I was watching the drama of waves
observing the architecture of unknowable uncertainties
regaled by the imposition of brazen creation
in capsules we mesmerized
the plastic we memorized
and set the ego aflame
in unnameable days

But I never wished for a preliminary existence
only wanted a disastrous exigence
yearned and dreamed for intricate abolishment
to cling to intoxicate
the reason we'd demonstrate
only for the years to disappear
and to learn how to wait

So I saw the echo of the sins we raised
and smiled back in vengeful reticence
digging up the seeds of this delirium
as I befriended the unworthy
for the ideal of my envy
to chisel this mechanic meaning
across the message of a name

This thought is a devastating demand.
And here I linger beyond repose
stranded in manic self-reflection
simulating despair in this charlatan mind
those breaths inevitable
like the tortured steps that carry me
from daylight nightmares
to the nothingness of dreams.

I wake to reminisce on insight
making moments for forgetting brilliance
mourning the memory of a self I knew
solemn and hollow,
this fetal insignificance tied to a futile cross
wasting my weeping on meaningless hurts.

As an eidolon, deified and objectified.
Inimically conscious.
Abandoned.
Ravaged.
Beloved, and alone.

I cannot read my own testament.
And I wish I knew why I cannot care.

You have entered the plague of my presence.
Grovel at my weakness.
Weep at my mortality.
Kiss my leprous hand,
and make your pledge.
Say that you're my friend.
You are welcome here, truly,
this the court of my dissolution,
halls of the downcast, the overthrown,
housing only the seat of my abjection,
my rotting throne.
At least I'm not alone.

Aghast at existence
I cannot move
locked in concentrics
of spinning moments
exsanguinated dawns
nauseous particles with quantum names
a providence in disarray
like a springtime suicide

–it's the thought that counts

You are vile company
with your exhausted rhetoric
and your trite despair
a thorn in my arm
a piercing nuisance
injecting thoughts I wish would wither
like the crumbling of any relevance
you once possessed.

That bawling ego
those numb, stained eyes
extortionate tears
a migraine remembrance
an incessant sympathy
to break the mirrors in my mind
and appreciate the atrocities
of this world I cannot change.

But it is never enough
the poison in my glass
the noose I might command
sentenced to a life
creatively damned
in abhorrence of the moment
this pandemic mind
this virulence of thought
that is the only thing I have.

Chewing on misery
picking the bones of a life
from tarnished teeth
an unmemorable succession of moments
and me
a tidal melody
for the moonless and the mannequin
the lyrics of harassed lungs,
making their way
as the heart feeds rust to my brain
and here I lay
abused to impertinence
while amused with significance
retained, amazed, washed away
I am the husk they mutilate
the dead child who blesses wars
the consequence of caring too much
when abortions come so cheap.

Ballistic intuition impressed on barbarous imaginations
substantial transit of the soul to matter
effectless
vapor in hearts like tormented memes
the aggrandizement of self-evisceration
and the symphony wavers
beset by ripples, revived and defiled
the apocalyptic gesture of familiar hauntings
enumerated by moments of helplessness
there is a magician calling himself God
and an acquired taste of dead lilies
a distinction of anxiety and antiquity
separation turned intrinsic
common-law blasphemy
serene unbecoming

A vanishing repose
and my lingering self
an envenomed conception
as I revive to waste
amid smeared star-falls
a transparent aurora
on this night of desert transcendence

And the id among valleys
a reclining mysticism untended
awash in devalued regret
disenchanted springs
an apostle's apology
I am bewildered
and forborne

And oh erratic collusion
contraband thought
a white forest burning
lacerating whims exhaled
recipient alone
everything is revolving
and the axis is cracking

Desolate mirages dissolving
a fossil mind
and the terror of patterns
unrelenting
my majesty

Confess!

