Unending Fury

Your metal and chrome sings to me from beyond, beckoning to a time that long ago died.
From the moment my enthusiastic gray eyes witnessed your beauty, I knew that you were something special.
Underneath your rust and time-ravaged exterior there is something even darker, the resemblance to a grave that I will find out far too late.

Wild is the look in my eyes whenever I am in your presence, for it is you who has pulled me out the abyss.
Because of you, this power that you hold over me, I feel something I’ve never felt before.
The audacity to face those who have pushed me around for years on end, the confidence to whisk the most beautiful girl off her feet and straight into my arms.

Months pass and I begin to feel a change, an apathetic animosity that was once only harnessed by the wretched being that now takes residence in your insides, the very one who’s heart it broke to sell your soul.
There is a kind of bloodlust that surrounds me, an inaudible hum that rattles just beneath your exterior, a jealousy so palpable that I can all but ignore it.
I am defenseless, helpless to the overwhelming possession that you have on me, completely blind to the chaos enveloping everything around me.

Those around me cannot bear to stand it any longer, this monster I’ve become, but I could care less.
For you are all that matters, your leather-pressed interior gives me a comfort incomparable to anything else I’ve ever felt before.
I can feel a poison coursing through my veins, as if the fury has changed hands completely, traveled twenty years to plunge its hands into my chest.

Beneath the restoration I imagined I worked so hard to achieve, I finally see that resemblance of the grave, your insides the blackest midnight, a rotting stench from deep below.
I know now that it is too late, the grip you have on my soul is much too strong, for I was under the waves from the start, my body was never truly mine from that moment on.
Our demise will be a thing of horrific beauty, our bones crushed under different vehicles of metal means, my heart stopping the minute your engine finally gave out.
My body will be embalmed and buried through and inside the dirt, yours compressed into something that is the farthest thing from beautiful, no longer resembling the gorgeousness I first laid my eyes on.

I will be dead and buried but you will live on forever, for your spirit will be a living nightmare, haunting this Earth until your hunger is satisfied.

Forever reigning in your unending fury.

© Copyright August 2016


Dangerous is the distance we cannot keep, anxious is the pressure crushing us.
The pressure that can be deliciously thrilling if it’s done right, and Devil knows we’ve done it right.
A trance-like feeling, the possession of our burning hearts and wretched souls consume all that we are. 

Hypnotic is the hold we have on each other, the carnal chemistry undeniable.
The chemistry that can be misleading in its molecular betrayal has the opposite effect in our presence.
A force that drives us into one another’s arms, this deadly consummation of sin, shall not be our undoing but rather our uprising. 

Encapsulated in the crispness of our love, the world which we were so engulfed in, drowning slowly, melts away.
Hell’s fiery flame and its soothing encouragement is the only place for us after death’s cool embrace, for we are too good to dwell elsewhere.
This possession, this force, the entanglement that we so shamelessly give into is truly a thing of beauty. 

Our young love will last even after the world ends. 

© Copyright August 2016

Death And Its Everlasting Convenience 

You came to me, a ghost in my dreams and yet you felt all too real. 

The flesh and blood body which you once inhabited appeared so life-like, but only a fool would believe such to still be true.
In the past, I would have given almost anything to know what lurks just beyond, to grasp the mechanics.
Now, I couldn’t care less.
The very prospect of a surprising end is far more appealing than one that is predetermined. 

You came to me, a ghost in my dreams and yet you were nothing like your once breathing counterpart. 

Where is it that you have gone?
The ground will open up and shallow us all whole someday.
Where is it that you have gone and am I destined to join you? 

© Copyright August 2016

An Eternity Of Exsanguination

I have traveled through time and space to get to you, for you are the one that got away.
The power I hold, the unimaginable frequency in which I possess cannot be matched.
This eternal house in which I dwell cannot be contained; the strength from that resting place is something of fairy tale.

I have traveled through time and space to get to you, for I shall not be denied.
The precision that is always in my grasp, the violence that forever keeps my heart beating, pumping a darker shade still, cannot be extinguished.
This unsettling absence in which I move, the dominating grace in which I slip away cannot be traced.

I have traveled through time and space to get to you, for our paths are more than destined to cross again.
The promise of a fulfilling life shall not befall you, for it is my mission to snuff that very opportunity, one that I have rode throughout the centuries.
This sense of panic, the feeling that this bloodlust will not be quenched, not until my knife’s edge meets your soft flesh.

I have traveled through time and space to get to you, for I cannot fathom another day with thoughts of you still breathing.
Exsanguination is the only way I know how to silence the screams, the only way to break the spell.
I have traveled through time and space to get to you, always appearing to be one step ahead of the curve and yet one step behind you.
I will dredge the depths of Hell to find you, if that’s what it takes.

Only a lifetime will tell.

© Copyright August 2016

September’s Caress

I was born on the cusp of Summer, tumbling into the beauty of Autumn’s graceful touch.

My heart pumps with the warmth of its immediate sunset, my skin the coolness of its impending chill.
Enveloped in the fog’s everlasting embrace, I feel as though I can stay forever, content in this very moment.

Burning through my soul are the colors of the changing leaves, soon to be falling and torched, their smell unmistakable.
The sting of September, the promising caress of its solitude is something I wait for all year, a feeling incomparable to all others.

The sensation apple cider has on my senses, its warming effect, tells me I can be here forever, lying in the rolling hills of your impeccable property.
The chill that crawls across my skin seems to beckon, reassuring me that this is where I truly belong.

I was born on the cusp of Summer, tumbling into the beauty of Autumn’s graceful touch.

I can stay in this state of solitude and reassurance for the rest of my days; for I know that I am safe, the security of the most magnificent hiding place.
In this September cold I feel free; the lulling scent of the air in which I bask makes any and all problems nothing but distant memories.

Maybe in another life we can eat apple pie together, for this season is not the same without you.

© Copyright August 2016

Spilled Across The Pages 

Extinguish Wilde from my heart, eviscerate Poe from my veins.
Abate the very inspiration that inhabits my being and lay me to waste.
Eradicate the likes of Ellis from my flesh; loosen the noose of Palahniuk from my soul.
Render any and every trace useless and salvage the stolen spectacle.

Dissolve Dorian’s effect on my vanity, destroy the raven’s echoes, that dreaded and blasphemous heartbeat, in my skull.
Disintegrate Bateman’s grip on the darkest recesses of my mind, lurking just beneath the glass; deny Mr. Durden access to the strings that pull me forward, savoring the anarchy embedded somewhere deep.

Banish Bradbury’s hold on my memory; beckon the likes of King from my youth.
All that I hold sacred in my heart, the thoughts that will never seem to slow, can be traced back to that, the very first time I laid eyes on their blessed words.
Break the connection between Thompson and the rest of my functioning brain cells, burden Dante no more with matters that grip on the nearest part of my being.
Everything I’ve ever known, changed in an instant, the very second I held your beloved pages.

Sever the ties Mr. Dark has on my senses, the smell of Fall never being quite the same, but having twice the sting, strike Pennywise’s power from the recollection of my friends; the sixth grade has never been so dark.
Take away Duke’s influence from my pen, forced into a kind of seclusion is the caffeine-fueled creativity that has plagued me years over, tear that vision of a grotesquely-layered Hell the fuck apart, relinquished are the challenges that will not face any of us upon the hour of our death.

I am nothing without the written word, for it is my guide.
A beautiful legacy, spilled across the pages.
I am nothing without the written word, for it is my escape.
Take it away, and you might as well have put a gun to my head.

I am forever an addict.

© Copyright March 2015/August 2016