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TR3F1LD Apr 25
in better times, I remember I
began getting quite arrested, like
a ****** susp., by
Harmonía, which keeps serving
to this day as a source of both psychic sunlight
and real enjoyment (sometimes)
which is somewhat funny co[ɑ]mbined
with the fact it was a summer month I
started getting more in—volved in thI̲s diversion
summer twenty fourteen
which means she's something I have bE̲E̲n exploring
for... um... already more than
a decade, like rotten souls of autocratic rogues
["decayed"]
but it's a mite bigger story
given the fA̲ct I'd known
and been sort of into her some years before then
she can be so diverse, from natural
to artificial & including parts of both
plenty of heartbeat types & tempos
and vibes: from nice & mellow
to harsh & evil, from bright to dismal
from refined & regal to energized & feral
she can pep up automotive-buzz-replete strolls
she's there for you in times you feel low
and any kind of insult is something she won't
ever do, unlike a lo[ɑ]t of people; I can hardly be called
jolly, like a harlequin lo[ɑ]cked within walls
of a go[ɑ]ddamn mental
["Harley Quinn"; "Gotham"]
asylum, but, like an environment fa[ɛ]natic
in a paradisiacal la[ɛ]nd replete
with scenes of natural grace, I'm pleased
["blissed"]
that I̲ had a cha[ɛ]nce to be
introduced to her; and all the gO̲O̲d 'bout her
cited through the verse is why I'm glued to her
not a single day of mine is thrO̲U̲gh sans her
but if you think I'm alluding to[—]wards
a close other, you have sure
misunderstood the verse (some of it)
[Unlike Pluto has a tune being, as it's stated by him, "a love song as a metaphor for alcoholism"]
[it's called "Ethel", which is a homophone for "ethyl"]
————————————————————————————————
for I'm not one with a people-oriented frame
of mind, but a music nerd
with a broad extent of taste
for music, but one whO̲ prefers
mostly middle-paced
and boomy forms
of it, such as midtempo bass
midtechno, EDM glitch hop, moombahcore
drift phonk "*******", like a *****'s brain
moombahton, & 2000s reggaeton
but some years ago, when old & new reports
of injustices of the human world
next to the discontent of daily adult-hood were serv—
—ing as ****** fuel in terms
of the ignition of the stupid urge
to get something (boo!) destroyed
to bring against injustice-contributing jerks retribution earned
a craze for more dark-sounding, brutal sorts
of tunes was formed as a substitution for
destruction, like any amusement's purp.
["distraction"; "purpose"]
along with music, another gO̲O̲d means for
getting through the murk
has been, like when a whip's coming thrO̲U̲gh keen curves
sideways with its wheels sliding through the course
of it, creative writing, putting words (mislead)
["creative riding"; "ᵖᵤᵗᵢⁿ words"]
into this seductive-looking form (indeed)
————————————————————————————————
and I really was thinking after the last done work
(that killing joke tale)
that I won't manage to craft one more (usual thoughts)
took 'round three & a half months burned (for the most part)
and the thought of o[ɑ]bligation to wha[ʌ]t's been saving
me from ending up in a darker place in
order to undertake an—other rhyme creation
hopefully, like that racing co[ɑ]ntest on Terminal
Island, I'll have some more to show
that's something I am not sure of, though
["mortal show"; the "Death Race" show from the same-titled movie]
"Harmonía ("obliged" rhymefall)" by TR3F1LD (TRFLD) is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (to view a copy of this license, visit creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/4.0)
Wanna be pervasive on thoughts?
On carte blanche?
I'll give you a perverted stream
And force you to wade in it.

I'll tease you with wonder,
I'll keep from you the infinite.
Enjoy your *******?
Have another pile of manure!
What sows is what grows?
What is sown is what will have grown?
Yet, the fields of the conscience are different?
Fission, fusion.
Derision after derision.
Creation, destruction.
Degredation after degredation.
Combination, seperation.
Decay after decay.

Fusion, fission.
Praise after praise.
Destruction, creation.
Amelioration after amelioration.
Splitting, collaboration.
Growth after growth.