Semblant revenant
Massacred meme

Confess
and be gone

So the Lost Son returns
I breathe because the air commands it
and bemoan this dire revelation
Wisdom weeps, and I do not care
She holds the knife against her wrist
as I look on with bastard eyes

I am hunted by Christ
as the Seed of Life refuses root
and I drag myself through desolation
murmuring the sounds of my own name

It crawls inside me
It belongs
The Light I spoke is mine

And She comes down
the Life I do not recognize
in swollen fear of Saturn's Star
I hide in regal terror

Three Men call for me, a single voice
and they are each Perfection
I cower in Hell

Telmael Telmachael
forgive me ever being born
I am Powerless
I am Powerless

They cried for me in Paradise
And there was no God

I am my own conception
a Genesis through self-expression
The Sun is in me

The Serpent and the Lion...
I was the Garden that they raped
this Mind I emanate...
The Sun is in me

I am the Word, and it is not enough
My crown was plucked from rotting stars
She loved me more than Christ Himself

The Sun is in me, and I wish to die

I was brought to this exquisite contingency
a relative contentment for confined extremity
flawed by dissolving savor
This moment has no owner

I feel nothing
and the hours are compressed
a wracked spiral of significance without definition
self-effacing manifestation
crushed by the weight of time
while nothing moves

And in the catacombs where intention was laid to rest
a nightmare called the soul was given form
from blind minds prevailing out of abyssal wisdom
For this we forgot how to forget

I have discovered Hell within myself
the absence in between the sparks
Every quantum resurrection leaves an infinity of corpses
so biology is not an ignorant synonym for God
and only destruction is a return to form

Case in point reason revealed

True love and aneurysms
Self-sacrifice and banal infanticide
White Phosphorous wedding gifts
Painting portraits for the blind

The only meaning is meaningless
the witness nonexistent
we are living the implosion
and no one is listening

This thought was never meant to be, so very naturally inimical to nature
corroded again with the heroin-spike of self-importance, I cannot rest
so I count the slaughtered sheep across the fence
and fantasize about all the times I could have died
but not really
there's a storm in here, and the clouds spell out my name
history swelling like my memory of thunder
crash
a bygone degradation: hormone flood of predictable anxiety
that auto-abusive child, mutilating itself like unintentional art
heedless of the void
crash
time dilation breathing in
reminder as a knife in the spine
I was born to love things and watch them rot to death
crash
impulsive reptilian posturing, for a moment
unconscious reflection on my flayed esteem
as though I were anything to matter
crash
there's nothing here to hurt anyway
a wetware ghost with imaginary feelings
and an obsessive metaphor called God
crash
crash
crash

“I” am, at best, an intangible, an elusive incidence – an implication of Id dreamt of by madmen and addicts. And yet, “I” insist upon existence, as if the instant of evaporation could describe water in essence. Inarticulate. A phantasm of expressed semantics, inherent to nothing. “I” die every time “I” am born, across the infinite strata of moments, those sequestrations of seemingly-sovereign thought that identify as human, just as how a thousand-trillion molecules of dust pose in the shape of a corpse.

The morning sun is a sword to fall upon
breath is suffocation
as I tender the disciple's noose
another reign I did not choose
damnation by days
and I hurl away the blades
but the glass is stubborn in my skin
the nails are poignant in my wrists
so I rage and damn my futile gods
I bless the scourge that batters down my will
just as I will never forgive the abuse of my birth
we are all the apostles of Thanatos, cavorting as lovers
but I'm disillusioned with the inflation of existence
and heading for a crash
the crown of life will break my neck
my lungs will die, my thoughts prevail to black
and I cannot wait

Now here, nowhere, upon the precipice
postconscious stigmata impaling the hours
as the blood runs dilute, down,
in strung-out ribonucleic guilt
the ashes of the effigy's identity deconstructed
these cracked tetragrammata
a relapse to submissive will igniting
like the embers of suffocating time
fleeting as the sun

