The Hangman's Garden

Sadness drips
Not roughly,
Slow
My limbs be damned;
I am consumed
Utterly
With marbleized bones I stand
Poised for the last seduction
The road leads only to Babylon.
Amidst the winding vines
I shall crumble with the stone
Embraced by dust,
Eternally aroused,
But ne'er to rise

Who Knows

We crawl through the night, clinging to our own irrationalizations. You shiver as the Wind of Pain floats by on her dutiful path. I love the regard she leaves smeared across your features. You look every bit the madman and it excites me to no end. Closing your eyes you savor her every scent; the blood she brings, the screams she steals, the fear that is her essence. Your nostrils flare in anticipatory acceptance. So enraptured are we that we do not think to follow her. But there- she is gone! Where are the children’s cries now? Evaporated. Your slimy grin fades away, and your attention is returned to me. Your teeth are bared, your anger apparent, but, Prince of Dragons, shall we not trace the scent of that which we have lost? I hunger for our adventure! Guide me through the channels of this endless night; you alone know the righteous path while I scour, afraid, in the corner of Darkness. Release my hopes, release the dreams, replace them with the promise of death.

Nonsense in Dreams

The ground is soft as two arms, bedraggled and eager, emerge from their damp prison to enlighten the world. Shall we, the soft-spoken cinder blocks of Absurdity, attempt to grab them?

No Room for Water

Tonight we can wait,
and live in the shadows
Like scared pieces of meat
True, I have got no heart,
but the mind of a lunatic is nice
Spawned from my hate
You can see your light
I'm sorry
I never meant to harm you
Sadness can come in spindles
I wake you to your enemies
Fleeing in hats like the ocean
Hiding their long lost gold
Loving the flowers and frying the birds
Sad and happy and mad
Wait a bit,
Take the key to the night,
Of Hell,
Of fury
Time is alive in hopes
Love and death both mingle as one
No room for water

Untitled 4

Life can mean so little to those who do not care to see what it is
How many arms will it take?
How many lives?
How long the wait?
Who shall tend to me when I am gone?
Who shall light the fire?
A priest of sins, perhaps
The leader of a clergy cloaked in lies
His bed, the only place of freedom and red redemption
The change in the tide does not shake his world
He owns costumes of various colors, each with no meaning
This is the side of the world left for the damned
Dead rivers
Dry beaches
Murdered children in wild hoards
Do not think here
Do not reach here
Worlds upon worlds will fall
You lie shivering and I laugh,
Bored in my fog
Hungry for more
A deathtrap you say
A prize, says I
A release
A crumb of freedom
A dry tear from my eye
You cry for your virtues,
I cry for your sin
Evil, you think me
Fowl, a sheep
A king, you are to me
Another life to take
What have I lost, and where has it gone?
To the only room left standing,
The one you built
I can no sooner leave you, although it is a wish, to fly alone
How often do I cry?
How mute?
Do you crave it?
To answer your ears, yes I do run free
But that means nothing
For all my value, I shall never love
Except or except not,
I only am

Drowsy Delirium

When will this eternal barricade cease its attentions?! I grow tired of the inflicted delirium, I long for a scrap of rest. Oh! That I might lay my skull upon a stone for a moment. Allow solitude to creep in, silently, with that now foreign light step. I miss this small privilege

Untitled 3

Since the beginning of this eternal journey, you have been salivating for sustenance. The roar escaping your lips is merely a representative of your natural tendency for sadism. Oh, how pleasant it is to look upon you in this state; your hair mangled and dirty, your features contorted and your ability to speak stolen by your savage thoughts. I admire you most when you secretly plot the downfall of your enemies. You wish to satisfy your perverse nature by removing their heads for tokens and later, their very souls. That I might one day hold your hand, Creature! How tempting you are in your cape of Sin. I stand as worshiper and inferior! Love has arrived in this heart!

Black Hackney

Psychic explosions happening in hoards. They rush, crumble, blow past my eyes. Who drives this carriage of Madness? A sane man? Never! My horseman is haggard, thin, pale, scruffy, wild with wisps of hair over his dark, devouring eyes. He steers with such an elegant grace, how could I pass up his services? Bubbling, brewing, festering are the thoughts he's born.

He seldom gets lost but when he does it is never for long. He always returns with the swagger of a dragonfly to captivate and enrapture all senses.