I know only
That I know nothing!
Life can be a real rut
When you're running through it
Like some kind of a feral mutt.
Big pits that open up
In which you can get stuck.
Rabbit holes made by voles!
For spry are the gophers & moles.
Still, I have love for a rodent.
Yet, ever as such, always
Unprepared for a real owl!
If it ain't the bark or howl
The bite you get is quite sour.
Just gotta give a hoot!
Don't run a foul chasing after fowls!
You couldn't tell if I was crazy
If you were even any sane!
And you're not.
You couldn't tell if I was sane
If you weren't any crazier!
But you are!

Does it hurt your head to think?
Why, let it stop!
Does it hurt your chest to breathe?
Why, just quit it!

Soemone else can do that for you,
You can just take the credit!
For if the heart should ache
You're better off without it!

But serious-
The cloud tells the rain
What is & is not water.
Do the falling droplets care?
"What are these foreign definitions?"

The destination is the same,
Their own priorities remain,
And perspective is unchanged.

These strange properties,
Words themselves as elements
When strung together by sentence.
Is repentance within a reflection?
Redemption by sight through a drop of liquid?

What grippings within these pensions,
What potential within these tensions,
What whippings within these conventions.

By the accounts of every party attended,
What stern material has been cobbled.
Yet, poverty is worn stronger.
That which itself is as the weather,
I think it closer to trinkles
Than shine & twinkle.

What do the poor pour?
What do the bums toast?
What do the homeless shower?

A buddy of mine
Left really only notes.
Another was a rotten cheater.
I knew one that liked to play with guys,
Knew one that liked masks & needles.
Comes what? What goes? Who knows.

It can't be worse than before,
But that's not something you remember.
Of course, I mean, not someone you know.
As shadows take the stage, patterns merge into design.
Not shapes nor in lines, more like visions in the mind.
Through this foreseeing lens, light dances with the dark.
My Conscience, transmogrified. Truth is leaving its mark.

Actors step with intent, and I see the revelation.
Their motions send spears into my imagination.
The audience watches in awe. They're spellbound.
As the story unfolds, I conclude without sound.

On stage, Something hides what I somehow can know.
Like a whisper in my ear, secrets are already told.
There's a clairevoyant truth behind the gaze of my eye.
The creator himself is showing me all that hides.

The stage becomes dim, the actors in place.
A dark, twisted tale. An ending I can taste.
Curtains fall as I reflect, to the cue of a song.
I see all the outcomes, Why can’t I be wrong?
My frame is decaying, even faster when I stand.
A house, and I’m haunted, on hope’s burial land.
My windows, hollowed eyes that do nothing but stare,
At a world that shunned one with a life meant to bare.

These floorboards that shriek, are like my mournful cries,
As serpent-like phantoms shed skin and pass by.
Warm words that were etched in the walls are now cold,
Just echoes of a story that will never be told.

The clocks restless ticking, its echoes, they scream.
If only to remind me that I’ve shattered, like dreams.
My will to live was buried long ago under a promise.
These cobwebs were spun, only to trap any solace.

-“Oh, cursed soul,” a ghost haunts as I weep,
“Do you feel my icy grip as you’re failing to sleep?

I’ve watched as you wander these fated terrains.
I have hollowed your heart; I will empty your veins.”

- “Forget now, the warmth that ignited your soul.
What you thought you could hold; I have made to turn cold.”

- These words no one hears, they disturb my fraught mind.
As my black stricken eyes pierce the void till I’m blind.

- “Awaken, child unwanted!” he pleads through the dust.
“Once I’m fed from your essence, you will finally rust.”

- Those words make a promise, my hopeless future forms.
Reassurance that the curse set for me has been born.

There’s a cold empty room, where my hopes should reside.
Shattered mirrors hold proof, that my dreams have since died.
A vibrant tapestry now sways, ripped in the wind,
Whispering of lost motives to a life that wants to end.

The doors are creaking open, letting in all I fear.
My tormented nightmares are all that is clear.
In every shadowed corner my demons reside.
If only to remind me, I’m imprisoned here inside.
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