.
But... If She exists, The nature genesis source of all consciousness, Then compassion may one day arrive before the extinction of this every day holocaust derived prejudice sight inhumane world, But only... If we choose to live the cure, That something matters to love more than us.
In earnest anticipation of,
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Malefic Condescension: Unto God II
I swear,
The first mental clarity apocalypse hypnosis occurred as Christ stare down from the broken white zombie portrayal cross of disembowelled fear insults hurled at hope... The last faithful counterfactual attendant of a death compensated crucified phantom, Ghost of the genesis supremacy birth, A modern bolshevik no parallels for compensation lives profit lost in a greed terrorism war on life.
In earnest anticipation of,
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Hive Mind: Seething Vocal Discord III
Holocaust seething,
Speech vomited from a hate intoxicated mouth full of razor blades, Whose tongue is white nameless cross tattooed to empower the whisky bottom glass dreams to appear more than obscene, Diluted chess grudge ransom hope match forever lost jests, Right single digit fist granted deliberate access to the narrow broadcast media prayers of a golden sarcophagus heaven, Suicide slicing empathy's once authentic imagination equality eternal engine on behalf of avarice' reincarnated intolerance heirloom of a false Buddha's multiple profit gun arms, Marginalising bullet use on left nourishment over children, Existing in eternal karma poverty.
In earnest anticipation of,
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Malefic Condescension: Disavowed Homeless Dust
Never knew G-d,
Too keep a ransacked hope oath, Blissful white death funded inner tunnel eye promises of an after hell cauterized fire apocalypse, But Forever disavowed every affidavit of radiant star dust financed droplet of faith, Surrendering to the sidelines of eternity's vast out of disenchanted time encircling the inhuman depravity shrine of this... Our fading sandcastle universe.
In earnest anticipation of,
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Malefic Condescension: Tearing Down Heaven II
Karma's ten,
Endlessly regaining momentum thousand star collection of nameless miracle forsaken lives, Exit into solitude, The steep breathless mountain, Sight of a waylaid heaven transcribed in earthly - not even half mythically acquitted divine - silence of a Darling... Mother of All Gods' says everything!
Oh Sleeper, Queen of our ill carpe inherited diem nurture, why does cancer run amok? Holding ransom broken faith cross captive so many world sandcastle in ruins wide lives...? Do we not hold enough revival of belief to purchase the descending... Of Your touch, Why would You ever lower the Red Derelict of Righteousness Hand to abolish the conscious slavery to the misery of failed prayers and the curse of disappointments best f(r)iend; Shame Unfortunately Darling, Your silence says everything!
The lives of the sickness impoverished are architects of worthlessness in the eternal eyes of a golden street God who can opt out of the current moment, Remote infinity televised control to wither the current day in a timeless vale of change... One viewing at a drowning time, Not even She can bulimic defiled stomach the loss of starving amputated nourishment lives who daily hold up their end of life's bargain, Waking in search of a deluge cause and trust shelter of effective strength to regain composure against the nothing! That is the silence You seem to be more than happy breathing... As they lay dying!
As a karma's re-genesis death adoring toll Mother watching Her new born baby drown in the sea... Wake up, Oh harbinger Queen haemorrhaging no suspension remarkable wish to affect time! Paradise in a blank miracle slate moment stopping the second hour sand infused glass phoenix destination fire hand of unguided fate over so many helpless white nameless hell abandoned lives...!?
How could so many abandon all miracles in August ships be rehearsed so well in December, Shouldn't a plague of regret shatter your pathetic burnt scholarly recited offering scripture aspirations of a polished tastelessly narrow malefic condescension book of rich lessons inheritance learned, Watched countless lives reissued by Buddha whilst you prey upon the dying attitudes of bees, As if the appalling grace lectured pariah of children - for whom you claim to be responsible - meant no balance to You at all... Save for the reuse of an ever since genesis holocaust cast reincarnation system.
Keeping the souls of forever's poverty in bankrupt cheque match eternally lost debt momentum line with the ghost issued curfew of their disposable shells, Generations of the same phantoms wondering in silence's eternal bargain with debt.
