Monday, December 2, 2013


He Waits outside my window, shivering with an anticipation of ill intent.

The time is coming, the clock is working it's way into the final hour.

Such silence from me is only guaranteed through the fact that I am hard at work, concocting an attempt to shatter the veil of fate and slip through the cracks of a descending reality.

I've long since left behind the world of which you believe exists, opening the eyes inside my soulless corpse and revealing the second plane in which one must travel in order to become a god.

I hear his crooked fingers tap the pane of glass between us with excitement.

Months have passed since my loyalty was forcefully anchored to a mother who I wish to reap.

I belong a rook in her chess game now.

Lest I can rack this crippled brain and shake loose the final pieces to this puzzle of freedom.

Success a twist in time itself.

Failure an early grave at the hands of my adopted brother.

Tap... tap... tap...

This Scarecrow has a few wicked tricks left up his sleeve.

And I'll be damned if I don't make full use of each and every one to escape this ever twisting trap.


Come my crows...

Tis Time To Feed.

Monday, October 21, 2013

A degenerate caricature of broken bones and ink stains.

Cybernetic trickles of static blood traveling the distance given by metallic veins.

Granting life to the technical apparatus sitting silently across from me, a hardline injecting freedom into the cracked laptop still struggling to keep a whisper of a soul inside it.

My eyes glow red against the glare of blinding L.E.D.

A crooked claw branching out to type in a few specific keys before slamming triumphantly down upon 'ENTER'.

A razorwire smile rips across my ragged face, a static drenched screen strains itself to ignite my barren desktop. Desperately loading two programs that sit centered a pitch black background.

One a txt. document whose innards shalt never be spilled.

The other one a gateway, an icon,

Google Chrome.

Thursday, April 18, 2013

A thousand sullen kisses upon the brows of all I've slain.

A million words to change a fate?

A scripted page to warp forever?

Is reality merely a scene by scene endeavor? Directed by a puppeteer with a multitude of curved claws?


Ha, I'd spit in his face, or perhaps shake his hand.

I've mutated the very essence of my being, destroying every little tiny bit of myself and allowing absolutely nothing to take it's place. I'm nothing a higher power could willingly want to control or damn. A nonchalant maverick lost in a mindset void of fear.

Just a broken visage of what one shouldn't be. A coalition of thought and revert progress.

I've ascended evolution whilst simultaneously descended into madness.

A contradiction that still has the morals of a dead man.



What are the use of words anymore when they only go unheard?

If a man sings a requiem to bring back the dead, but no one wants to hear it...

I prefer to be a beast.

Less responsibility that way.

I believe I'm falling into a state of decay. When the choices I made and the path that I've chosen are simply reaching their end and the only thing that will soon remain is the final product.