So, it's been years has it, LiveJournal?
Well fuck you. Like I need you. If my track [mark] record as of late has dictated anything it's that everything is fleeting and nothing is deserved or wanted. Who wants to fight me?
Maybe the next post I'll catch everyone up with me. heh; everyone. Classic.
Anyway. I wanted to post some of my newer poems from my little notebook. I don't feel like puttin' 'em up anywhere else.
Saints In Sinners
At last, I have conclusions
I played my heart out and am so tired
I've lost in insanity and thrive off unreality
It's time to make the end tangible
In finality, I have purpose
I crushed my heart out of my chest
I've lost myself in these vaults
It's finally time to reach into oblivion
And sacrifice myself to my wretched faith
End
Not Incredulously So
I suppose it was a plank that I created to walk
And off its end, I'd plunge
Creating for all I've known to breathe sleep sweet
And burden no more with trust
But I guess that my plank did retract during my procession
And off its middle, I floated
In being a being being weened
Creating for all those I know to feel days easier
And be burdened no more by trust
End
You Must Go Further Down To Reach Me
Cut again, cutting off the digits with ill fits
Increasin endorphins
Elated in every mark
My friends, you are with me
Slice again, slicing into the body of this nasty hobby
Undressing the flesh
Math in multiple marks
My foes, I see you
Feel again, feelings off the thoughts that leave me wishing for naught
Pulverized in dreams
Ended in life
Myself, here we are
End
Medical Flames
And inside, temperature rises
I am fit for drenched fire
I am drenched in gasoline
A quenching of flame thirst
And in inner sides, rage rises
I'm a lift in tattered clothing
I am tattered under my garments
A dressing sponge on a deep wound
End
Break All Earthly Chains
Another poem for another day
Written in such dark penmanship of my decay
These costly scenes landed me in debt
And they still send me invoices
Don't they know I'm broke and homeless these days?
Yet the mail still reaches me
Another poem for another late night
Written in small clusters of mental waste and decay
These ghastly scenarios are quite embedded and they still add images years later
Don't they know I'm broken and have no need of anymore meanings?
Yet I cannot livingly turn off my brain
End
Well.. I suppose most would say that my writing style hasn't changed much. I think it has. These poems are just a small handful of the new breed I've been dishing out.
I've got multiple notebooks that I use as I've halted much of my music composition process (74+ songs is getting pretty excessive). Of course, I have the mini notebooks I carry with me everywhere. I've got an ultimate depression notebook where I put the most fucked up, dejected poems that I've been writing in. I've got a "steamy" notebook where I recall many good times and put them to awesome wordings.. many times they are pretty literal. And I've just started a new notebook where I write life-affirming stuff... That last notebook doesn't have much in it. The dejection notebook is winning in size but the "steamy" one is gettin' up there.
Anyway. Let's fight. I'll post something else up tomorrow or some shit. Die.