Horribly dreamt
I have a street
its conceptual secrets
like invisible rage
I pertain to abandonment
it hurts to disappear
wakefully vanishing
in the gaseous actuality
I roam like invisible pain
hidden behind monstrous eyes
eavesdropping, like sun of insects
interminably the hour and a smile
release… release my skin
hurdled over blank shrub
my feet slither pass the common earth
alive with some deadly truth
I run
and shattered are
the windows of lies.
pain
out comes
By time
I was aware
the puke was everywhere spreading
like the universe
I could see traces
of yellow
and acid
pain spiraled in
this was suffering
but I
emptied
free of content
overtook space
as a substitute
to
existence.
Nihilistic Poetry Blog
night-voiced
The sadness of the rain
falls
over the happiness of process
we go down to the corners
and take a piss
to avoid the police
and the exuberance of being guilty
then we go back inside
where despair is dissipated
towards the music
and
the noise
makes us forget all the pain
that made us cry in the dark
of a summer night
let’s be brave
betray
so we drink, drink, drink
and then we talk
talk and talk
the flowers on the wallpaper
made with the scent
of the spring
we never had
this is the wood
the glass
the concave walls
the drunk echo
nobody will record
for the annals
of
history.
mental impairment
what is it?
we spill it
in the sea, land, air,
it moves: shoot it/sell it
my eyes
retreat
their swollen veins
as synonym to animals
I feel the guilt
here in cluster city
army by determinism
the sapiens beast
beasts of language
consuming and plunder!
irradiant ecosystems
Judge,
I plead guilty
punishment: stupidity
yes,
bereft of innocence
I walk towards the sea
with suicidal venom
leaving behind
the machinery of pain
I fueled;
for what am I
to say what’s right or
wrong.
entering
Okay fornicators
we have or need
to go back to the light
the hard
colossal
pain
of white
don’t try
but
once there
we rest in peace.
the tunnel
on me
like sleet
shaken off
the grey clouds
by a bored god
careless
in his steps
a punishment that
comes to me
for being a murderer
of silence,
interrogating
the rows
of bartenders
pleading them
to help me set up
a light
at the end of
the dark tunnel
of time
a beacon
so the alienated crowd
could finally
stop the frenzy
when they
see
it’s only a tunnel
and nothingness
at the end.
a possible death
The end
had come
plummeting to the ground
my fingers spread
making one last contact
with the sidewalk
the rough cement
at the base
of this ultimate world
I was dying
my heart had only a few
beats left
before the entire
intoxication of life
would vanish
and I
touching this world
for a last time
on the street side
the hard grey cement
the pain and the beauty
the last sight of sky
the last gust of air
leaving
all the strange
beautiful
perplexing realities
within the earth
that was holding me
for the very last time.
Bamboo
Even though it is immeasurable
My prison is still tight as skin
but my horizons wide as silences
Although it is incomprehensible
The moment is clear as pain
but the mountain inside cold as ash
Since I have known only one
Many drops fall as from bloodshed
but the fragile division was born as orphan
Nonetheless I was lover of the loneliest desert
Counting the walls that serve as mistakes
but swallowed all the scriptures that read as noise
Thus, metaphorical speaking aside
The clouds raised thoughts as mothers
but motion now seems so still as bamboo
They were there…
There they were, shattered
sidewalks murderous sidewalks
frozen in their disorder, fractured by black color
and had to reach down
and pain their unfeeling scars
but this is not about sidewalks,
it resembles that primordial awe
or the seven cold nights of tribesmen
it intimates with old necessity
and the heavy mist that kills without moving
because further down by the hollow blackness
of cracked sidewalks and rapid decay
desasosiego, was called once in Spanish
spontaneous hymns of indigent earth
shadowless religions with no clouds on their backs
noiseless disaster tamed by echoed habits
stepping beyond – further into hopeless air
and with it, the truth concealed
hidden encounters with the ultimate Inexplicable
certainly having probed the depths of terror
the animosity of rebellion and the flakes of solitude
in what seems like ages of torment and desasosiego
by the unknown light of trembling – hardened
frozen and broken like irrelevant sidewalks
forgiving the ancient errors of willing blindness
alone, amongst these detached blocks of cold cement
my finger slithered their gaps,
and call me mad, lost and nocturnal – again,
I was nowhere, in calm beauty:
my irrelevant isolation.
Awe and confusion swirled together
Pain by Hands of Crimson (deviantart)
and reenter the game once again.
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