A battleground
The enemy; the state
As tanks lined the street ways
In the dark of the night
Like gasoline
Coating skin
Matches in a hostile hand
Suffocating; breathless
As poison exuberates
The sewer lines
The dirt; the grunge
The sunlight
Its first stream of rise
Golden on the alleyways
Where fear reverberates and strives
Like radiation seeping through
The walls
Filling the empty space
Until it bursts and fills
The residents  
Hallow; shallow souls
The people fill the town
From outside their wooden doors
And pour into menacing streets
With the lies promising in their eyes
Foreboding air fills their lungs
Like innocence and love
They look into the barrels
Of guns made out of steel
Silver shinning in the dawn light
The sleek shiver down their spines
The taste of ammunition
Like liquid on their tongues
They cling to one another
Like smoke to its flame
The ash of propaganda
A fire extinguishing their pain

It was a neutral, fair weathered, mid October Friday night in downtown Raleigh, the sky painted with stars, but barely visible as lights are strewn out everywhere, glittering as they are draped across buildings to create a corner hidden from the rest of the world. There are also lights from the many expensive cars lining the already tight streets; Chrysler, Infinity, Volvo, BMW, but also there’s an array of Hondas and the Chevy I am currently riding in to get there myself.  The lights continue to follow my evening as the holidays are approaching, accompanied by Christmas lights hanging from local breweries. The skyline is made up of buildings mimicking an array of Christmas trees on a Christmas tree farm in December; one my favorite times of year.

The spirit of the air is carefree as people gather to unwind from the week before and have a good time with whomever they are with or alone. The variety of people is similar to that of Candy in a candy store; all there for the same purpose, but different in minor ways. Groups of friends occupying the sidewalks outside of restaurants, breweries, dessert bars, coffee bars, boutiques, and galleries. Hipsters walking proudly and dancing in the streets owning who they are in their hometown or possibly visiting to experience the uniqueness the beautiful city has to offer. Most people dressed their best to welcome the night before them and enjoy the company of their friends, walking around to whatever comes their way.

The atmosphere is quiet, peaceful, and chill but the night is nothing short of alive just like the people I experience. Young couples and individuals line the streets exuberating their young lively spirits into the air as they exhale smoke from their cigarettes. The streets are also lined with a couple individuals that seem a little sketchy, but that’s just because they keep to themselves and walk alone, not effecting the safe atmosphere Raleigh exuberates. Everyone seems to be focused on only who they came with, concentrating on what they will do that evening. My plans included dinner at The Pit, one of the greatest BBQ places I have ever been in my life.

The first place I went to this evening was a Chocolate Shop called Videri Chocolate Factory with the most intriguing vibe I have possibly received upon coming into a store. There are lights strung from the ceiling and a glass case containing expensive, gourmet chocolates made in house. As I continue to walk around the store there is a whimsical feeling I get when I notice the coffee bar and more Christmas lights hanging around and intricate glass cups behind the counter. Continuing down the corridor there is a large glass window displaying where the chocolate is made, making the experience even more real. As I continue to look around the store I notice most of the people are middle aged to older; the people with money. The chocolate in the store is not cheap, but I think most of the people who come to downtown Raleigh are also paying for the experience.

Upon leaving the shop I notice the outside of the store and this is one prime example I think of when I think that people physically impact the place in which they live. The picture shown above of the chocolate shop mimics so much of the personality of Raleigh that I have noticed. The store is made of bricks on the outside that you can tell have been there for a really long time, but displays a modern, exciting font and the final touch of bright white lights adds a perfect finish to the display of the store. The people of Raleigh (or the ones I have noticed the three years out of living here myself) tend to migrate towards vintage, old things and appreciate the beauty of unique sights that make you feel special and unique yourself upon going there.

