Monthly Archives: May 2014

Insanity Plea

              Faces from the past circulate like riddles thrown through this musty tome. I can’t believe that they are even real. I can’t believe anything anymore. Intelligence carries the weight of a generation of moronic sheep just begging to be led. I’m drowning in the world within and just screaming to the atmosphere for someone who fuckin’ sees. No one ever truly does. How can they?  And how fucking selfish of me to expect that from anyone. For them to see all the twisted avenues that make up this complicated mask that belongs to the world and to fuckin’ see beyond into me. How fucking selfish and foolish of me.

             Cremated remains and fucking dysfunctional circumstances, circumvent his current trajectory into oblivion. He drifts near the sun and dips his toes into the fire. The pool was never warm enough. His grip on every truth he held has diminished in his doubt and discomfort. The flesh keeps him fucking weak! The fucking flesh keeps him alive! And no one can begin to comprehend the comprehensive madness that has burned within since the beginning of cognitive thought.

                           He struck so fast. Almost in the blink of an eye. I saw the blood spray the air around him. I ran, but I still only arrived in time to see death claim him. Confusion and fear. There was no peace there. Only chaos and absolute fucking anarchy reigned that evening.

              But hey, I’m just crazy. Right?

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Posted by on May 25, 2014 in Burned.


Grip Yourself

              Masochistic hands, littered with scars, make their shaky way to the cigarettes in his right pocket. The lighter strikes and stokes the bouncing little cancer stick to life. He inhales deep and feels the familiar sting that helps him to remember that he’s alive, as well as that he will be dead someday. The world inside his head is so loud on nights like this. Impossibility is consumed by illegitimacy and he can’t even place the smell that has brought it all rushing forth. He hears someone crying softly in the corner of the room and sees tears dripping from the ceiling, though they never seem to land. He can see them still and he can’t break away from the crippling fear. If only he had died young. Then maybe he could have been saved. Saved by the magic.

             Hand over hand he crawls across the vast expanse of cold stone that seems to stretch on forever. His fingernails are cracked and bleeding out. His lips are wind burned and blistered to the point of numbness. He knows in his heart that it can’t be this way, this can’t be the truth. His eyes on that night, they broke something free within him. Hope had burst forth at the beckoning of the suns tickling fingertips and just as quickly night fell and it was devoured whole. His face that night had known fear and had seen death. The magic had been built upon a lie and he saw it splayed across the concrete surrounded by crimson. His heart screams nightly with primal rebellion and jealous hatred and his soul feels nothing. If only he had died young. Maybe then he could have been saved.


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Posted by on May 23, 2014 in Paradise Drift


Trained Sight

               There’s a wicked moon slung low in the western skies, the sailor holds fear and desperation locked tight within his eyes. The ocean violently grips and throws the boat, he thinks of crying out to God but the words get stuck in his throat. The captain screams as the wood gives splinters and cracks, it seems the reaper has finally come to collect his final tax. He inhales a lungful of water that burns a hole clean through his lungs, frantically scrambling he bites clean through his tongue. The moving ceases and the ocean goes still, for now, at least, it seems satiated with its latest kill.

               I dreamt of a fire burning throughout the skies, only it was held and contained with a cage of lies. I saw the earth below starved of the light. I witnessed the people grow sedated and cease to fight. I saw a building with neon flash and plastic allure. Within they were constructing a disease for which there is no cure. Fresh flesh served up hot with a dose of infuriating narcissism. No love to be found amidst this accursed nihilism. Dark eyes and malicious intentions, grip and pull with empty affections. Death deals and rolls right on through. Fresh flesh served up hot and rotten just for you.


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Posted by on May 18, 2014 in Paradise Drift


Bottle’s Calling

              I was stabbed to death two weeks ago. I saw it coming, and yet, I couldn’t stop the words as they escaped my mouth. As I lay there, bleeding out slow, I couldn’t even close my eyes. I watched as the blood pooled around me, caressing my shirt like a long lost brother and staining it red. Maybe I’m just paranoid. Maybe I’m insane. But maybe… just maybe, I am dead.

             I was driving down the highway when I died. I saw it coming, yet I found it impossible to close my eyes. I felt the vehicle flip and was thrown throughout the entire ride. The pain was familiar, almost like an embrace from my mother and I didn’t run. I could never have ran. I’m bleeding and choking on the road and blood. I don’t want this. I never wanted this, yet I can’t even begin to imagine a more appropriate end.

             So bleed me dry and leave me hollow. Right where she found me. Like bleached bone found in the desert sun and thrown in an exhibit within a museum. Paint me pale and throw me in a mausoleum and charge the tourists a tiny fortune to witness this outrageous margin. Let them see and witness the space buried between confidence and hate. Let my body tell the tale, of a crimson heart that beat just so it could fail. It never mattered and either do these words. Thoughts tossed out to be returned. Alone the mind understands what the body can never vocalize and alone… the mind dies.

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Posted by on May 17, 2014 in Burned.


Meanwhile in Meaninglessville

I’m a man of little importance. I know that.

It’s cold and I’m shivering from the rain.  My hair is soaked and I really can’t find a reason to care. Tequila has warmed me much the same way that a supposed lover would. Theorist, foolish half assed theorist.

The tears pool and roll back into my eyes, bringing the grease from a night spent drinking heavily at the local watering hole, right back into the eye and only exacerbating the problem. You see what’s to cry about in a world gone plastic? Tears are organic and have no goddamned place amongst this crowded room. You can always tell the authenticity of a bar by the size of the bathroom mirrors. If they are big… no drunk man has tread there. Keep your bitch beer and piss watered mixed drinks. I’ll stick to the place I don’t have to see my own face.

There’s no sense in nonsense and no goddamn reason in treason. The heart can break and beat all in the same moment but you can never breathe heavy and dream deep. It’s like falling through a world of cold salt water and razor blades and yet you don’t dare make a sound for fear of complaining. No one believes it’s real. Must be a fuckin’ gimmick. Someone please explain this punchline. I don’t understand this joke.

I have to believe… somewhere fuckin’ buried inside…. that a place exists.

My eyes flutter open and I see blue and feel fire. The heat peels away this frozen shell that has encased me for far too long and my pale skin is exposed to the fire of the rising sun. Crimson fire turns back into pale blue as the green hidden beside the sun pulls me along to the tilting rhythm of the rain.

I’m a man of little importance. I am completely fuckin’ aware of this scorching fact.

Fuck me right?

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Posted by on May 11, 2014 in Paradise Drift



Free the thoughts and let them go. Whether they stain the earth red or leave it purified and white as snow. True love isn’t a need… it’s something that feeds. It’s not something that you can write down, it’s not something that you can read. It’s a feeling that breeds security and comfort, something that doesn’t feel like home but just is home. It’s strength at the moment of weakness. It’s a beautiful world lit with the pale light from a waxing moon.

Fresh words fall from my open mouth quicker than I can even think them and I know no good can come from this. My mind is something to be stifled,  to be camouflaged and hidden away. It’s not real. Nothing is real. Grip the blade and feel it slice gently through the fragile fingertips and watch the blood begin it’s steady drip. It’s not real. I’m not even real. Put the cigarette to the skin, watch it bubble and pop. Cut the skin, grip it and rip it off. I’ve forgotten what was originally there and now all I see are the scars delivered from my own hateful heart. At least I know that it wasn’t real. At least I know that I was never real.


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Posted by on May 3, 2014 in Paradise Drift