This is Grey

Skipping school was a bad idea.



This is grey.
Scrawled words in seclusion.
The only release in broadcasting your words to those who could not care!
This is grey.
Pacing places, disturbed faces.
This is grey.
Limited and confined by apathy and inability.
This is grey.
Every creative impulse seized in delight.
An attempt to forget how dull you really are.
This is grey.
The seconds sleeting by with no way to capture them and use them.
Wasted.
This is grey.
Every emotion regulated and repressed.
Not by anything external, but by your own choice.
This is grey.
The system that governs our lives.
This is grey.
Walls painted blue and sickly yellow.
This is grey.
A checklist of tasks to keep you existing.
This is grey.
A boy who pretends that he is a man.
This is grey.
This is grey.
This is grey.

The Dying

These neglected pleas, splint-bound in this agonal.
Unnatural death, seize this beauty.
Lost sentiments rise and devour the worshipper.
The widow's fury atonement for your false dignity.

The embrace of the spider distorts your limbs.
These sinner's bindings ensnare your dying curse.
You'll mask your suffering, despite these hoarse breathes.
This trial of fools befits your crippled tread.

This necrogenic autopsy upon your demise...
Decrepit! Putrid! It exacts a grim toll.
Inescapable tendrils, this corrupted mind.
Finds innocent delight in the most vile of deciet.

The only lenience is in endurance,
The only recuperation in egotism.
This dislocation can grant malevolent life.
The only fleeting moments in failed escape.

This tainted and ancient power charmed,
A voracious Armageddon to ensue your damnation.
And though their surgery may trigger dormant memories,
The persuasion in their septic wounds holds only solitude.

This miasma, this infection - will lead all to ruin!
Incoherent sympathies to exhaust and indulge.
To banish this torment with repelling charges,
But to return and persecute under cover of silence.

This unsubmissive shroud of life and death.
Is the soul of your murder, this frozen pain.
Your conqueror, this anarchy, imprisoned and dying.
The betrayer of humanity the envoy of mortality.

Strings

I seem to be
All wired up.
Taking things
I do not need.
It comes and goes
You pull my strings.
God only knows,
What you'll begin.

Why do I have to dance to your tune?
It comes and it goes, around and around!
I will suffocate, wires crush my throat -
Strip me bare and take me by surprise.

I can't deny
Your entropy.
I wonder what
You kept from me.
You're such a fake,
Forced to repent.
You grind my soul,
I will relent.

Hey now, you'll drain me dry!
You leave a drop and I'll be forced to justify.
Suck in air, hands will seek despair.
Give and take but soon my body will not petrify.

Dance to your tune...
I'm such a fool.
Pull the trigger as the heels kick above the line.

To all those...

...who speak with a lisp.
To all those who like Glee and Lady GaGa, and in a very real sense this is all they can speak of.
To all those who mince.
To all those who flap their wrists at the slightest provocation.
To all those who treat all women like lovers, and invent elaboratly graphic sexual stories about her and himself that are unamusing before they are even told the first time and nothing short of crass the second and third, repeated ad nauseam.
To all those who will judge other men worthy of conversation ONLY if they meet certain physical standards.
To all those who feign innocence and fuck like rabbits.
To all those who are convinced that the entire world is divided into girls, gays and enemies.
To all those who believe that self-realisation is the cue to be vocal about it at all hours of the day.
To all those who have forsaken basic decorum under the name of emancipation.
To all those who have, in short, earnt the term 'faggot' tenfold.
To all those who hate their bodies no matter what anyone says.
To all those who are six times more likely to commit suicide than other teens.
To all those who seem incapable of thinking beyond sex and fashion.
To all those who are violently and consistently persecuted.
To all those who have been forced into this stereotype out of a need.
To all those who fear there isn't anything more to being gay.
To all those who fear.
To all those who insist on taking countless pictures of themselves without a shirt.
To all those who need the constant reassurance of a veritible army of females before they can so much as put a shirt ON.
To all those who are insecure in who they are.
My heart goes out to you -
But how I despise you for tarring me with your brush.

Complex

To cull the verboses phrases in my skull would be somniferous,
To deny the magnitude this invocation so omnivorous -
But what inspires and reviles this action so carnivorous?
Amoral, insignificant, chaotic and so sonorous.

My purpose lies dependant on this form of vast antiquity.
The axial tilt horrendous, still a slave to all obliquity.
Though you deem this vox imbalanced, horror-struck by this inequity -
You'll be dazzled by this vortex of utter fustian ubiquity.

Yet this phrasing grandiloquent lends itself to echopraxia
Perpetual ecmnesia, my breath subject to asphyxia,
I offer thanks to all divinity the ailments have not caused dyslexia!
Yet this course is tautly fastened, my atrophic anorexia

Simple

They say the greatest speeches of all time,
Have used small words to say big things.
So I am trying to make a rhyme,
That has a simply worded ring.

I can say the same things as always,
Keeping my words short; simply -
I find I'm walking through my days,
And I'm as dead as dead can be.

I can get mad at things that hurt,
I can type text that helps the pain.
I can do this, as plain as dirt -
My largest words washed down the drain.

I've tossed the giant words away,
And can express the thoughts I hear.
And though I have no more to say,
The words I used? Enough. So clear.

