I see the life at the edges of your eyes,
I know you bear no ill tidings against me but the rot will spread regardless.
Spilling over like a cacophony of coffins thrown into the pits.
A meager soul devoured, luminous being no more.
A waste, but not a shame...
Trusting lies,
Dreaming bread,
Kills the soul
In Hell’s dread.
-------------------------
......
The pain that I hide in my eyes
You will never see from a thousand miles
Days and nights pass me by
Everywhere I look I see you,
I wish I was blind.
Thoughts of romance haunts me
Black is the only colour I wear
Broken, shattered, tormented consciousness
Don't need the sun anymore darkness is what I crave now.
Take me back to the gloomy misty weather maybe that's my true habitat
......
A black sky.
A marble ceiling.
The crumbling cement cracks with the wind.
An old dog, with gentle grey
under its chin, sleeps on an
overgrown sidewalk.
A half-finished microwave meal, under
a broken chandelier.
......
Trembling hands succumb to the pain,
A mushy exhibition of veins seeping through.
Nerves pricking the insides of the brain,
Never known a condition like it to be true.
Probably a bottleneck to my work,
Worms tangling around in the vicinity,
Decay was the order and the perk,
To surrender the life dismal to the core,
......
The Great Warrior
An anecdote.
Once upon a time there were three little pigs Nif-Nif, Naf-Naf and Nuf-Nuf. But there was also a fourth one. He did not hide from the wolf, did not build houses, but walked through the forest and sent everyone to fuck off . And his name was Nah-Nah.
A joke, they say: three pigs once played —
Nif-Nif, Naf-Naf, all bricks and hay.
But there was one who didn’t run,
Built no damn house, just cursed for fun.
......
Trusting lies,
Dreaming bread,
Kills the soul
In Hell’s dread.
-------------------------
......
The Surplus Value of the Soul
Once created, this will break
Evil’s law—its harsh mandate.
For by default, it guides the blind
To a savage hell-bound mind.
Mind beneath the Soul? No way—
Lies and chains won’t work that way.
Such a trade defies decree,
......
The Decline of Poetry
Freedom from rhyme, to hell with the beat,
Forgetting the meaning, the soul's in deceit.
Deceived by the crowd, now a slave to it all,
The Lyre abandoned, few poets stand tall.
A world of hack writers — fools' joy, they will thrive.
"What’s Sense for sheeps?" — to serve Vile and contrive.
And for distraction, petty verse is the deal.
A world in decay, where Reason grows still.
......
I see the life at the edges of your eyes,
I know you bear no ill tidings against me but the rot will spread regardless.
Spilling over like a cacophony of coffins thrown into the pits.
A meager soul devoured, luminous being no more.
A waste, but not a shame...