The Tears We ShedTears are made of melted snow.
World PeaceLost calls,same brawls.Can’t we all,just get along?
RedRosesShe is terrified by scars,by far,but is fascinated with,red roses.
OptimismBeing positive in life,is watching people,come and go.
ImaginationThe universe leaves room for imagination,and boundaries for the incomplete.You create your own boundaries.You are your own boundaries.Infinity is but a concept,used to generalize our feelings and rational around things.Infinity leaves room for error.
The WildernessThere are many lost souls,so save,at least one.
Enchated, We Remain PlantedEnchanted,we remain planted,in our old ways,with our old games,though a new start,tugs away at the heart.
Trials 2Trials test,the way we fight,day or night.
TrialsTrials test,our will to live;our will to give.
CultistOne day, we’ll worship rustand marvel how it claimedthe world of industrious metal,leaving nothing but slowingreddening struts, half-heartedangles reaching outward.We’ll dive into the wreckslooking for half-sparking wondersthat, when properly restored, gleaminto sputtering song or splittingpictures of different worldsand the faces of old Gods.
Who will perform the autopsy?There is a forest painted inscorching red, fire bloomingbeneath its dirt-caked skin,smoke skimming leavesas plumes of flame snickerbehind the tail of a doe.Coals coating tree-trunks,hungry for life, it devoursthe same way they ravaged herwhen she said 'no'.Bright eyes morph into murkinessas the inferno marches.When rust washed downher throat, she did not scream,only begged for them to stop.They do.Beneath the ash,they find her body.
Wasted FleshFlesh, flesh,Such wasted flesh...This able-bodied meat.Defiled by drugs and impurities.A mind born with clarity,Yet so blatantly abused.No harm did you suffer;Other than harm self inflicted.Disregarding the hopeless gazes,Of those who were born without.No good, no good;This I cannot abide...I shall take this flesh from you,And it shall be tended and made anew.A gift to those who are deserving,Of the very gifts you cast aside...Now then, my dear,Do stop your screaming.It will only be painful,Until your heart stops beating.- Word of Chen, 1/6/2016
Is It Love?If I hugged you,would you never let go?If I kissed you,would you cherish that moment?If I reached for your hand,would you take mine gently?If I needed a shoulder,would you let me cry on yours?If I needed to talk,would you really listen?If I needed to scream,would you do it with me?If I needed to go,would you come with me?If I fell for you,would you catch me?or just let me hit the pavement?
RecipeYou said you like your girlsa little psychoticwith a dash of instability,so I showed you my recipewith shaky, bloody hands.Clothes were discardedand you broke my rib cage openand shoved a needle full of cyanidei n m y l u n g s.(Your insanity was my life supportand I lived off of your insidious words.)And just as I made friendswith the Grim Reaper,you abandoned meand said I was too fucked up for you.How ironic is itthat my creatorwas terrified of me?.........................He said he liked his girlsa little morbidwith a dash of insanityso I cut my chest openand showed him my p o i s o n - f i l l e d l u n g s.He grabbed my barely-beating heart,caressed my sunken cheeksand said, "This is all I care about."
I think of youAs suns set afar and mountains flameAnd eagles, turning, turn to fireAsh cold, alone I lieAnd think of you.
DownfallAnd in this dark harvest of seasonMy life has completely lost reason,For which or against to decide.All lost in a savage and endless, bleak tideIn sadness and in kindnessIn light and in darkness.In a boat made of hopeI shall sail to tomorrow,In a winding hurricaneMade of treachery and sorrow.There's a spear, endless, and colossal spear...Piercing, slashing though my head.Starting somewhere in heaven,Ending somewhere in hell.Fighting, burning, crying, crashing.Are the armies within.In my head they are all thrashing.On the heaven's and hell's whim.To be light or to be darkness.A perpetual array.It's not merely my choice,But the choice of the way.It's an option of the voice,It's a thin line of gray.Is it a choice forced by fate,Is it a pre-set time and date?Or a choice to which I myself sway?But here's our story anyway
."Nothing that I do will matter.As all things will merely shatter!"All my hopes thus darkness scatter,As it shoves me a decree.As it si
The Church of Self-LoathingAs the candles raze the air to illuminate flaws for his inspection, I confess a horror as I realise that the Minister wears my face. He preaches with my swollen tongue and carves a judgemental scowl into my forehead at the sight of me.He demands a blood sacrifice; a distorted evolution of self-flagellation. He wants my contrition and I want absolution from the sin of being alive. I manage not to flinch at this decree with a well-practiced reverence. I genuflect, draw my sleeves to half-mast in a silent salute to his dominion over me, and wash up to my elbows as best I can in the blinding black. Blood pools between stony-faced onlookers diluted with the sacrament of self-loathful tears, the only testament to my belief: “I am not worthy”.
an atheist's prayerdear god,i planted no tulips in autumnand no tulips came in spring.how silly of me, thento mourn the empty garden,to long for fields of amsterdam,to kneel at night in cold dirt,hands folded.i’ve learned there isa certain ache in lackinga thing never had, that small itchwhose relief is two seasons past –so god, if you can hear me,know that i am homesickfor amsterdam,whose name, like yours, i knowbut whose flowers i cannot see.
BabiesBabies are born,like butterflies;nurtured by nuance,and destined to dream.