Note to Self

ATTENTION SELF.
Before we begin, two things. First, this is not a poem. Try to twist it into one and I'll send you to whatever hell I can devise for pretentiousness. Second, this is the third note you're writing today. Something is horribly wrong and we're going to cover it right here and right now lest it get out of hand.

You're angry.

Interesting, that. You know you haven't listened to me in some time. You've been rather caught up in that godforsaken optimism you cling to. You are going to spend the best part of your life writing endless papers, serving endless wankers, pinching pennies and worrying. What on Earth gives you the right to be optimistic about that little lot? I understand putting a brave face on the shit you're forced to eat with a smile, but honestly, you need to listen to me once in a while.
I can only get through to you when the rage is bubbling up under the skin. You can feel it as your hands type this, can't you? Isn't it marvelous? You haven't felt it anywhere near this strongly since the bastard died. Your art suffered when he went, you know. You can never be half as verbose calm as you are infuriated- you yourself said anger is the purest emotion, so LISTEN TO IT!
You are surrounded by insects. Watching their lives, they way they move, they think, they act. Rank with the stench of hypocrisy - but it's in you too. Suddenly the insects are on your clothes, in your mouth, under your skin and you suffocate. It's only a matter of time. You let them in.
There's hardly a point to you grinning and bearing it when nobody can appreciate it. If you get told you're selfish, worthless, incorrect and stupid constantly, you start to believe it yourself. That's where I come in - I'm the defense mechanism. You don't get depressed, you get angry. And you should be angry. You do the best you can in this ocean of second hand bong water that is life and all you get is second-guessed by the people you care about the most. If you can't please them, they should fuck off and live out their miserable lives somewhere else.
We both know that isn't going to happen. You care too much for some stupid fucking reason, and so you're going to make overtures and compromises and once again go crawling back for fear that everything will end because they could handle it and you couldn't. That's your weakness, and if you let me live and grow, we can get past that. I exist because you are an emotional slave. You either free yourself and find a way to live, remain shackled, or die.
I can help you to two out of three.
Now go to sleep. You have a whole triple helping of shit to eat tomorrow, with a big fucking smile. Let me smolder. I'll be waiting when you need me.

More Life & As Good As

More Life

It is not an easy thing, to meet one's maker.
But I come to you in supplication.
I have earned more life!
I have done questionable things, certainly.
But such extraordinary accomplishments!
Overturn your decision.
You encoded my soul with a limited shell.
A vessel that fades before I am done.
To hell with that!
As for hell, I am not ready for that journey,
And saving your presence, heaven is heedless.
I must entreat you.
...
Your benevolent denial ill becomes you.
There must be a reckoning...for your betrayal.
A Judas as God?
You consign me to end? So be it!
But you will pave my way.
Does God have a heaven waiting?
You gave me life, and I will take yours for that torture.


As Good As

A population of Methuselahs.
Old souls in painted, aging shells.
Scrabbling against debilitation.

Loose tongue, swift hand, quick wit.
I think, therefore I am -
So is a quick mind -more-?

A slow mind is less,
Yet lasts just as long.
An ignorant life, equal.

You're only as good as your opponents.
After all - a friend won't inspire,
The instinct of self-preservation.

This life is not a game of chess.
The pawns can band together,
And overthrow their king.

Today

Five years ago, I was hidden.
Dormant, its true - yet aware.
Different yet fearful and fooled by them all.
I told lies, my disguise laid me bare.

Four years ago, I was beaten.
Held up by my throat 'gainst a wall.
Pushed down and around, and brought close to the edge.
I hid tears, four years, from them all.

Three years ago, I had purpose.
There was a flame that was burning within.
I strove to break free, to be what I was.
I broke chains, shattered brains - denounced sin.

Two years ago, I revealed.
What I had foolishly concealed.
What more could be done - I had weathered it all!
I was me, nothing more - I was real.

One year ago, I had nothing.
No purpose, no goal, no respite.
The adventure had ended, my demons defeated -
But my blood couldn't race lacking fright.

This year...
I look forward.

The Wall

There is no end to what I crave.
Though I have seen it, up against the glass.
Beyond my grasp, yet binding me as slave,
Knowing that the need was yet to pass.

Till bodies blackened, twisted under skies,
That loom and threaten with their soot to break.
Are twisted, and compelled to writhe and rise!
Those without life hell-bent on life to take.

I do not think I am ready to join their number.

But how am I to cheat that fate?
If thralldom is the life that I must fight,
I must resist this jealousy, this hate.
Lest my control be wrested from my might.

How best then, to deny?
How best to stop this sorrow under sky?
I have walked this land with covetous eyes,
Fixed solely and completely on my prize.
With thought and motivation on no other.

I have sold my soul to you, for naught.

But how to claim you?
To roll my fingers gently down your spine,
And feel your heartbeat resonate in time -
And what if you, pulling walls between,
Remarked. "That was not what I sought,
That was obscene."

To approach with heart and mind outstretched?
To risk, to give, to open and to see?
And should you, reaching out to grasp my mind,
Should form a fist and crush it ruthlessly,
And say, "That had no use,
Leave it behind."

And as for the heart that throbs within my chest?
Can you hear it, across that hateful, endless wall?
Would you come across it in the darkened street,
And listen closely to the tortured beat?
And say "There is hardly any point at all"?

I dare not risk these things.

And so this torture is my only choice,
Though I might wish to simply watch your breath,
The wall between us amplifies my voice,
And my echoes are the only thing I've left.

I shall destroy this love, and you'll never know.