In earnest anticipation of, Watching children starve to death from heaven...
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The Little Things: Monitored Memories
Terminal,
Displaying amnesty vital bullet slit no chalk wrist suicide eulogy outline signs, Monitor touring the world of memory ache, Life's shrapnel re-imagined... Alive on Death's bed abyss side inner screen eye.
In earnest anticipation of,
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Malefic Condescension X VI
Hell's aggravated glass,
Hand stained hour of a twilight labyrinth soul written pulsating collection story of prayer registered complaints against a benign, riddle threat of silence proves everything God, The uncurable atrophy evidence of dignity's benign chivalry truly is moral trench executed dead!
In earnest anticipation of,
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Freedom of Double Speak
Why I,
Always write, never justify and rarely speak... In person. Graphic is the content of the social poetic commentary novels inspired to be written by compassion's empathetic imagination engine within, for which it has taken years to hone to a place where it is equally content and disturbed of peace in each moment of ever present existence.
The experiences written of herein are not from my own banked memory ache travels through life, not an exponent of cathartic realms expanding out from the depths to mend... Though the intent is possibly the healing of grievous, oft grotesque ill deviant conceived, wounds they are not, at present, my own; for it is ever an aim to inspire, hope, courage, perseverance, awareness and of course smiles, though from these works there is very little to be found that should expose said facial contortion.
The defilement of vernacular intentions is brought forth upon the inspection of the mediocre Shakespearian poetry herein written by the reader, who is not reading through themselves, their experiences, emotions, awareness of present moment but from a realm idle of aforementioned conscious endeavours, which is to say, from a place of critique or opinion that is formed based on how they find their way to these works.
Some have come by way of random miss click of a mouse pad hap, noticing something or nothing at all, only the natural G-d power of luck's own predecessor, fate, has brought them to read what herein is written. Others find their way, and subsequently divulge their judgement, based on trigger words and ignore entirely the message to be found within the content, presuming rather to neglect themselves within the metaphoric undulation of social poetic commentary of this very sad and faltering sandcastle earth and, pardon my nerd, troll the whole piece as something it is entirely not, but a presumptive assumption being expounded from who they are upon the work.
But rather a poem, or whatever it is you desire to call anything herein written, as most certainly most of it is not categorized as poetry at all, is a mode of taking you into an experience, which like myself, may not be your own. This may allow you to identify with those who have suffered the vast array of traumas that are found within the poem. Thus providing a mode for opening minds and hearts, enabling the smallest minute possibility of equality to find its way into our lives in the future.
So there is no need for an artist, such as even myself a villain, to justify their works unless their intent was of deviant origin, but very few artists create evil works for the sake of evil itself. Just as very very few folk of this world do evil for the sake of evil itself, oft the black side of the colour moral appears when something is desired and subsequently sought above all else, opening the doors to leaving consciousness in a quasi sedated state, much like ignorance or addiction, which allows the choice(s) of ill over equal to be chosen.
An artist such as myself never seeks to expand the nature of evil, though the poetry herein written is rife with fishing hateful baited words that some might seek to blame as beyond contempt, from the mind of one who speaks naught but bile and I should seek not to correct them, for the time and energy it would take to render a personalized argument based on that specific interaction would be needlessly tiring and a waste, for the opinion of such a person that calls an artist a racist for portraying racism or a misogynistic pig for portraying sexual harassment, is stuck in a realm of thought no one but themselves can trench dig themselves out of.
The best abilities used to craft this creative, heart of wounds, content are often on cool down, though the daily raid to write and project what is herein created upon the internet is content I would gladly solo, without gratitude, feedback or any support at all... From any living being, and so I have and shall continue to do so.
For the purpose is to awaken the ignorant to harmful covert intentions of so much of our society and the grievous wounds suffered upon people around them, without their knowledge for the most part, for who would want to share what needs mending with someone who has no desire to even comprehend the wound and thus adapt to heal at all...
