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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?