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The journeyman of sounds;
A welder of the pain.
From the land of abundant treasures
And alternative domains.
Dyed black mops.
A youth spent alone —
In a room full of darkness,
Save for your glowing tones.
Just another gutterball outsider,
But the star of the dejected.
Your poems sung of promise —
We ask: why were you not protected?
Roads “long and weary”;
You were just as lost as us.
I guess that’s why you were lifted:
To The Highway you were ******.
Now no more Black Holes,
Nor Seasons of “endless winters”.
And no more Curses —
Your side free from thorns and splinters.
Although I never really knew you,
You helped encourage me to tread.
I’ll do my Jesus Christ Pose.
For you Heaven isn’t Dead.
How strange a tide… apathetic to its core.
Novichok in the system — we’ve already hit the floor.
Not without warning for the interested few.
Sure, indigo on the spectrum, but black in our view.
Our prophets are wary, lamenting for the lot.
The glass thicker than ever: they’re forced to watch them rot.
Let’s not dilute it over biscuits and tea.
We’re addicted to passion; it drains both you and me.
Quit cold turkey; we’ll wither and die within the week.
We blew past the sabbath; so muddle on and be meek.
Telephone the skies, but the network is full:
We put off the harvest — our calls all but null.
“Don’t think just breathe and wait for the pull of the plug.”
There’s a way, truth, and life; but deafness is the most popular drug.
Our water is muddy; the dolls’ overjoyed.
Reject all the falsehoods; their eyes shimmer from the void.
I’m here to remind you there’s more than you think.
Dead end paths are common; they want you to sink.
Exist behind ego and you’ll miss the horizon.
Perspective’s a gift if you’re looking to wisen.
Races aren’t games for an aspiring professional.
Throw out your excuses you don’t need a confessional.
There’s anguish in the conviction; you’ll be forced to commit.
But sleep-walking is pervasive; few actually submit.
Trap music and sad rap
Nightclubs and bar crawls
Culture streams are visceral
Don’t get carried away
Emojis and acronyms
Twitter mobs and Tinder
Paddle hard right
Watch out for the rocks
Pop idols and fashion
Cam girls and pornhub
Hustle and swag
Image and pride
History’s mightiest riptide
But I’m not in the throng
I’ll be on shore at the headwaters
Watching it all flow out to sea
Your voice courses through my bloodstream,
Injecting limerence torrents.

Your touch titillates my senses,
Subduing the behemoth that is my manhood.

Your spirit speaks unrefined emotion,
Taking root directly in my being.

Your net essence is the fullest simulacrum of beauty,
Stimulating the dissipation of myself.

Now,
If only I would never wake…
Mr. Big sits at his big mahogany desk
At the top of his big tower.
Mr. Small sits at his small table
In his small enclave.
Mr. Big buys what he wants
And then some.
Mr. Small buys what he needs,
But doesn’t quite make it.
Mr. Big gives in to instant gratification,
Even though it makes him empty.
Mr. Small does the same,
But thinks it would be different if he had money.
Mr. Big wants the world.
Mr. Small wants what Mr. Big has.
Their bank balances polarize sharply with time,
But their hearts are the same,
And they’re ignorant to this.
Many days and many nights I couldn’t reach catharsis.
Narcissistic dialogue and lust was how it started.
Lust for power,
Lust for ***,
I balanced on the wire.
Built my tower,
Learned to flex,
Never thought I’d tire.
While looking for a diamond crown I made my way to glory:
Carved a track through youthful bliss all while writing my own story.
From troubled teen
To filled with dreams,
I formed the squad into a team.
I wouldn’t scream when things got tough;
I’d always keep composure.
Intelligent with malevolence
Was how I’d learned to soldier.
No disclosure,
Never trust,
Looking to manipulate.
Made it known
It was a must
For opponents to capitulate.
Things were moving well enough
When dear old lust in whom we trust…
Reappeared back on the scene,
And of my feathers
Began to preen.

So,

Doubled down,
Went for the crown.
Changed the crew,
Time it flew.
Golden status
Seemed so near,
But red and blue
Were in the mirror
News had spread;
My walls were breached.
Of loss I had no knowledge.
Prison bread;
Amongst the freaks.
Twenty-five for living lawless.
For God had turned and dealt a blow
For all of those bad seeds I’d sewed.
And blow for blow
In social woe
I’ve lived my life in shackles.
Dreamscapes clenched in winter’s frozen grip.
Through which, with futility
Yet faithfully,
We slip.
Down from the heavens —
Down;
Amongst
Ablazed
Aerial
Aurorae.
A hopeless pair of snowflakes
Amongst a
Frosty
Frigid
Foray.
Perching on a wind gust:
Two
Scintillating
Snow-stars
Searching
For union in uniqueness,
But becoming
Lost
Looking
Lurching.

Our masks are many —
The cold chases us between characters.
Dreaming that your selves and mine,
Together,
Draw a starkly striking caricature.

Is it hopeless yet to ask
Whether in us we will find felicity?
Is there hope left in the dream
Of a snowy synchronicity?
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