I was once wounded, by the silence that throttles my tragic memory of wolf bitten aches that nearly consumed to prevail a eulogy exposure upon my life no one would have ever admitted themselves to read... For I in my dying wrote with all inhumane contempt for the beings that openly stated they loved, the identity that was 'me,' in their minds. But never was the I, in me. And after surviving the same silence was inherited upon my poetic works, that you can find herein. Not one soul I know aided me during my mental illness, but by a distant adaptation of psalms unto a G-d whose silence riddles the universe unto an impending death today! Nor has any arisen to stand... No, none have even made the slightest attempt to comprehend to understand who it is that I am.
And so, there is no need to justify art whose intent is for the exposure of the individual reader to themselves, to their experiences to knowledge of other people's experiences for the sake of identifying the two into one reality, that sorrow exists so close to 'inside' your home. So the inhaler of the poetry must arise to equality in a dreary word, live the greatest law that's ever been; "love."
Now before you slay the logic of this poem by jester's way judgement of a 'law,' let me tell you what love is to me, for it is written and is the core of every religion and the nature of our very beings... That love is this:
To adapt oneself to show the most precious hospitality of compassion in every moment upon every single human being that lives in the depths of sandcastle earth's universe... And possibly beyond.
Becoming more aware of this realm and the needs of others until the individual's function is purely instinct and thusly do we pass upon every generation after the inheritance of equality and peace.
In earnest anticipation of, Hope & Change
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The Little Things: Malefic Terrorised Secrets of Sadness
Mothers,
Drowning their babes under silently terrorized mute attempting to cry out sleeves, Before drowning themselves in the karma sea.
In earnest anticipation of, The End of War...
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Malefic Condescension Myths at Play
Fair,
Never wardrobe reprised memory traded fantasy adage of eternal dream appeal, A fate wish designated realm where the mythical don't protest what's real! Trusting the imaginary company of the angelically mythical, Existing in the loneliest strangely dim position of abstaining faith just above neutral, Where a myriad of absolutely whole derelict of any choice heartedly consciously sedated algorithms of this inhumane everything is a-colour-moral grey generation, Seeking the dread endeavours of naught but carpe grace never descended anyway(s) diem.
In earnest anticipation of,
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Moved by a Wheel
Found a song today, There lyrics were... From the original Track by SOHN: But if I... Had my way. They might end up Being:
I died a week ago There's nothing left It's caught on video The very last breath My very last breath The memory ache continues Beyond your very last breath So exist against the deficit Expound the moral lullaby A deluge against regret Until the very last... One breath... At a time
Until the last... Breath
All this fuss over nothing Reinventing yourself in fire infused sand The first light invention flash bulb: wheel All this searching for something that's seemingly... But fantastically real All this fuss over everything Reinventing the domestically abused wheel All this searching for something that's not real. The approximate intentions of reality… Fill conviction with purpose… But it isn’t… So says the media wounded intel
She died a week ago A linear seven unapologetic day cycle There's nothing but memory ache shrapnel embed tears left A red siren light deviant illuminated chalk sexual outline caught on video The domestic caste masculine immoral bushido system hid the evidence Of the violent intent finger army cob epidermis web cocoon siege Covert tension confidence disguise hiding sexual aggression A carnal intoxicated bargain of compliance Gambling with the disguise of wolves A one (k)night phantom or hero Lead her to her last breath... Her very last breath
In time a dementia avalanche Will cave in all memory land nightmare mines Covering the shrapnel of evidence Caught on dreamscape relapse Gallery of videos beyond detail Every night's wishful thinking To be the last time The very last time... She remembered (His curse)
All this fuss over seemingly nothing Reinventing the misogynistic nurtured cogs of the wheel All the searching for something that's not possibly real All this fuss over theological unproven theories Reinventing the moral wheel All this searching for something that's not real The trenches of nature... Something not even real Not even real I died a week ago They say there's nothing left Nothing but intentional drama left As if I left by blade to skin f(r)iendship I swear it wasn't bullet suicide It's not as the deviant says…
So there's nothing left It wasn't caught on video My chalk modifying last breath Mere memory outline My very last breath
So continues... The memory ache Unreported global rape All moral trenches reveal Chivalry is a mask of misogyny Lying silent in beautiful insecurities That no man will ever again... Set foot in them And so I died Unrecorded Was my last breath
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The Wheel Take II
Reinventing,
The a-moral gone white rogue inner complaisant eye of apathy's storm centre cognitive piece storm, Where the eternal lounge silent grey twilight lullaby remains an unspeaking impeached partially bought pacifist bribe off blind, A memory shrapnel ache haemorrhaging witness playing a internal pretext mentally chess unstable match game set compassion lost love to a non black threat of a wolf sheep in the mail envelope containing the last recorded lungs breath of an uninvented she died a week ago image trapped in the conscience, Between the moral trench divide of empowering the action of what is... 'Right?'
