Guilty Until Proven Innocent

I forget that I'm real
------------------------ly fair at being fake, yet
I play a fair game with this world, forgotten and lost in its ways.
I fake out by breaking out of these childlike,
--------------------------------------unchildish ways.
F O O T S T E P S, pounding out those clumsy, unfit b b s e s
--------------------------------------------------------------a y t p

they instill
harmony, peace... one with the
UcNoIrVrEuRpStE, the serpent slithering
and, woe, weaving its way through my words, my thoughts.

through my mind.

It sheds its skin, unravelling that filthy shell
to unveil the sludge, slime and soot
laid anew to dwell in these now caves now crumbling.

these citadels, remember,
the antiquities of this memory.
post spiritual warfare,
as legends forgotten
and as myths gnarled by the
pretenseful tongue of that wicked snake.

beauty is the beast. it enchants,
i am reposed, in trance
as the psychedelic vibes raise
their anarchy between my silenced limbs.

one way in, no way out.
no way in, one way out.
there is no dual bliss.

Creations and Conclusions

I just want to be honest,
broken, freed from myself confined
inside this silly little box
I've been calling home
for way too long, shorting
out this flashing reality.

Breathe in breaking out.
inhaling this thin, erosive air has
gained you nowhere.
It'll cry amity when you get there,
It'll cry amnesty when you get there,
over the crimson pains of these
severing pleasures,those unsatiating pleasures
you binged over.

Insincere integrity,

we've earned ourself a new name?

by no means...

it's been like this,
we've been like the tax collector,
satchel and stomach, saturated
from our gluttonous, corrupt aspirations

his, her
it's all of us
our fault
we're faults
for faulting
for so long
knowing
omitting
and never
ever
moving

_________________________________________________

I think fresh in chi-town

Embrace Love as a child,
for it spoils rather quickly,
outgrowing your straining grasp
like magnetic repulsions
pull harder, break away
you're reaching for the invisible,
for the thin air that you refuse
to breathe in.
It's all footsteps and bitter blisters,
a shallow path with your deep
impressions of agression.
So tear me up,
right in this blasphemed passion
Keep on growing down, down, down
to your unfeeling knees and
pray your synthetic prayers,

it's too late for a blessing now.

My exhausting thoughts

** I wrote this a few months back...

Where have I led myself astray? For, I am dying, withering away like a plant without sufficient sunlight. Suffering from the torment I have brought upon myself. My weak, novice self. Here, does my mind engage endlessly in insipid acts that inject directly into my veins lethal emotion, depressants of distasteful nature. Expelled are my heart's intentions, outruled are my joyous ambitions. Now, everything has lost its flavor, it's tang, it's reality.

This depresses me.

I seem to have condensed daily life into a game of Spades, hoping that by chance the ideal card is drawn, played to trump all of the others. Perhaps by clever disguise might I also fool my opposition, and conceal my true identity to benefit in my favor... for what are these "comrades", but only mere prey of the parasitic, only in this sick, twisted game.

Oh, how I have blindly victimized those around me. Even those whom I call friends have I involved in this corrupt reasoning... Why do I indulge myself in such materialistic circumstances? Why must I always be correct and rank myself by the standards of those around me? The mentality of this world, fixated into my head. This sickens me. Nauseates me.

This depresses me.

Like the destructive man, who has overlooked the enchanting beauty of nature, have I furthermore fallen short of faith. Everything has proven itself temporary, short-lived in my life, because I have short-lived everything in this life. Forgetful is my soul and distracted are mine eyes... Yet I linger on, in the temporary conditions of this world, dragging along in my corrosive, apathetic delay. It's as if my once burning passion has been deprived from me, pillaged from my helpless, defenseless village. Now, I have inadvertently fortified an unwanted barrier, creating a great schism between myself, and the concept of self acceptence. Thus, how is it that I call myself a follower of Christ, flawed with distinction to the ideal nature of being like Jesus?

This depresses me.

My exhausting thoughts manage to keep me awake, wasting time as this idle clock I have been living by dissipates and fades away. In prayers, in dreams do I seek refuge from these compelling forces that drug my heart, my mind. Thank God that their effects are only mortal.