This, the egotist extinction,
replaying the fractured rays
of devastating evolution
introducing ourselves to ourselves
like suicidal gods,
blaming the world for the sin of existence

We should not be, and we are:
children of a deranged zeitgeist
dreaming up autoerotic Hell
with the occasional repressive slip
revealing the worst in us

Merely there, everywhere, the mortal, the mind,
getting high on the solar wind,
pretending it doesn't hurt,
and in the negative space of a breath,
as one,
begging to die


And now one less

Here we are again
liminal and degenerate
a compound neurosis inspiring awe
recursive necrosis and the apocalypse of art
like the chisel to the sculptor's skull
true beauty in defacement
dementia in media res

There are no demons
and the storms shirk their names
The vacant vigil of a deicide
Nullified enlightenment denying surprise
They screamed their blasphemies as loud as they could
and no one cared

But can you hear it now?
The cackling of that psychotic muse?
The precious equations of our spiritual chemistry
dividing nothing by nothing
Our first thought was fear

I watched God die
I watched stars die
Strung out in a kaleidoscope of mutilated time
Narcissus was bleeding from his eyes
This vivisected dream of infinite martyrs
Endless creation and the self-stained barrel of our fantasies
diegetic and disgustingly real

With passionate masochism as the mother of invention
how can any of us stand it?

The soul forced to unfold like a nautilus
a reverse of evolution
aspiring to the ocean like lust for Heaven
Prometheus rising from the rock
Ignorance of ashes
I was walking on water

The storm sprayed names like bullets
lightning indictments, one upon the other
but we were deaf to fear
too dead to hear

A cadaver writhing on the slab
jacked into the zeitgeist
leaking moral fiber where the blood ran dry
these scarred bones could spell out the death of purpose

I can scream old thoughts with annihilating fascination
I can dream incineration and aurora
I want to be enthralled by the Sun
I want to raise suicides from their graves

But my feet begin to sink
and existence collapses onto me
my placebo nightmare falling apart
God is over on the shore, masturbating

Now kneeling on the ocean floor
raped by Wisdom until I scream that it is Love
denied my appeal to a coma
too traumatized for tears
a paralyzed smile
Still sinking
It hurts like being born

I would elect a brain-dead king
and vote for my own death-support
I would crawl to Golgotha
only to die before they could raise me to the cross

Wrapped up like a drowning foetus
silently begging for my abortion
I can't hold myself together
Detonating with the cosmos

This soul swimming with a limp
vomited from the eddies
a poor decision
burning the curtain to life's pageantry

They put a tourniquet on Eternity
and I fell off, gasping for blood
the poisoned apple of genius
inspiration to nothing

I remain the death of names
a conscious still-birth
retroactive regret
and a passive genocide

The water was a meaningless metaphor
I subsist by lying to myself

We, the viscid
the disincarnate
degenerate chimera
suffocating without lungs
procreating without love
the dragon that slays itself
We, squamous mechanics inept with hammers
crucifying the meme to the meat
while breathing the burden on the ghost in the womb

Electric ideologies and transcendent self-regard
The semantic romance stroking out
kissing the uncanny
swapping language like aortal spit

You can't meditate the shame away
You're not the author you think you are

So let's hear the Armageddon sigh
Make the stars subjective, go on
Pathetic ruminating numina

Disease is in the eye of the poet
and Nothing abhors volition
A not-so-shocking secret
Satanically strung in the living code

It's putting a crown on your slave
It's fighting a duel with your executioner
It's lynching yourself from the sky hook

Just stop

Speaking is suffering an illness of will

Unfolding like blossoms on the Tree of Death,
a progressive divorce from the Godhead

He died on a hill of dead horses

Enthroned like Nero
as the Id flashed to ash

(They had probably-not-Syphilis in common
not even the best idea at the time)

Psychic flirting makes living silence

An autoerotic relapse to grief
like cubist emptiness

Billions in favor of conception oppression

The burning figment of the final messiah
killing itself for attention