Radiation Will Be The Judge To Which You Will Testify

Posts tagged “gun shot head

The Taste of Rage

I awake, reality institutes deceptive assault
daring me to stoke the flames,
staring at me begging for coal
daring me to fuel the fire

Reality spit at my face,
haphazard, decrepit strategy
as I tried to ignore the putrid stench

The world awoke, raining frozen hydrogen from above
enclosing the sun in cumulonimbus gloves,
foolish trick masquerading as a dove

Duality lit totality ablaze
Forever gazing through absent haze
Pleasure hazing monastic graves

Spastic legs, I walk, misconstrued
plastic dregs talk, confused
harassing pegs, they overlooked bombs’ fuse

Today, silence resounding calms
no vibrations from violent pounding palms
tomorrow more journey for floundering prawn

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Day 3/Heartburn Reloaded

This is day 3, and while I have regained lost mental acuity, and calm
I have undergone the recurring problem of doubt, and hatred

She no longer gives thought, to my trials
She no longer cares, about my plight
Whether she ever did before, irrelevant
For the facts must be dealt with now

She said she was trying to stop talking,
while she talked more, like always
And claimed I was writing her novels

Here is my next novel to you, I call it: Brick Wall

For now that is what composes my heart,
my eyes wear blinders, where only your visage is absent
and the whole colorful world envelopes your empty space

I am a brick wall now, that you might forever regret
using your double-edged tongue to cut me lengthwise
and test my patience

How does it feel, running your hands along this mortar, where
my mouth once existed
do not you wish you could grasp the slender handle of a sledge hammer
break apart these walls, which your contemptuous hands dreamt of building
Now you may grumble in your own hostilities, loathing my attitude
Like I loathe your contemptuous being

Can you hear? The echoes?
Bouncing off my brick wall
Thank you for helping to build it


Heartburn

When she finally decides to throw me against a putrid gutter
I will have reaped what has been coming for years
Never did I feel that it belonged, two different puzzle pieces,
one, with razor sharp edges, which intersected and interjected the other, round and dull

My point of view barely extends beyond this second,
infinitely immersed in the only present visible
and all I can see is myself
cowering in a dark corner, where light cannot shower its contempt

I dive into a pool of my own thoughts, as always
remembering this was meant to be
I never deserved half an hour, much less a year
and now my faith dangles from the edge
and now my hatred spills across the floor into its own pool
forming my being

Soon, possibly sooner, I will finally reach that point,
where I always belonged, how it was always supposed to happen
sitting, again, alone, raped by my own self-composed silence
saturation in tacit lonliness
vapid voids which escape this
screaming defiance of truth

How much longer will this decrepit charade remain,
ignoring her heart and soul,
trying to exterminate my own in the process
leaving us both shattered

then, will I know true pain


Third Eye Declined

I am puzzled every day at the mendacity of status quo lifestyles
including my own

When faced with a choice, a dirt path in the woods, overwrought with undergrowth
which diverges into two completely separate paths,
one, encapsulating the current, destitute and failed incorporation of all that “reality” brings into your life

and the other path, which travels deeper into the forest of unknown,
a book with a thousand pages, all untouched by ink,
there lies the unbeaten path, at risk of disavowing every single piece of humanity, social stratification,

while a corporate dog eats all, the pattern’s amazing
back home,  they cling to it like an edge of the Grand Canyon
fingernail fractures soil, a last attempt at continuing this dance

storm forms
inflation captures, fiat enraptures
no patience left in depth,destroying the nexus of stress, bliss
how much can I, stress/this
brows are beaten, tear gas creeps through crowds/disperses the defeated
Escape to a search of beyond
beyond lies, cries, miserable subsistence colored ugly by lights neon
fright for eons

spite against dark, and all colors from there to white getting beyond
the last Act of this play,
where subtle apprehension dies

I never seem to coax my own courage from its slumber in caves
hiding under a box of lumber, 6 feet beneath the grave

Although so clearly I envision the mission
Envisage a reverence for nature, for our mother, for the atmosphere
Its so easy to escape it, I once saw a beaten pathway which curved up a mountain,
where I would build my encampment, sheltered from extremity
hiding from sweltering hegemony

There I would build a fire, and chop down a hundred trees,
erect palisade walls for protection, and fall back to ancestral speed
A human can survive in harsh wilderness owning little more than nothing
while here, having it all is never enough to thrive

When will I barricade myself out of a population of lost souls,
to discover my own?

How long must I be led astray from a path where the docent dwell
from a location of secret sanity, hidden in plain view

I always feel I am twelve steps behind progress,
twelve steps behind an infernal machine, tearing
limb from limb on a march for segregated happiness,
and false hope, while
only twelve miles away, sanctuary stagnates, awaiting my return

Why does fighting daily for survival appear such a liberty-stricken dream
while enough amenities to please royalty exist now,
to satiate the most greed-driven fiend


Randomized Curtailment of Will and Fortitude

encore
thinking of blonde doors
standing ajar and whispering furtively
perspiration glistens from the frame which encases it

I gave away my attention span to a passerby
lending them the wealth of my, interdimensional deficit disorder

My words cut into my skin like a butcher knife,
exacting its revenge on a slaughtered mammal
attempting to paint meaning onto my life

I watch the strife of beggars
forgotten, destitute in a gutter
daydreaming of a no-cover triple keggar
poverty’s song is a butterfly’s wings that flutter

She looks into my eyes, I stutter
she disembarks from atop her heightened stature,
riding on a stallion of worth, cursing my rapscallion birth
no chance, the words hide for fear of dejection
sharp exhales I can only mutter

Like a fork cutting through butter,
my arms extend outward to attain,
the keys to this game’s basement,

so that i may plunder its knowledge and wealth
her heart took me forever asunder
thunder booms in the distance
screaming at me to stay off the shelf


War Haiku #16

bodies line deserts
saturating sandy soil
war whats it good for?


War Haiku #4011

Shrapnel tears his skin
Crushing cutaneous shells
tears raining back home

War Haiku #255
Appendages break
Plasma splashes on pavement
freedom forsaken

War Haiku#945
Desert sands grip hands
and rip technology’s greed
right from underneath