Gothamen

Retracting Attraction. A Chemical Reaction. A Boiling Point Infraction. Burning From Interaction. A Head-spin Illusion. Inaccurate Conclusion. Resulting in Delusion. In Desolate Confusion. I hold no contempt for the spiral; with denial I hold this vial and villainous sense of being without but only seeing. The tongue is forked and ravenous, not glamorous and not factitious, but still the serpent, enamerous, slithers in to fleeing. The blood pools quite ferociously, it's notoriety an atrocity. The human whimpers feebly lying broken and ever still. The basilisk ever creeping senses the blood that's seeping and as it's tongue flickers

The tunnel swallows the train whole. It's gnashing teeth tearing each cabin and shrouding it in darkness. Hysteria kicks in and I find myself in a labyrinth of torment. One of my favorite bands has a song called "To Hell We Ride". I can't help but to feel how appropriate a song like that seems right now. I hear the reverberations of the drum beats echoing in my head. Shattering any thought I had of returning back to my old self again. The scream of the banshee like distortion guitars tearing my soul to shreads. I love it!

Once upon the morning thunder, As the children awoke from slumber, Krept a demon on its nails, Leaving victims whining wails. Out of bedrooms it skulked awoken, Taking with it frightful tokens of innocence, Once held by the brave of children, It's now taken enslaved. Ticking, scratching, down the stairs, Parents sleeping unaware, Of frightful horrors of captive waken, The screaming silenced, their little ones taken. The seething hiss of its forked tongue flailing, With every step their hope is failing, The door creeks open and its freedom trekked. The nightmare visited, the Kubalkek.

I linger, but my shadow hits the floor like it knew my intentions, I am neither sleeping nor awake, simply staggering through the winters air, I stop, opening my eyes as wide to chance but viewing, I note that what I thought in fact purely is not there. A chuckle from the voice inside me echoes through my senses, Then whispers in my ear inconceivable fabrications, The dribble falling from that echo pools subconsciously, It spills through my thoughts and infects my imagination. The wind, blowing with rapidity, enslaves my body temperate, Forces me to will it so and protect my essence complete, Its relentless gale has all but ensnar

A tome of my past unwritten, A fear forgotten by the sands of time, When will my sorrow come to fruition? When will the feeling leave myself behind? I hold to my sorrow a key of the fallen, A key riddled with cuts and scars, When I scream, the words come out in whispers, When I whisper, the screams echo near and far. A teardrop falls from the iris of my eye, And pools in a valley of broken deceit, What I've always wondered still questions, Why? My intentions were never to consider retreat. Though running I am through a field of resentment, And still sorrow lingers on my forsaken mind, What will I do if I cannot survive this? Wh

I woke up this morning and looked at myself in the mirror, I saw the face of someone I’ve never seen before, It scared me, the scars that were riddled over his body, Tearing through my soul, I brought the mirror to the floor. The image didn’t alter, lying in pieces on the ground, 5 fragments made his face with eyes as black as coal, A grin so sinister was spread from ear to ear, My hands began to twitch and the demon took control. I watched from above as my body moved itself, I could not help but to fascinate unbelieving, My own hands took a shard and ran it down my face, I screamed with no voice, and my body started blee

The mushrooms bloom in shades of grey; they leave the sensors undelayed, Relayed by whispers spoken played on words that march in my parade. The pros and cons have not been weighed, and once they are who is betrayed? The farmers found to have been slayed, and pinned to scare those who evade? Crusades of genocidal aid, unanswered questions, feared afraid, Their left to fend off those decayed, their retribute, a hand grenade, To those clichéd by fork and spade, I take my leave upon this glade, And with last gasps, my masquerade, I omit to you my serenade!

I lost myself today, in a dream world like our own, But there are some things that change that chill me to the bone, Like why in this existence does the dark consume my mind? And why does it always feel like I’m running out of time? I am a new man, though broken in my endeavor, In life’s little inconsistencies, I just can’t seem to ever, Remember what I’m doing, or why I do it for? Or what now is the purpose of doing it anymore? You see these questions plague me, they bore in to my soul, Like a mirror that has shattered, my existence is no more, The pieces on the floor are cutting in to my skin, It burns, the

Dilapidated pedals falling softly through the air, The puddles of water are faint but lavish, The stem of thorns stream crimson from fingertips bare, A rose, though sweet in sentiment, has all but been ravished. The clichéd fuchsian wrapping tied off in a bow, The tears of happiness from an emotionless material, Though through time it has offered more to bestow, The tyranny of a symbol lacks any sense imperial. Offer, if I may, a solution to purge the masses, A quenchable thirst that offers no sense of bad health, For on this Valentine’s Day, when the expected clashes, I simply propose that you offer yourself.