I often reiterate my rending in rants, reading the reiteration in a chorus of crazed chants. Crazed and insane I begin my descent into truly the deranged maligning my own mind with millions of multitudes of reiterated regrets, the reiteration being read in this chorus of crazed chants, the chanting continues and I fall forever forward faster and faster freely flowing towards forgetting the ranting reiteration of the millions of multitudes of unforgotten regrets the rant receding back into the reiterated chorus of a thousand crazed chants. The chanting continues crashing into a crushing crescendo of a multitude of minds that hide meandering miserably inside my own mind with rending wretched remorse that returns me to the rant that awful reiteration of my own wretched nature that leads me back to reading the reiteration of my own rending in rants that simply returns to that chorus of crazed chants that marks the beginning of the cycle going from crazed to deranged the circular psychosis perfected in permanence, the rending repeating with each reiteration as the chorus of crazed chants continues to carry on, the crushing crescendo flowing forth faster and faster as I fall forever. I often reiterate my rending in rants, reading the reiteration in a chorus of crazed chants.
I and We dislike that Me that decides to cry when We decide to go and try to do something that I will like but We despise and that Me at that time inside my mind took that knife to that I that made the We and left Us alone with only that shuddering shaken shattered Me that made mistaken miserable miscalcuations that led to monotonous misery and an indentured imagination lacking intellectual stimulus and emotional support so the I and We are gone and Me is sitting and standing while stalking and crawling and sitting in that corner rocking cutting their arms with a blade that doesn’t have an edge while edging closer to the edge staring in stupified satisfaction for surviving without living, simply persisting in painful permenance and stymied stagnation without proceeding and exceeding just falling behind, lacklust and lacking
I take a shuddering breath in an attempt to fill my shaking form.
The words they gnaw and bite, a raging storm.
It dwells inside, a burning hole with in my chest.
I don’t hurt because I’m empty, I realize as I burn and twist and writhe.
I hurt because the words most surge forth, the stories must be told.
That which dwells with in, the thoughts and worlds created by the muse inside my soul.
So much within and only so much room to use, the words are to heavy to carry too many to hold.
They bite and gnaw at my chest, beasts I’m unable to hold at bay.
It rips me apart in a visceral way, the blood and gore there for me to see as my dark imagination holds sway.
I see now I was never really empty, but rather over full, filled to the brim with the words that I carry, the stories that I hold.
Some things simply must be told.
Two steps forward three steps back the cracks in my mind are the knives in my back. My smile breaks apart my legs won’t bear my weight, the cracks in my mind riddle this rotten form of mine. The knives find my back and leave it riddled with tracks of scars, the pain I knew has once more come home to roost, my smile cracks apart, my skull no longer whole, the cracks in my mind begin to show true.
There is only I, for We have vacated and They have left, the husk that was known has long be gone to shadow and waste for Me has gone to take to task Who, those that dared destroy the Us by siding with Them. Shadows and tatters and little bright fetters, only I remain, to sing a tune and dance at noon while drinking the moon away.
I remain to sing and dance, sing this tune, and I can eye the world view, see the pollution of the that was once belonging to My or Me, either or don’t you see? I can see just fine, and yet at times I perhaps wonder if this poison has caused me to be blind, the images a perception of a hallucination of a fevered troubled mind, as I dance at noon and sing this tune, with only shadows and tatters and little bright fetters to call a place of home.
But Me was cruel and They were quite mad, Us was foul and Them never cared to say a kindness or offer a passing aid, perhaps perhaps I’ll sing them back one day, with this tune I forgot but remembered but only just made. Cobbled together of broken pieces of shadows, little tatters of light and bright shiny fetters I’ll simply dance and dance until all comes back, and They returns and Me is new, Us and Them no longer fight but become We once more, and perhaps with this I will be restored and eyes will see clear past the haze the shady dream scenes of troubled tortured days that pass at night in tattered painful frights. Yes, until then I remains, to sing this tune and dance at noon and drink the moon away.
The shadows see and the eyes they bleed the bones do creak and wait for the weak. They stand behind the backs of those the eyes that bleed do watch with intent while the shadows dance to tempt and distract until the claws snatch and drag the hopeless to the bleeding maw within the dark that well of bodies that hold no soul, no sorrow within that well is known for the shadows devoured it all. Their smiles masks for the skeletons, their joy a macabre dance of blood and bones and eyes that stare and seek. Waiting for the sorrow of the poor and pitiful weak, so my advice to you and these darkened nights don’t go by that well of shadows alone for solitude in grief for you’ll find your respite in the bottom of that blighted well quite brief, with only cruel shadows and hungry bones to which to speak.
Bleeding eyes watch me die and breath me last until they grasp my soul in shadow’s home and drag me through the ground to that darkened bleeding throne they grab and dig and steal my sorrow until nothing of grief is left nothing of sorrow nothing of pain the bleeding stopped and I live again to restart the night where it all began. Where bleeding eyes do watch me die and breath my last until they grasp my soul in shadow’s home and drag me through to that darkened and bleeding throne they grab and dig and steal my sorrow until of grief is left nothing of sorrow nothing of pain the bleeding stopped and i live again to restart the night it all began where bleeding eyes do watch me die and breath my last until they grasp my soul in shadow’s home….
The shadows are in my mind, behind my eyes
The itch is there, in my fingertips
I see a story, barely forming
Waiting to be born
I want to hasten it, make it quicken its turn
But alas, however much I try it comes no faster
It will come in due time, and not a moment before
Yet I can hear my muse laugh in my ear
As I sit and wait, a day, a year
The story I need, the story I want
Its there, right behind my eyes
It makes my fingers itch, with want, with need
To fulfill the story, to make it breathe
But it sits, a seed inside my mind
Waiting til the time is right
For me to let the words in
For me to give it life