midnight martyrs

are we

the midnight martyrs

in the mire

amid the looming morrow

dimly lit
as dormant spires

of our spirit’s respite

revanants of ill-retire

masquerading ‘neath the mist

where misery
and moons


wistful weft

ain’t no use in tryna live
without a flying fuck to give
when everyone you know is screwed
and all the rest feign happiness

a prelude leading into plight
one might as well just take a powder
make their way to Aoshima
join the local recluse clowder

flee the quintessential has-beens
human beings, one and all
proven of their sole intention
wallowing in folderal

why not follow fate instead
and stand out from the fools and martyrs
pave the path of pithy preference
bolstered by a willful ardor

pop some pills if that should suit you
e’er the silent void awaits
all things extant soon diminish
why then, dare to contemplate?

just to sate one’s sordid ego
please, forgo that shit post-haste
morbid are the masochists
who muster all for naught but waste

chasing phantoms bleeds passe
so pass that dutchie on the left
and let us bask in blissful ignorance
amid this wistful weft

my kittens

if not for my kittens
i would not have cuddles
nor would i have solace or peace

my threshold for humans
would suffer immensely
with sights fixed upon the cerise

my world, a disaster
imperiled by imposters
whose impetus warrants no trust

my daily routine
would become so mundane
and my facial expression, nonplussed

my soul, long since sold
to an evil untold
wont to tread on my pittance of mirth

yes, if not for my kittens
as true as is written
i would indeed, undo my birth

lies unsaid

the expression
ever inbound

never strays
beyond its burden

with the essence
of our haplessness

what truths
remain unknown

between the narrows
of the flesh

this mind

a primitive perspective

to tell me

of ideals
waxed implicit

born of instinct

yet all
that would define us

lies unsaid

w/o cats

lo, without cats
there is naught

but ostentatious hordes
of vermin

restive nights
bereft of reason

down the dwindled path

wistful wants
of fitful fervor

to slakeless sovereigns

in the self-bound prison

of a cruel indoctrine

sans thy furred companion

to tend the toil of humans

gone are purrs
that soothed thy sorrow

for the noose of morrow

mother nature marred
with chaos

by deus ex machina

no longer valid

riddled with patina

by man’s incessant malice

without the feline bounty 

a hopeless wasteland

from its god ailuric