Great Big World*

beyond
my front door

lies a great
big world

more vast
than is humanly
comprehensible

a veritable cornucopia
of prospect propitious
and liberty endless

brimming
with untold
opportunity
and infinite possibility

for me

to swiftly
and precisely

meet
my ultimate
demise

Not Even Death

when everything
is gone
nothing matters

the only place
you still exist
is barely even tangible

but you don’t care
no one cares

not even death

and so it persists

The Last Pain

fading in
and out of shadows
faces
of bizarre contortion
glaring
as a stranger’s
features
reach into
this bed of famine

trapped within
these walls
without you

terror-stricken

anxious

reeling

haunted
by fates unforeseen

fleeing
from my own escape
on paper
pouring totured
thoughts

poring over
art
distraught
in attics
dimly lit
amid daunting stacks
bearing chronicles
so unfamiliar

taunting
with disparity
the stalking stares
cast cold as steel

the last pain
I am left to feel
is lost to numbness
pitted in this hole
that was my conscience

Stranded On the Precipice

death escaped
my hands

and left me

standing at the altar

the emptiness
received me
like a self-
inflicted wound

in a room
adorned with trinkets of trifle

faintly linking
my alter-ego
to this faux land

of vaulted heart
and vapid mind

where visions turn
away
afraid
to learn

of their inbound
inception

this blunderous aberration
has no station

nor foot
to find it steady

a cistern of depleted days
precedes each ghastly step
in protest

stranded
on the precipice
of a sempiternal impasse

surely they jest
upon questioning
assent to my depression

such pain belies
its own expression

and politesse yet stays
my tongue

Wrought with Misery

silence ever
bleeds eternal

on such
darkened eves

huddled
in the farthest
reach

of hidden
memories

barren conscience
lies below

where
shallow whispers
breathe

brandishing
the burdens
buried ‘neath
a bed of leaves

once
shone verdant
in their glory

now tinged
with decay

tucked
in scattered layers

singed
in tattered
disarray

everything
that mattered

faded
in a distant scene

drifting
into nonexistent

narratives
serene

pages bare
the words
unspoken

waging wars
unseen

wading
in the erstwhile
waters

wrought
with misery

Shades of Pompeii

somewhere
along this wayward
path

i lost
the sum
of you

in broken
buttons

crumpled
papers

whispers

faintly
promised

to reflections

we once
bared

scattered
over trails
capricious

memories
thread precious
pleas

plotting
their escape

like petty fools
from plighted faith

parched
from implore

upending
thoughts

would mark
the path

that led me
to your vested
heart

when vagrants
sought
the stars

and charted
the descending
hours

of our last
reverie

rapt
in such despair

’til all
that i could
see

were driftless
streaks
of blackness
stripped

amid
the grip
of shame

unearthed

where flashing
shades
of pompeii

stayed
in grim dispart

impressed
upon

the distant
sky
estranged

a world
apart

Another Day

another day

another chance
to wallow
in this hollow
fetid shell

another dance
amid the fallout
of this self
constructed hell

forever burdened
by this curse
immersed in faded
aquarelle

ever is this
burgeoning dearth
fated
until i am
felled

A Mind Once Sound

i bear
your cross

in the frost-addled agony
of anhedonia

adrift
in discrepant lucidity

of dolent disrepair

its wintry sermon
inhabits
my every haunt

taunting
my inhibition

intently
transmuting

this glacial divide
thawing
with haste

forestially untethering

each stinging tie
to a mind
once sound

rant of scant merit

I guess I’m an emotional masochist because I always fuq everything up far beyond the precipice of merit propitious.  Dare I say, it’s depressingly disconcerting for it’s duly quite fervid, the ferocity with which I unfailingly inflict this inbound bondage.  I have deemed a living hell upon myself whose reins I shall never relinquish.   Nor shall I ever dispel the curse that these verses disperse on my pithless personage.  I search for the dirge that might deign to divulge my divergent urges surging to ravage my visage with savage compulsion and vague supposition.  Vulgar and vile these vices I vaunt when enveloped in venting with vanity’s wont.  As I saunter hauntingly to a daunting demise.   I witness this witless world through wistful windows of time since rescinded sans residual reticence of rote compliance that readily dotes on my amative recalcitrance.  To further articulate this artless affliction so to properly parse the veil of this valse lacking prevalent cause, prudent pause must be given to parlay the amplitude of dispossession so that I mayhap, per se, gain from said deprivation.  With all best intentions mentioned ad infinitum, impressed upon god’s greatest audience of none.  Yet somehow I find that the soul of my mind ever shuns me thus spurring to run underground just so that I may hide from this hideous horror whorled in writhing. Undermining my chances to shine with such vibrancy confined to contrivance in idle contradiction to idyllic ideals.  Where no sound is present to presage profound plights of piteous people persistently perishing garishly sinking into sentient pits of sapient despair.  And here I lay, hapless in hyporeactive states hopeless to extend a helping hand bearing the selflessness of our sole salvation.  To solve any quarrels of lore’s requiem as ennui quandaries of quietus quell squeamish skin squandered.  Acclimatization to scandal and scourges encouraging naught but a purging averred. Spurious inference evinced disingenuously, a word so misused it defines what is wincing.  Thrust upon miasmic oceans of plasma in plumes plotting schisms of ruinous rue.  Sophists usurping poised with dissemblance, in spite of supinely presented sound pleas.  At which point I ponder to pander implore that you please apprise me what purpose this is for. Aside from assuaging an aging aplomb ere appearing as pompous as this pen’s pathetically impaired plies of reasoning so paltry. Alas, I digress, for my state of distress is distorting the functions compressing my chest.  Lest I cease and desist I shall cease to exist but at least I know this much is blissfully true: I am fuqd and I cannot resist this fool’s fate of such languorous and lasting lamenting libration.  Intent on selling my soul to the devil in reveries of such voracious dyspepsy and lack of discretion so disseminating degrading the ground that I share with my fellow formations of foul indignation interred.  In tombs of tempestuous vestibules flailing in failure so profound it resounds and reverberates in sonorous echoes that beckon our reckoning in this armageddon that hails from charred skies. Rippling throughout our decrepit contortions condemned to a cold crippling morphine drip faintly gripping death’s sinewless hand where we lie.

Existence Remiss

lo, i know naught but an ignorance dire
inflicted upon those who dare court my ire
possessing scant patience for due diligence
i have no inclination to sate precedence
for all that i see is a world which devolves
revolving around me with heedless resolve
to suffer such consequence not born of my realm
indolent irreverence is a relic unsound
so profound is this bliss some might call it profane
still i’m bound to persist as they wither in vain
from the slithering stress steeped in sorrowful waves
such a grave indignation of conscience enslaved
abhorrent abomination i deign piteous
seeking sordid salvation of scorn hideous
sisyphean sell-outs diseased and distraught
such boolean fallout finds fools ever-fraught
with frivolous fears ere their failings forsooth
the fate of their frail bed of tears ailing truth
entailing an entropy expeditious
extrinsically linked to existence remiss