He is patient. He always arrives when creativity is sparse and hopes seem lost. You will not hear him arrive, do not attempt to listen for his wheels or his steed. Know only that he watches, waits, for you to summon him. Shall you? Do you dare call upon his talents? Indeed, are you so clever?

Untitled 2

Decency and degradation slipping into an abyss of slimy correctness. How can I, if I can, trade my will to forfeit the long standing desires of society and woe. Perhaps it is simple. I can dispose of my sentiments and fears and assume a higher, better revolutionary justice in lieu of depression and cerebral bursts

Mon Souffle

I am youth, I die now
When your hands curl around me
I aspire, I consume all
the colors you've thrown me
I lie, deep in your shadow
I rise to meet the time
When you speak I fly down
To the land of
The Righteous,
I can't find my
Sentences
Anymore
I see better than I saw
When your light was still
Shining

Nouveau Maldoror

While strolling through a crowd of baboons, my mind races. Ideas, words, mental fire erupt within the confines of my cranium. Blink, and you shall miss the spark of hate that reveals itself in the corner of my eye. I watch you all attentively. Each small, awkward slip up on your part feeds my soul. I do not walk alone. I am accompanied in my stride by Maldoror. The two of us, the two silent fiends, hand in hand at all times, stop to survey our prey. I turn my head to my beloved, roguish creature, and, with a sly grin, comprehend all his deliciously perverse thoughts. No, we shall not randomly select a subject upon which to release our debauchery just yet. Today the sky is overcast and we prefer to sit and stare at the parade of folly in front of us.
We go unseen. You mistake our silence for innocence. Maldoror enjoys the invisibility. The privilege of remaining hidden allows him to better express himself. He is not shy, but he caters to me and the trait does come and go within myself. His grip tightens on my hand. So intertwined are we now that I could never break away. He will never release our bond. If ever we part I suggest that world take cover. What stalks you now would only get worse. Maldoror will steal your children, take your lives, all in search of me. Be thankful that my desire is as strong as his hand; it is for your own good.
Restraint is ever present where we are. We are not cold; we long to display our affections. I feel, very clearly, the clawed thumb that massages my palm and yearns to explore more. I am sure he feels the tingle he provokes in return, but we, neither of us, say anything. Instead, we watch. We watch the baboons scuttle and jump and duck and dive through and around us. Eyes forward, backs straight, gazes averting each other yet seeing all. None shall crack into our world. We are the fiends that do the cracking…usually of baboon skulls

Untitled

Close the tomes that so inspire you, they fill your head with clouds. Joy comes from the great epicenter of my soul, it is there that you must seek it. Appease my selfish desire, you will be glad you obliged. I will crawl into your skin and staple your heart to mine. That is where it belongs, you have always been mine, even in your foggiest memory you walked hand in hand with me frothing at the mouth for more. You can see it, you can feel it, you want to run but you are frozen under my grasp. I will not release what is rightfully mine, I will slay for your affection if I must. And I have. I am destroyed under the gaze of my immaculate dolmen

Isitown

Swaying with energy, the winds of discord pass unknown, unseen.
You shudder, then smile as they tickle your pale cheek. You sit, window
standing ajar in your dark room, pondering the melancholies of life. No
other but you has ever studied them so intensely. How to present them?
The normal world has such an issue with vulgarity because they cannot
find the beauty in these vivid descriptions as we can.

Continue your silent reverie, darling, the wakes left by the waves of your thoughts calm
the room.

Could you ever embody the soul of another?! Surely not, my
unique prince. You are such a monument in my mind; your likeness
cast out of pure debauchery and your base out of ignored morals. How
tall you stand, how regal and corrupt. My thoughts, the civilians of this
mental village, gather around your forged form to find inspiration. They
leave you offerings that you never fail to except, and in return, my
inhabitants are nourished. They look to you not only for inspiration, but
for the gift of life itself. It is your image that rattles in the center of this
cerebral town.

In actuality, you remain in your chair; your velvet throne in the
Palace of Creativity. How I long to join you, your highness. The
impenetrable fortress of Time is far too strong. I can only slightly graze
your ghostly hand with my own through one of its windows.
There you have it. You have overtaken my life with the same
sacrilegious hands you used to create the notes which first infiltrated
my sleeping thoughts. Bravo, Monsieur!