Sudden arrest of a newbies last beat The heaven of angels in unsown retreat the build the divide the sorters last query folds under the
tongue of liars defeat as the way of our walking retreads it's own view the catalysts cataclysm renders me new
And the whole quake of emptiness battles my head asthe muse with her wander to the fiery edge does cast out intrusions beyond what we're fed

I've warapped,
With much consternation,
My years in you,
Without hesitation.
I adorned myself
With framed sheep skins,
Kept your eyes glittering,
To be more appealing.
You pressed your nose
Against the shop window,
Longing for the man
In the red suit.
I forgot about the ribbons,
You misplaced the bows.
I lied to some Santa,
Many years ago.

By Arcassin Burnham


Walking Through a lot of dead shadows,
Dirt covering the coffin leaves a dry rose,
We-don't-want-no-one-to-know-we,
Exist..

The troubles of the world creates a wormhole,
For the fears that you posses and brewed up on a clean stove,
Theres-no-need-to-worry-we'll-be,
Okay..

Might Have dealt with some issues in the pass,
Girlfriend left you for a guy that drives fast,
You-hope-they-just-both-end-up-in,
a crash..

But There is no need to be so hateful,
In a world of sin and people raised shameful,
Why-don't-you-just-be-your-own-man,
today..

You're going to be running for a long time.
Your eyes are on the finish line, your eyes are pointed towards-
What was that? Happiness?
No, that's not what you're chasing.
You want to be better than them, but that's not being happy
Because, and I'm sure you know,
It's all
A
Competition.
You run and you run and you fall and you get back up
To beat them, of course. To show that you can go further
You can push yourself to do whatever they're doing
(Your friends, your enemies, what's the difference anyways?)
But a thousand times better.
Better yet, make that a million.
What you don't understand though, is that the tables have turned
And now it's a race to see-
Who's sadder? Who's suffering more?
Nobody pays attention to what you feel, you think to yourself.
You have to show them. You have to fight.
Show them you're hurt or make something up!
As long as the attention is on you!
Are you happy? No.
Are you successfully taking advantage of others' pity?
You're **** right.
But it's all a race, a fight, a competition, a
Pile of crap, that's what it is.
You won't get anywhere pushing yourself to be more ******* up
You think you're outside of the box and unique because you have feelings.
You're just like everyone else, you don't even try to be happy.
Have fun fitting in with those who bury themselves alive.
It's not a game.

The ball flies fast,
from player to player like giant pinball,
each touch is a score,
for each pass is a telepathic reward,
of hours spent honing skill and strategy,
friends playing friends achieving their dreams,
to show the world on game day your skill unbound,
there is escape for those on court and of court alike,
the worries gone replaced by the battle of mind and body,
only the ball matters,
a pass high above the hoop leads to alley oop,
the crowd cheers and your heart is gleeful,
for the art is witnessed by all.

There's a pit in my stomach
Standing, idly by, see,
You punched me in my time
Slots spinning in my mind
Stuck, relying on the grind, but
**** your "authority". I
Find it kinda ironic how,
Businesses are built from the ground
but, Up at the peak peeking down,
Sits vultures, who's ***** seeping out
Slick sick liquid so stout,
Poisoned souls, lost in a shroud
Searching for a way out of the cloud
but, it sounds too profound
to ****** the crown from your brow.
It's here, that I've found that
To sow seed, requires a plow
And, to sell ****, requires a down
Payment, is owed to the old
Heads stone cold, as the bread
Hardens our hearts, to the souls
Auctioning off it's moral code
Sold to the highest bidder
Gold fingers are bitter when
Biting your nails is for dinner.
Capitalist sympathizers call me a quitter,
And Jehovahs witnesses all call me a sinner,
But my brothers and sisters consider
Smokin' some refer, the smell that still lingers
Open your pockets, I hear your silver still jingles
I see your water is filtered,
So let the minerals flow
To my bowl, pay the toll
To get the grow that you'll roll, cause
Money solves our problems when
Our problems are each other, and
There is no end in sight, so spite the
"Honor" and the blood we've spilled,
We fight to keep the flag up high
Beside our minds, to cope with all
The hopelessness of our demise
In Jesus name, I shed this tear.

So I published a book recently; The H Trilogy Volume 1: City of Angels
And I'm REALLY frustrated because the book should be #1 on the Amazon Hot New Releases right now in Poetry but instead there is an HP Lovecraft book in the #1 position and I'm #2. This is an atrocity to the integrity of all  us real writers because for one the anthology is not New. HP Lovecraft is dead. And the anthology was not released by him. If you read the reviews on the Lovecraft collection you'll see!
There are many 1 star reviews from people that I don't know but that share the same perspective of outrage as I do.

PLUS, Lovecraft's work is public domain and it is actually illegal for people to capitalize off of his work.

Let's focus on writers that are still living instead of giving credit to one's that have passed. "H.P. Lovecraft Complete Collection" is not new, nor is it poetry. So how can it rightfully be listed as a poetry new release? Come on, please, let's make this right.
Here's the link to my book: https://www.amazon.com/Trilogy-City-Angels-Aaron-Lux/dp/1535054328