Brother

It is important to remember that adjectives are subjective.
And what is more to me is less to you.
Your 'destroy' is my 'create'; your 'honest' my 'disguised'.
My chains your liberation and your rapture my demise.

You are drunk on my sobriety, I am high aloft your lows.
You love what I despise and my discord meets your prose.
Yet something vaguely rhythmic governs our reaction,
Lending beat to the tired opposition and refraction.

Your mind can dance across the barricades I can't,
And sow the seeds of chaos from our malignant plant.
And likewise I can sense the foes who softly sneak,
Upon us as we sleep and think us weak.

It is important to remember that our adjectives are reflective,
And what is all to me is me and you.
Though we're doomed to weary wars by endless aggravation,
There comes a time when that is set aside for supplication.

We were not designed to walk in line,
But our heartbeats, inexplicably in time!
Though our minds whir and smoke apart,
To be known as your brother...
That's a start.

My new computer and UI

Skinwalker

I had to visit you, in your cell.
I had to see you for myself.
You were a confirmation, of sorts.
Sent from hell, as you claimed.
Yet I was not so sure.

You grinned at me - pleased, no doubt.
"At last, you come to speak with me.
You've no doubt heard, they spread the word,
I am not what I appear to be,
From me, human, you'll surely flee."

I stood fast against your wicked tongue,
Despite your scorn, I had to know.
"Creature or man, though hate you sow,
You know you may not come and go,
As you please. I shall not fear."

You laughed then, a ghastly sound,
Like a flock of shrieking birds.
"You wish to sit and hear my words?
You shall not like the truths I tell,
Honestly? I'm sent from hell!"

"I wear the flesh of man, tis true,
Yet this face belies the beast inside.
This facade is not so hard,
As what I am helps lend my pride,
To form and face of pleasantry."

Here I was forced to admit,
If demon lay inside of it,
The form was still... handsome, enough.
But I felt sure that evil would,
Tempt with beauty hearts of good.

"I wear your skin, I steal your face!
I spread discord and spiteful lies!
I hate this world, I hate this place,
And all this foolish, stupid race.
I shall break this place, and you."

Here I stopped and thought to ask,
"But what could suit you to this task?
What in your nature lets you lie,
And cheat and maim and kill again?
What suits you to this task?"

He seemed nonplussed at my demand,
Perhaps unsure - but maybe more.
"Why, I am equipped with many tools,
To entrap and devour fools.
The skinwalker is a mighty beast."

"Beyond the skins of men I wear,
I lust for power, nothing else.
And though I may pretend to care,
I would see the whole world burn,
If it suited my command."

"My own desire is as law,
I crave all ego satisfied,
And to those who would oppose,
I would see them burn.
They would all burn."

"I'll take your spite, I'll take your love,
Opposing, but the end's the same.
I must be noticed, to have worth!
If this life is but a game,
I intend to be the leader."

He regained his breath and caught my eye,
And grinned, baring those ugly teeth.
"And what are you, but horrified?
Can you not see the lengths that I
Shall go to be all that I need?"

I laughed at him.
"You fool! We are the same!
You think you are not man?
Because you rip and maim?
Man is that and more."

"Man is vicious and discrete,
Man can tear and kill to eat,
Man can feed and man can hate,
And man can forsake all he has,
To satisfy his happiness."

The beast looked shocked.
"But...how can you?
I drive this form to do base deeds,
But that is what I want and need,
I am demon! Man is -"

"- Man is that." I cut him off.
"Demon wrapped in pretty words,
Yet justified."
"Justified!" He cried, aghast.
"How can you say such a thing?"

"We've found a loophole," I informed him.
"It's called redemption, nothing more.
A word to sum up all we need,
A word to absolve all our sins,
A word to which demons take heed."

"After all," I mused aloud,
"We do not live for long, it seems.
And if, along our rush for dreams,
Some heads are crushed - so what?
They would do the same to us."

The beast turned an ashen grey,
The visage of humanity crumbling back,
But I was not afraid.
I had seen what people are,
And no beast within could worry me.

The demon cowered at my gaze,
"I implore you, look away!
I cannot bear the sight of you,
Man is more than I could hope
To contend with in horror."

I leant right in and watched him squirm.
"I advise you, beast or god,
To leave this place, lest you be seared.
Humanity has little patience,
And you will surely burn."

He did, of course. He had no choice.
For what skinwalker could stalk the streets,
Preying on that which has proven,
To be able to absorb his heat,
And turn it back upon tenfold?

Deity

Memory of mine,
Beautiful, yet evil.
Violence denied?
Fight me like a devil.

You're the ghost,
I'm the savior.
Wanted the same, you couldn't blame,
Without finesse.

