Sunday, August 21, 2005


I: The First

a knife to the skin in darkness
and isn't it quaint? Hamlet's self torture
treacherous only to his self
- nuzzling close to these fallen pieces
comfort found in the thick blood.

The body of water never nears
a bubbling cesspool or formaldehyde,
freeze this moment with a blurry picture.

Beyond this point of return,
pain can't be a tragedy - Reality
calls out for what is needed - but no returns,
refuse the hopelessness of it all, fall harder,
drown out this supposed reincarnation,
the bass line won't hide fate any longer.

The ending won't become pleasant,
weak enough for a thousand dying men
"sorry" doesn't begin to start the finale
will the impartial dance end soon?

Hamlet's heart pumping, technically functioning,
the veins aren't clean, pure - purposefully.


Right below the bone, lost in the fractured 'cage,
the muscles tense, skin thin, and barely stretching,
the war rages - the weak fall.

make no attempts at amends
stained flesh comes from every pore,
helplessly leaking eyes cannot help but stare
as the fuzzy clouds linger above,
the moment of tedium just might pass.
Right before this angels don't exist
now a fact.
Right now hell is welcoming openly
heaven a twisted irony.

The Wolf is Empty, the world doesn't notice.
Contagion spearhead through eyelids.
Internal bleeding can't be stopped, if its not seen.

Too weak to know directions, too much a fool to stop.
where can this possibly go, but to it's end?

(The End is all there is to look to.)

II. Animalistic

The stinging, pulsing pores suffocate in the cold,
this type of inane rotting tooth decay
becomes a constant self survival.

Which way can bring more pain?
Hamlet might have known the ultimate truth,
or was that Othello? or perhaps MacBeth.
Is there still breath left here?

Rape this, Own this, Abuse this for your,
your ever so simple pleasures.
Needing to know some happiness is being reached.
Let this become your slave in almost every mannerism.

All that needs be said is:
"I love it." - "I want it." - "Do it." - "I hate it."
Simplicity and directness in sexuality.

The overwhelming death tiptoeing closer in the shadows,
burning with desire, frustrations, harder than a diamond.

Lacking the direct eye contact, absent alcoholic,
what other revelations can be had here?

(The End is all there is to look to.)

III. Bittersweet

Bloodshot eye pushes away the skull.
Ringing in this pulsating membrane,
the only desire is normality.

bitter tastes on bitter lips, lingering for a pause,
thoughts will not flee, the war is in it's final moments.
Cut away at this malnourished bone.

The chance to be whole has gone,
the sun was never bright, the black hole pulls.
The water was a perspiring cut off finger, pointing
to the lie.
Whisper away at the blacked eye given so thoughtfully,
a cause never noble, Shakespeare might agree.

Prufrock found the drowned mermaids singing,
the lingering yellow haze, and oh so thin...
this has been dismembered, rotting for some time,
now on the news @ 10:00.

(The End is all there is to look to.)


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