"I've got this killer up inside of me... I can't talk to my mother, (friends, women, coworkers, associates, affiliates, city council, the internets, the homeless or even your mother) so I talk to my diary."

-that Scarface song from Office Space



The skies are blue and the mountains red
Though forested green to that apex seen
When witnessed from the omniscient above
Are snow-laden aeries of reverie,
Our ghosts possess a fleshy routine
Whilst nightly perusing a godly painting
Subconscious meandering
In the depths of mostly forgotten dreams
We find ourselves fully wrought of
The hedonistic concerts we can’t play
To the audiences of the day
The midnight sun does give us full reign
So with the aspect of soliloquy
We aspire to find within our true selves
A place where I can be me and
You can be thee with impunity
Life breeds death and death breathes life
But a swaddling somnolence
Incorporates the stormy intricacies
That we refuse to see in our daily
Haranguing partook from inadequacy
So in essence then, who are we?
An animal with no sense of control
Or a person bereft of mind thus soul?
Ask your devil what makes them ‘twain
Naught but the black in you can strive
And make right an effort to understand
But in the pits of Angband we all find
What evinces the spirit of man
And when I sleep seeing those iron walls
Fade into such a mythical sense,
Finding beauty in the fog of my subconscious


Cleaving betwixt the day and the night
Despite their relative position in my sky
Fulfilling the wanton mind
And it’s desire for infinite flight
Piercing the dawn of banality,
Giving credence to an immortality,
Logically we can only believe in with our most
Erroneous of self-deceptions
With the rhythm of morning rain
We are corralled into the mundane
Shivering in blizzard winds of the “sane,”
The very same who cast us out
And without recourse call us to task
For not identifying with their personally-
restricted definitions of being,
Their white-flag to constricted hearsay
Your daily lives are suicide dreams
You do peruse, yet attempt to consign
To the dominion of nightmare
A cage where you can contain the horror
Seen as a pet of communal need,
As a beast for those who desire rotten meat
But the nightly hunt for us
Is a glorious, unrestrained and massive feast
Where we dine on infinity,
Intellectual love and the finest things
Golden sleep and divine repast,
A mental lecture on which vultures prove to deign
Their pecking making us appear insane
The Tree of Woe  we find ourselves nailed to
Aghast, hung abreast are us,
Well-wishing ourselves far outcast from you


Defiance for us doth the pillow bring
An existential format for those who do dream
Of a laughter, beauty and concerns beyond
The concentric rat-trap we alone can not solve
Away from those who choose a consistent
Devolution towards dichotomy
As an island pervasive with idleness,
A tomb below those who pursue godliness
Thus without you I can’t see me
There is no reflection whatever to be
Gleaned in the discourse of waking life
And the shoulders of my being do cave
Under the weight of isolation
And the discrimination of antithetic
Dissonance in who I even am at all
Someone that seeks the blue differential
Never had Faith to give me the strength
So only on the altar of myself can I pray
In adopting those mental conspiracies
To fruition, do I beg of myself;
But who are you, I do ask of the one
Being that does speak of these stark things
Can you with volition bring
A revelation naught else hath seen?!
Will I die in wanton sleep?
Accursed, deafening lusts beckoning?
From beyond a border of maternal cares,
Arguable mistrust and blatant disgust?
A near generation of who I have come to bear,
A harbinger of naught but despair
Harboring illegitimate concerns
For the ones claiming to actually love us?


As time’s arc proceeds to crest
We notice and witness recursive
Elegy that sparks you to bleed
Emotionally, but only in context
And with full resolve of the aspect
Pertaining to their preferential godsend,
Thus can we grieve loss of it’s beauty
And the damage done philosophically
Obscured by the light of the gods
Hidden within our own malcontent Stature,
A sovereign nation formed from the fracture
The volcanic, tectonic faults we all do have
Between us and the waking world
Explosively denying our reality
And with emotions cooled in the night
Are us fossilized in reds of brevity
Eschewing explicit simplicity
I find in death a prime proponent
Hiding with me beneath the mask and
Dare I ask where does my life start?
Does it begin when indulging the moment?
Does it begin when you sculpt a future?
Does it relent when our soul is railed?
When the visage slips, am I a true failure?


I’d rather die in infamy,
In grave with love and benighted below
Having been given my chance to ignite
Burning a swath of integrity
Across the night of disparity
The stars as my only consistent witness
Having given my whole conscious to truth,
Than share any of these words with you
Liebling, with her face pressed to mine,
I see the eternity dreams have devised
With your face pressed to mine,
Witnessing lore my rhymes hath disguised
Darling, your face pressed into mine,
Retreating from the concurrent malign
I am finding reams of unclouded skies
Above Arda, “forever” defined
My love, your face pressed to mine
I still see the flash in your eye
Your cold face pressed into mine
I see the flash in your eye, my love
Your face pressed into mine
I still see that flash in your eye
I see that flash in your eye
I see a flash in your eye
I see a violet flash.

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