Defiance In Love

Lucifer fell

Into the quiet twilight

To look through the window

Of a secluded home.

Her silver wings chilled

In the pine-scented air,

With the frost on her breath

Rising against the glass.

The last waneing candle

Threw light to the form

Wrapped up in a blanket

Collapsed on the floor.

Hand to the frame

And her face pressing close,

The light and the shadow

Danced over the reposed

While frost ate away

The one brain who still knew

What depths of tribulation

The Angels went through.

The insanity of fortune,

The lunacy of life,

The meaningless chasm

Of fractured love.

Reposed on the floor,

In seven breaths or less,

Of a sudden and quiet

Didn’t work anymore.

The death of a dream

Like a paradise of light

Lost from expectation,

From memory, and sight.

Lucifer fell

Away from the pane

With a sigh at her lips

And eyes shuttered with rage.

The frost in her wings,

The misery that aches,

The cruelty in love

Of defiance to faith.

 

Story Tellers

Watching words will read you,

Willingly or not. As it were,

We’re read as readers.

Eyes watching eyes see

Watching ourselves on T.V.

A subversive narrative is only

Narrative not yet subverted.

All writing is fiction as

All perceptions are hollow.

Naked words reveal nothing.

 

One thought fills immensity,

Well, it may as well,

As immeasurably limited is the Id,

The psyche soundly snug

In conceptual bliss.

Emptiness laughs to see

Loneliness subverted by such

Rationalized madness and

Imaginative beliefs.

Nature clings to anything,

Latching onto whatever’s present,

Precarious as it might be,

Only hoping to survive.

People pretend their whole lives,

Acting, dressing, watching, and telling.

At ease with their lies,

If at least it makes a good story.

Worse Then Hate

The extent of Justice

Limited by selfishness or fortune.

As is the extent of Love

limited by hate or the void.

The tyrant, to me more despicable

Than emptiness, the more strong.

Rage breeds destruction

As the quiet breeds death.

Nations, values, and ideals

Live or die by chance.

Time devours all there is

Noble, wicked, or in-between.

Hollow hearts crave sensation

As the sick and dying crave life.

The disimpassioned mistrust love

Misery, ever the more reliable.

Conquest or chaos seem like

Solace to the dispirited.

Surely anything is better

Than dwelling on empty chasms.

If chance dictates love

I can play it win or lose.

If purpose is a pipe-dream

I can revel in fantasy.

If ignorance is bliss

Then sadness is the more profound.

If life is pain

I’ll take it over nothing.

 

 

The Weight Of Melancholy

The melancholy burden that I’m bearing

Like the nihilists famous heavy stone

Struggling arduously up every day’s mountain

And every night clinging to the point where I fall

Romanticized masochism  is a strange comfort

It only works outside the moment of pain

Inside the laborious hours of my punishment

My greatest strength is to appear numb and vain

Disguising every feeling but my vile contempt

Hiding every weakness but for the fact I’m weak

Clinging to attachments but never hold them down

Never allowed outside me, but pining for release

Stoic, like a martyr without any good cause

Proud, as if shame were not prides real cloak

Damaged, un-admittedly as though it weren’t obvious

Sad, for everyone to see and for no one to know

If the hills were hollow I could sleep in them

Instead of tumbling down every jagged plateau

If madness and the void were reconcilable

I could easily have done what I’d supposed

I cannot feel glad for Sisyphus

It seems stupidity is an inherent fate

And I cannot lament my tragedy

Not while I continue to dig my grave

I could easily suffer better for forever

And hope that someone feels for me and sings

But could I relinquish struggling and just show you?

Would you survive through all my secret dreams?

 

 

 

 

Places Where Nothing Matters

The desire to escape drives me towards the places where people do not gather.

In the remote and desolate deserts where the sun is still a master,

To the damp and foggy forests where the soil traps in moisture.

My sub-conscious needs pulling towards where people do not matter.

 

Every place with roads and rules implies a tacit social consent.

Mobility, morality, and my mask are part of that.

Society is life always in a partial state of restraint.

That’s why they taught the meek that they should be content.

 

For those who do not thrive, they say adaptation is the key.

Learn to see yourself as something you should be.

Intelligence and deviations combine into misery,

But you can’t escape yourself, so you’ll end up in therapy.

 

Or, you might escape somewhere in so far as you can imagine.

If remote and desolate landscapes please your palette,

Making you wish there were more spaces like it,

Even if objective reality will never make it happen.

 

Day dream illusions, substitutions, the unfulfilled hollow.

Placate and sedate if you need the escape.

The best places are where nothing even matters.

Swallow the pills and forget about your fate.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Give Up Or Go On

The drive of life wants to kill me.

Regrets, desires, and most profound depression,

Tormenting every idle second of the day,

Strangling emotion and distorting my perceptions.

All these lovesick and battered human-beings,

These patient sufferers and aggravated beasts,

Painfully clinging to their needs and desires,

Everyday pushing their will until it breaks.

These heart-broken, lonely, and distressed human-creatures,

Desperately striving for some comfort and love,

Vulnerable and exposed for those who would use them,

Forced to be strong, to be brave, to be thought of.

Why don’t they collapse and refuse to get up?

Why don’t they stop and just scream “That’s enough!?”

Why, when they do, do they still cling to life?

Why are we defined by the things that we fight?!

It feels like the drive of life wants to kill me.

My sicknesses and struggles still pound in my head.

Disappointments, failures, and bloodletting traumas,

Unceasingly torture me. I’m alone in my bed.

 

Alone… Frightened… Starving and weak.

 

Then I remember how much we’re the same.

I realize what little self-worth we live in.

I realize how pained I’d be if you ever gave up.

I’ll go on for you, because I want love to win.