Another key factor in the imagery of this shop that reminds me of the people of Raleigh is the artsy aesthetic that the door holds with the lights. There are so many art students who consistently go to downtown Raleigh and they are a part of what makes the atmosphere so bright and exciting. While the people who visit downtown Raleigh are looking for those vintage vibes and artsy aesthetics they are also incredibly modern much like the font the door holds. They are caught up on what is currently in style and trend setters themselves, but interpret it in a way that fits them personally. This to me is the only thing that people of downtown Raleigh have in common; they are old fashioned, vintage, modern, and unique all at the same time, perfectly mirroring the city in which they live.

Grief is a cyclic spell.
It loops.
It spares none.
It's inevitable.
This poem follows through each stage of grief like a spell—
Untamed.
Unbound.

— The First Stage —

Burdens are discreet, like shadows they creep,
Disguised as excuses, seeping in deep, shaking core beliefs.
Should I care about them? I don't feel the need.
I am not in the deep!

I am so close to the...
To the conclusion!
To the retribution!

Indeed.
I know what I'm talking about.
For I'm not weak.
I do not bleed.

— The Second Stage —

Reenacting noir violence as something prophetic,
Proportional to the lethargy and lapse in memory.

Craving the caves as they
cave in melancholy.
Framing the phrase as they
phase in verbally.
Adding the daze as they
laze in physically.
Blaming the place but they
can't pace gently.
Desperate to bridge the gap so they
race profusely.

Virtuous? Why should I care about them?
I don't feel the need!
They never did care for me anyway—
even when I was drowning in deep!!

But now when I am so close to the...
To the destruction!
To the retribution!
They care? *****!

Indeed.
I know what they're talkin' about.
I am not weak.
And I refuse to bleed.

— The Third Stage —

Knowing the taste of fear they
made a note mentally.
Faster they ran to master it tactfully.
Dreaming how good it will feel if it ends silently.
Beaming with delusion they fell prey to cult activity.
Worshiping day and night, swallowed by ritualistic vanity.

Failure in results added fuel to the aggressive analogy.
Looking for meaning brewed life into inhumanity.
Myth or not, this bizarre journey
will lead to a dark ending.

But who's sane enough to reject the voluntary heretic ascendency?
Forget transparency—lowered guards breed corruptancy.

If I shall care enough, will I be granted a reprieve?
I can no longer swim this deep.

Almost there...
For the happiness.
For the redemption.
Away from the slip.

Tell me I'm not too late.
Tell me I'm doing great.
Tell me I'll be okay.
Tell me I won't bleed.

— The Fourth Stage —

Defence is irrelevant when you're deemed unworthy;
Among these foolish creatures none have a slither of sanctity.
Only the demonic hymn echoes through the monastery.

Surviving Curates pray for mercy.
The massive inflow of broken kin brings tears in the building.
The priest stays silent though, which enrages the victims.
They heckle at him and start grumbling.

Seeing the teary-eyed priest, they realise their wrongdoings.
Helpless and bound, the victims cry out for safety.

Whatever should I ever care for,
for nothing holds a meaning.

Am I drowning?
Am I swimming?
I'm lost in the deep.

So close to the...
To the silence.
The oblivion of reckoning.

Wish I was strong enough to change a thing.
But I was weak from the beginning.
Thus, I bleed.

— The Fifth Stage —

Eerily, the bewitching entity distorts it with ranting—
The entity, namely self-pity, flourishing,
Birthed by burdens, fed by the masses' frolicking tendencies.
Exuberates an overwhelming aura, seemingly understanding.

Careful—this is the seed of self-loathing.

"Verily, must it be prompting?
Must it be coaxed with hoaxes, propelling redundancy?"

You think no one resisted this hypnotic screeching?
In this abominable world brave warriors took a standing.

Vexed and perplexed, anxiety stacked,
emotional wrecks, Reaper's back,
falsehood's flag, regrets that drag,
weaker to help.

Yes, I care.
Care, because I know what it brings.
Care, for we all swam through the deep.
Care, for I am so close...
To the end and the beginning.
Care, for now I know the meaning.
Care, for I know what I have become.

Neither weak
Nor strong.

Care, because I must bleed.

For—
Burdens are discreet, like shadows they creep...

                                                                                             -Asher Graves