Mordacity for the Forgotten

Wrote this back in 2008

Conveying circumstances under the eyes of malice

Hate bleeding from your eyes through an ensemble

Robust and obsessive impulses spew from ones phallus

In thought you continue your onslaught of tragedies

Several bridges burnt, sorrows displaced, amity forgotten

Truth that my ambition for your eternal rest ripens

I'll enslave your thoughts then slay them with nauseating colloquy

Narrowing my search to meet the demise of your senses

Along with your parade of burlesque masters

Your Complicated Life

Amongst us lie a mangrove of dreams in hopes to discover a new way of expressing ourselves.

We choose to believe in what is right for us.

Dreaming is how we enthrall the ever expanding harmony of our nature.

Wandering in a cataclysmic void

Finding you makes me never feel lost.

Last

Nerves shot

Stations wake

Incomprehensible dissolusions are revoked

While the principles of sovernties stay wicked

Redistribute the unknown to your lords

Only time will mend your limbs back into place

Persistence

Unable to reach, incapacitated it seems, while the aura of cold creeps around this very den. I'm unsure of what the future holds. If and when the right one will waltz into the right arms.

The streets have a type of flow to it, it runs itself at night. Undeniably to some, it still remains cold, damp, and hollow. Insecurities provoking thoughts and interrupting them with a strange persistence. "This is stupid", he said. "as stupid as it would have been further down the road or even prior to one of your previous insecurities."

The dampness hollows, and becomes thicker in presence. Once presented with the disappointment you can only feel so much more than ever before.
They stand still.

Lay Wasted

They were re-enacting uncertainties under deafened stethoscopes through the minds of relentless, undaunted, members of the broken society.

They lay wasteful in their once proclaimed fields of prosperity that was lost in a feckless battle of amenities once a time immemorial.

A fortune once sought that was lost in the plains of trial.
They succumb to their foretold demise.

The Troubled

Seeking refuge under the light of a new dawn,

Only to realize that the perplexities of life have been awaiting you,

The storm grows silent.