Rubix Cube

Drops of crimson in the snow, you truly are something else.
Our hearts beat in an all too similar fashion, but you couldn’t be more different.
The pains of this strange existence clench at your insides.
Pain that’s anything but welcome.
You’re something differently entirely.
Beneath skin and bone, you’re the
monster that’s plagued myths and stories for centuries.
The monster that will give meaning and purpose to my own miserable existence.
Sever ties with your master, and we’ll be together forever.
Punish those I could not, and we’ll be together forever.
You finished the Rubix Cube, you’re much more brilliant than I.
You’ve lived long enough to be.
I let the right one in.

© Copyright June 2011

Far Too Deep

Simple truths in the clever lies, don’t fall too far.
Nothing short of grand.
The water is only so deep,
watching the veil fall away.
Silence in itself.
Free in all my flaws, caged in all your fears.
Kill time that’s prime for the hanging.
Murder your soul with cinnamon and cyanide.
Eyes made out of glass, heart made out of stone.
How can you see when everything is just a reflection?
Day after day, multi-colored mirrors that couldn’t be more blue.
Heart never bursts, eyes never wander.
Keep on sipping from your cup of wish and hope.
Never rise to the occasion.
Your tongue is made out of paper.
Just like your eyes, never being put to their proper use.
Always something better, always something destructive.
How can you live when your heart does not beat?
How can you taste when your tongue is not your own?
On to the next available pulpit, it’s never enough for you.
How can you see when your eyes are made of glass?
Exactly, you can’t.

© Copyright June 2011


Once I roamed around this Earth, alone with the fear of falling.
I existed amongst the living as a solitary ghost, alone, depressed and crawling.
The fear was such a little fear,
but still had room for decay.
I knew fondly of this thing called love, but knew it never would be mine, my problems never at bay.
Upon the shining bust of confidence, I found you at my door.
I’d never seen someone so close to a mirror image, your eyes I could not ignore.
Months and months spent so dear, sharing thoughts of the in-between and nothing up above.
I now know this feeling, this fear of falling…
I’ve found that thing called love.

© Copyright June 2011

Casual Monster

I want to tear you the fuck apart.
Mangle and destroy your insides,
sifting through your broken ribs,
face deep in your blood.
I’m at a loss for words, as to how you ended up a mutilated and sacred mess upon my apartment floor.
It’s just the type of person I am.
One minute you were speaking freely, the next you were struggling to stay conscious, begging for your life.
My polished hardwood shines with the thick substance of blood and loathing, I fucking hate the person you’ve become.
Who knew the evening would end like this?
I foresaw this turn of events the moment I looked into your eyes.
I’ve hacked away every piece of skin, the very fibers of your existence, warm and fresh.
Your petty insides desperately strewn amongst your decapitated corpse, I chose right for the killing.
I struggle for a moment to keep down parts of the flesh and meat I’ve ingested.
The bottle of wine on the counter next to what’s left of your head probably isn’t helping, my own head pounds.
I bathe in the light of my coming clarity, this hunger will never be tamed.
Like my hate for you and everyone around me, it claws at my cavity,
waiting to be let out of its confines.
A skeleton cage that beats quicker still, my heart pumps hard, but I feel no emotion.
I have no conscience, cannot comprehend the human connections I fake so goddamn well.
I was damned from the beginning,
and you were dead the minute you said hello.
I sit in my solitude, fashioning your blood as wine.
Heated and wild, a deadly combination of blood lust and aesthetic beauty.
I would give anything to relive these sacrifices as I rot in Hell,
one right after the other.
I want to tear you the fuck apart.
I already have, it’s the only thing I’m good at anymore.

© Copyright June 2011


Sleep is deliberate and shallow.
I awaken only to find that my dreams and nightmares reflect my reality.
Unsafe and strange.
I’m in love with the darker side of life, the only thing I’ve ever known.
I’m out of the ordinary, nothing at all like you.
The gates of Hell will open up for me.

© Copyright June 2011


Your final thoughts, your final words.
Oh how I wish I knew them.
Instead they were tragically playing out in your mind,
like a vibrant montage of your grounded memories.
Just behind your empty blue eyes they race, faster than a hellbent bullet train.
I will never know them, never possess the knowledge to understand.
I’m not even sure if that’s really what your eye color was, nothing about your flesh and bone existence seems real anymore.
From your Metallica and AC/DC, to your perfect school image,
everything is a fictional charade.
Pieces and parts colliding together to form something human and breathing.
Did you feel any pain as you strung yourself up, waiting for your feet to touch the ground,
fully aware that you never will?
Was it painless or did you run into complications?
Not the swiftest of exists sometimes, I could only imagine.
You chose a noose, while others might have branded a gun or glass.
I written about you once and cried over you twice, a clever understatement I hope you know.
I have no pity for you, only sadness and collected fits of rage.
There was help somewhere out there, you went by other means.
I only hope one day we can walk where the stills and screenshots of our lives are in slow motion.
Relive those moments and make our own destiny.
For you are not in any concept of Heaven nor that of Hell, there is no such place.
You’re alive forevermore in the hearts that still beat strong.

© Copyright June  2011


Collapse in and out of the dredges that you so righteously explore.
Experience all feelings, all nerves falter, leaving a numbing aftershock of solitude and regret.
The broken piece of glass is your one and only vice, never managing to break the skin no matter how hard you try.
Scratches that will scab and heal over time, but they’re nothing compared to the horrors you witness in your nightmares.
Nightmares that inflict loneliness and an ever-lasting gloom into your reality, when will the lines blur?
Fools might say that you turn to those shards of glass as a well-thought out cry for attention, some kind of bullshit trend.
You mutilate and scar not for the recognition and gossip of your peers, but because it’s the only thing that’s real anymore.
Pain took the place of any genuine feeling, any conscious thought.
Your scars eventually heal,
leaving no evidence that they were ever there.
You know better.
They will forever be etched in the fictional blackboard of your brain,
burned deeper and deeper.
Accept what cannot change, rise above the ashes of your own wreckage.

© Copyright June 2011