Lost in this daydream,
My terrified god.
If you're looking for meaning,
Seek it in my blood.

Deity of mine,
Horrified and frozen.
Feel the hate inside,
Am I all there is, then?

I'm the damned,
You're the angel.
Wanted your light, you couldn't smite,
Without betrayal.

Lost in your daydream,
A dark and deep hole.
I'm guilty of treason,
Relinquish my soul.

Lost in this daydream,
My terrified god.
If you're looking for meaning,
Seek it in my blood.

Child of your flesh,
I can still deny you!
Oh...
Oh...

You are my daydream,
A shade, nothing more...
I was looking for meaning,
My vision was poor.

Lost in your daydream,
A dark and deep hole.
I'm guilty of treason,
Relinquish my soul.

My soul...

Celluloid

Lights, camera, refraction.
Cheap jewels upon your powdered flesh,
As the shutters drink you in.

Are you crazy enough to consign yourself,
To mortal memory? To man?
Immortality inscribed on that most volatile of substances?
Celluloid souls, flickering on the silver screen.

Are you devoted enough to the flickering light,
To give yourself to shades,
Of reality cut thin?

But of course it is much more than that.
Imagination, invested within
The minds of masses, like reels of film
Wound tight and then unleashed.

The reflection is worth more than the source,
The lies are more real than reality.
And you can live forever here.

Too short, too tall, too thick, too thin.
Too slouched, too old, too young, too proud.
For the cruel, almighty gaze of the lens,
You must be too perfect.

For there is no room in this world for imperfection.
If they do not know your name,
You have failed. You are dead.

Your soul desired yet ever stolen,
Your words repeated for all time.
All you are, distilled to harshest purity,
In her flickering light.

The Poet

He sits amidst the debris of his work,
Enamoured only with his thoughts.
That chase themselves around,
in cereberal and spitefull pools,
Making mockery of his newfound incoherence.

For what more is there to do?
He has waxed wroth on all matters under sun,
That lie within the harrowed hearts of men.
He has summed up the stars,
Put pen to sky,
And encompassed the very air in poetry.

He has torn open skulls and feasted on the brain.
At best a beast, oft touted as insane.
But now his disciples, ever-present and desperate,
Weigh his words with fervour and respect,
And a burden it must be.

For he has had the world ensnared upon a pin,
Wriggling, dying, wasted.
And when you have the world upon a pin,
How can you begin?
You have already ended.

He has burned people alive for scorning him,
And drunk in the verbosity of their dying shrieks.
He has written of coupling with the devil,
Who deigned to notice his heinous charm,
And convoluted mind.

He has even written of the word!
Structure and nuance torn apart at the seam,
In search of what? What is his goal?
To express? To digress? To destroy or to make whole?
To find his soul?

Before eyes unseen and voices whispered,
He labours at his task – for hours, weeks.
Once complete, a work is useless, nothing!
Worse than nothing.
A scrabble at the slab that is his tomb.

For of course there can be no end,
For one who knows that words are ever his.
The world enslaved by phrase, yet ever-turning.
The ultimate denial,
For he who preaches power and is slave.

Prison

You're hiding yourself inside that body.
I'll get you out.
You may think you've got me fooled,
But the shivers at my touch,
Give you away.

Can you feel these killer's hands,
Gently caress your neck?
You wouldn't think it to look at them, would you?
They seem the fingers of a pianist, not a killer.
Beautiful, yet brutal.

How best to draw you out?
With gazes like knives?
Or knives, like razors?
The prison of flesh that confides and confines,
Is what I find desireable.

I grow cold in the gales of your breath,
I am seared by the fires in your flesh.
Can it be you're trying to break free?
The more my hands touch your frail form,
The more of yourself escapes into this night.

Wait! Another minute, please.
I can feel it, secondhand - yet powerful.
The more you draw away,
The more I want you,
But all you are is founded on a pack of lies.

Heat

He's bathed in neon,
As we stand before harsh streetlights,
Flickering signs beguiling,
But everybody wants you -
Why should I even bother?
As the roads are swept with darkness,
And the heat slowly drains from them,
As your face is turned towards me,
And the whole world turns away,
I think you know.

Lately,
I can't seem to ignore you,
My whole world spins before you,
And everyone around me,
Becomes so unimportant,
And you don't even want me -
But one day I'm sure you'll see
The heat that you are causing,
Within and all around me.

Within and all around me.

I think you know,
My hands twitch at your voice now,
And my skin crawls as I think how,
You might leave me alone here,
Are you really so blind?
How could you miss what's happening?
You've started flame a-burning,
My soul is surely yearning,
And you do know.

