All I can do is stare at void.
And goad it into movement.
Asking it to soothe me.

Darkness, Blackness.
As I breathe in.
As I breathe out.

Only way I sleep, is to tuck myself calm in the dark matter.
Not that. Absence of anything,
Nothing,
But the concept of “all” stuffed into one corked universe.
To be shaken.
To bubble me into a dream.

Hiding behind rocks once I get there.
Hiding behind nothing inside of my own eyelids;
This has been happening since I was five.
Shivering, quivering, shaking, in a pit of *****,
eyelid color.
False chromatics.

I think it won't get any better.
I've always felt powerless.
Night makes me scared.

I stay awake.

I fake joy.
I pretend intelligence.
I'm a scared ventriloquist doll hoping no one puts their hand up my ***.
Not to Act.

Tossing and turning the ragdoll of my body,
My soul contorts to the visage of women.
Nuns with blood for eyes,
Entire memories dying.

If stars were real, they'd light my visions.
The back canvas of skin that projects my minds lens,
Lends to my own coward binge,
In my mind I'm a crippled victim of sleep and taunting of every hurtful human haunting that there is.

They all laugh at me.

Back drop and back bone of this canvas has cracked. The Painting Failed.
Spine of every book written about my memories, has been crumbled. Never Published.
In a corner, in every room there's one of me. Ghost Blocked Limbs.
A Hagfish who writhes in the dead body of his own spirit. *******.

The Lowest of Existence.

The one time you cant trust.
The hardest part.
Is when your puking, in the floor,
clutching a heart tied in knots.

I am the floor.
And the ***** I spit up,
Is your hair.
It's wired it's way,
Into every stomach and vein.
And I am merely a shape,
Clinging in these malignant strands.

A ghost shape cut from starlight.
On the ash tray wood floor planks. Yawing and lurching,
With lost control,
Strapped with constraint.

The ghost gave up it's insides .
Gave up it's happiness,
Gave up all it's heart mind,
Locked it in a box,
Under the floorboards,
And nailed the shutter door panel ******* shut.

His eyes bled out into the Amoire.
The coat closet has his heart.

They took my car, took my life, took my family, my designs
I lay here in this cell cold wells of **** and grey
slain in the lines of jail walls for changing hearts for minds.
The disgust they feel for the thinking
living breathing brain.
It is not enough for them to stifle and trifle fill with pain
filled to the brim with destruction and cephalic carnage.
But to truly constrict, choke the spirit.
The ether we breathe out on this frigid floor is the final gasp of a deathbed king.

I wait and wait for the hours that are days
the infinite of vindication for crimes i couldn't have committed.
This nation entrenches with a smell stench that wrenches
the guts of each pure male in each section of conviction


I smell baby wipe


I hold truths that could break these walls.
I clasp understanding that enfolds all beauty
I exude magnanimity that engulfs eyes.
And my passion is the water to put out their evil witch hunt pyres

You are poetry to me.
A muse.
Devil.
Angel.
Saviour.

You’re also my stomachs insides.
A regurgetant,
Sitting in the bowels of a rusted oil tank.
I take on more.
I threw it up.
On, to dead wood.

Dried.

You look like graphite now,
Your pale skin turned to,
A grey wisp,
Of illegible stress and fumble.

You’re poetry now,
As I’m done.

As I try to spit all of you up from inside me.
It won't work.

Poetry,
Is, like,
Cancer.

You're growing the size of
a melon in my
innards
turning my blood into
coal, or ink, or marker
or dye,

You are poetry
And cancer, and *****.
And.
I cant separate from you.

We are derelict isomers of forgotten human death.
Stones rolling down Prometheus backs.

Gathering all that kills,

Ghosts' of mans greatness stuck in the gills of the fish of time.
In the ocean of disfigured human atrophy,
Of the fire of soul.

A treason to all.
We will never accumulate the meaning.

We will just continue seething,
The will of our existence.
We will give it to anyone who ask,
But ourselves.

Man is the hero.

i can only believe in a person so much
before they have to walk on their own ******* feet
i can only have so much passion for another
before they have to make their own ******* lungs breathe
and their own ******* heart beat

I cannot be your blood.
My face mask rust
the red of the situation
is dramatic enough

I Hold all the water
deep inside
to gather hydrostatic pressure
to fill up these pipes

to fill your eyes with blood
to calm a raging sea
I wanna hold your love
but this glass case hull lacks the integrity

so motionless I feint
to drink the rays of light
that shine from porcelain face
and calm a dogged night

the moon cries for this iron maiden
the paper lungs puncture
the rush of air seethes pressure
as the lignen lines do rupture

the cellulase has been released
the paper tongue has been caught by teeth
the tracing paper wont map our stars
the universe does not belong to us

I crushed the velvet the stars and the sky
the poise I thought I had fell by the wayside
now I shake in pain in fear in mania
my hands are in my own throat strangling my blood supply to my cranium

this paper lung and iron mask eat each other then collapse
one with out the other isn’t worth its ****
so eat and eat until there's nothing left.

In this cave I'm at home, I am dead to the bone,
my marrows unbloody and my skulls just a tome.

I sink i sink i sink and i sink.
In this muck I dissolve my speech.
Needing no one to breach,
my lair where I grieve. I don't want to leave.
In refuse, I breed.
I broke my own tarsals and I bust out my teeth,
so words cant seep, from a mouth with broken feet.
Tiptoeing to tympanums.

Entrails prolapse from orifices. Pressure delegates my new motions.
I now must hold my own esophagus in my palms.
I now must clutch my stomach from my navel.
I now have to hold all of me in, because no one else will/
can.
No longer under control of anything,
pressure grinds my teeth to nothing.
My organs are liquid metal molten bleeding Ebola,
every pore agony of the lurching of cells,
all at once committing secession ,
against the parts they connect too.

This is proof there is no god.
This is the cave of a sink of hate.
This is soul atrophy.
A trophy of losing your hope when rock bottom was the chasms final means of escape.

Lucifer leaps from my mouth to the sky.
To reign anew.
To destroy the sun,
and show a new light from the rest of the punches in the blanket of the universe,
that,
that blasted sky lamp has always threatened us away from.

we can see peace now.
We can finally be rid of that overbearing street post,
and see that it aimed to destroy us.

We sleep in the cave now.
You and I.
Agony together.