In earnest anticipation of, Unity Against Tragedy
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Malefic Condescension: Tearing Down Heaven V
Less than billions,
Are Buddha's poverty reincarnated eternally malnourished souls, Karma's inhospitable soul reawakened heart sickening globe of forever's curse worships the fate of tolerance's noose, How the Bolshevik congealing faith in gold rich infinitely continue in whole unfairness of every adages truth to tie un-cauterized off the amputated hope limbs of regenesis' ghost placement into slavery shells!
Falling pray to said asphyxiating double forked think speaking in tongues casting f(r)iendly amnesia labyrinth spells over destiny poisoned colour white morally indistinctly G-d made grey moral incoherent caste adulterated system lines no one on sandcastle earth is pretending to search for... So leave one foot inside both pleasurable hell on our only soil versus something matters more doors...
In earnest anticipation of,
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Malefic Condescension: Disavowed Homeless Dust II
Never knew G-d,
Too keep a ransacked hope forsaken oath, Formulated on the bliss abandoned lips of a myriad sea thousand wondrously hate sinking words, Expressing burnt humiliated offerings of inhospitable tolerant disdain for the mythical apocalyptic zombie god's worst broken cross promise, Spell double woven hexagram craft upon a disavowed Jew never holocaust thin legendary son we died... A fairy distant shrapnel memory ache tale of three post Armageddon days in brimstone's hell resurrection, What makes inhumanity sad, It is our worst fears... That either way, hands that were meant to heal, have surrendered to the adages of nurture's cursive miserable contempts, To selfishly wound one another, This is our well carpe profitable golden road north diem sandcastle universe funeral.
In earnest anticipation of,
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Monitored Memories II
Terminal,
Display of archaic rogue amnesty vital bullet slit no chalk wrist suicide, Life trade of unspoken eulogy traffic, Outlined in epitaph signs of a emotionally numb requiem from the eternal heart of gold, Monitored streets toured by memory ache phantom adages of just who we used to sedatedly be... Ghost trapped on sandcastle earth's floundering shell!
Shrapnel of regret visages that witnessed our vampire greedy teeth sink cobra fang deep into the tears of children, Sold another life, and yet again, into karma's deviant sexual export of their cocoon epidermis for a bandit demon's unnatural pleasure, Curse of our lack ode misery's pacifist moral grey purpose haemorrhaging universe!
Hands of all flesh born to mend the cauterized wounds experience hath made, Heirloom insignificantly nurtured into a sinking clause unlibel inheritance into the congealing thoughts of yet another derelict generation watched from eternity as it streams ochre green napalm text over obsidian drone jet vaporizing missile black screens of error since genesis codes, Messages of how everyone wondrously perished... Only to reawaken to our worst slavery fears, Reincarnated into the pathetically close to Biblical; Buddha caste poverty system of karma's illegitimate vantage rich
In earnest anticipation of,
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The Accords of Self I
Most ghosts,
Sit idle alone in the darkness inside, I'm too far sunken numb emotion white terrorized sensation dread flag naught ship, Thriving in the harbinger's amoral lullabies trench where the monologue is rife with one conclusion: All this poetic reverse hope commentary is for nothing!
In earnest anticipation of, Oxygen
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