Lately,
I can't seem to ignore you,
My whole world spins before you,
And everyone around me,
Becomes so unimportant,
And you don't even want me -
But one day I'm sure you'll see
The heat that you are causing,
Within and all around me.

You're bathed in neon,
As we embrace before harsh street lights,
Your eyes beguiling.
And everybody wants you,
But you won't even bother.

Coz you want me...

Lately,
I can't seem to ignore you,
My whole world spins before you,
And everyone around me,
Becomes so unimportant,
And I know that you want me -
Because you couldn't but not see
The heat that you are causing,
Within and all around me.
Within and all around me.
Within and all around me.

Sour

Alright, so I might write - though this sentence despite
it can't measure my pleasure or encapture this treasure.
But can I stress that I feel blessed? I'll put that to the test,
By allowing my word to be heard and conferred,
I feel slightly different - less ignorant? Think on it.
Twould be remiss if I insist on relying on a list,
Of lessons and expression all reliant on this session.

Instead I shall admit that it gets harder to submit,
To this act and counteract, as if I'm bound to a pact.
Though I'm suffering, a witch-king, cursing every little thing,
I play the part of winner when at heart I feel a sinner.

Through analysis, dialysis - condemned to my paralysis!
Decisions and revisions that will never be reversed.
To round the sound, at last! - and yet lie buried in the ground,
Of foes they long since captured whilst I lay trapped in rapture.

Though at best this beast is snared - beware! He has a baleful stare,
That will sour and devour at the faintest change in power.
The farce is past - so have a blast! He's yet to kick your arse.
The mask you wear have strength to bear against what he will ask.

The Sheriff

Sometimes a man can be placed forth for reason.
To stand firm and strong, for what is right.
With a well-tailored uniform, badge shining brightly,
And a truncheon at side - in case of a fight.

For the world we all live in needs a firm hand to guide it,
Merciful - yet punishing; fair - but direct.
There are those who will not accede to my wishes,
Who haven't the faintest amount of respect.

And its my task to stamp out the insurgents of chaos,
Those inciters, deviants - purveyors of vice.
Who find it impossible to live within boundries,
Who hold out warped hands and with sin they entice.

They follow strange gods, and eat stranger foods,
They sleep with strange people and lack basic shame.
They keep demon's hours - but demons themselves,
They pass through their lives without horror or blame.

And how hard can it be to be moral and righteous?
At least - I seem to manage, without any stress,
My world view will not stand for change or difference,
I stand for the law, nothing more, nothing less.

If I fear them deep down - so what? Not my problem!
They shouldn't have chosen to be such a fright!
And if they refuse to meet my understanding,
They'll feel the full force of my terrified might.

Though I may be flawed and imperfect,
I am empowered by the will of many,
To destroy the few we cannot understand.
I cannot understand.

Eidelon

The sombre eidelon stands alone,
A rock admidst a tide of man,
Cavorting flesh, no mind, all meat.
To flight the mind to fancies,
and intimidate the senses.

Atending him, the silent Jezebel,
Painted in judgemental black.
Lips pursed, eyes of grey steel.
Contempt for the traveller in this riotous realm
Matched only by the inspired revulsion returned.

In tunnels hewn by human hands,
To circumvent the mechanical mess,
A grubby Orpheus may be found.
With matted hair, and busy bow,
and eyes smouldering with promise.

And at your side, the jewel of grace,
Borne forth by this decaying place,
A guide she is - though weak, well versed,
She'll take you by the hand,
And help you understand.

And help you'll need,
Lest this tide pull you down,
And you succumb to the might,
A city full of vigor and sheer numbers,
Can exert upon you.

But God, you'll feel alive.

Over

I know that you can't live without me.
Stand up and tell them.
I know that there is nothing left,
here for me, save for you.
But you fell....

Over my head, its the truth.
And you're over me again,
Yet you fell,
Over the edge, such a shame,
That you're over me again.

They said that the fairytale will save us.
I can't believe.
Why should I tell you that I love you?
What good would it do?
And I fell...

Over my head, its the truth.
And you're over me again,
Yet you fell,
Over the edge, such a shame,
That you're over me again.

And now, I feel you breathe behind me,
But you won't breathe a word.
So far gone, and for that I'm truly sorry.
I'll let, this die, this die -
As we fell...

I know, that you can live without me,
They came and they told me.
I know, that there is nothing left,
And that there never was...
And I fell...

Over my head, its the truth.
And you're over me again,
Yet you fell,
Over the edge, such a shame,
That you're over me again.

Over my head, its the truth.
And you're over me again,
So you fell,
Over the edge, such a shame,
That you're over me again.
Again...