Saturday, January 13, 2007

Without Reason v0.1
Without Reason

: To reason there is little to no extent motivation the words inscribed here will be the words I wish to recite on the doorstep of the reaper:

On a night stained with smoke as this is the first drop of crimson within the stream of life.
I have taken the step toward lonliness, leaving behind no one to love.
For my passage there will be no tears, I had much time upon these soiled hands of mine.
I have never loved, maybe no one has , I say I have regrets, regrets that

For without reaosn, I am stepping through the same doorway again.
I ask that nothing be left when I never come back, so ther will be no pain, no memories, only crushed dreams.
Without reason, I was late that time and I only ask you forget about what was,and myself.
Burn the remains and forget, forI have already forgotten.

With this final blow of exile , I have yet to phantom your words.
You in person never existed for myself.
In truth , poets always cry in the moments of finality.
I have nothing, you made my eyes see I was worthless.

So this waste of life, one that has burned all in it's path is ready to put the candle out.
As fine itself the burned charred consequence left behind is no longer of my volition.
I have no care for the aftermath, with manical laughter I say it's fault for dealing with fire.
I hate everything, not just you.

Allow myself to leave with final glimmer. For leaving that doorway I will never return.
Now can you phantom that?
In spite, I want that ill ridden body to live , I want you to continue to bear the burns I have left.
For in this eternity I have no regrets to give. I have hatred of those of your kin.

I have the fading memory of my father, I have the counterance of all my friends.
My work will never be completed, I could never finish.
However, this is the end of everything. Live, foe I would not.

( This i an excerpt written by my friend, they means much to myself)
Then she found paradise as well of love.
People can find places they care.
Only matters what you do, do help people or save them.
She found happiness and smiled like the sun in the sun.

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Friday, December 8, 2006

Till death do us part ver.1


I'm still numb from the inside
A dull clang ringing inside over & over
Until the echo stops & the door of my thoughts
Stands before another door, the door of lord loss.

For harsh whispers of an inner voice
Speaks of the truth......I am nothing
I am scum, my soul is worthless
I have become the dirt beneath the of the virtuous.
I am not deserving, I am completely worthless

Pain strikes out at the weakness in my poor excuse for a heart
Paralyzing the last shard of a named humanity
My reason has vanished and I am found to be screaming
out of my own volition on the outside.
The harsh whispers are now clawing at the edges, they are screaming
I want to end everything in a single moment
I wish to disappear, I want suicide.

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Saturday, September 30, 2006

   Cutting our ties, burning our bridges
To come forth on the steps to our humble abode in petrified silence as the northern wind that pulls our souls into the current as a maiasma.
You cannot judge wether you who stands on our steps is friend or foe.
A burning flame has metamorphasized into ashes as a charred aroma wafts into the air mixing with the scent of bittersweet peaches in the thrush.

You stand upon the steps and not a soul dare to unlock the iron gate to give leeway for the spirits of days past do not see the worth in our lives no longer.
The essence you emit oh graceful spector has caused a ripple to spill upon the glassy lake, this insolence leads to our long awaited record of time.
For long ago, when a heart was not stone cold, and one's actions were not in an iron fist, the grip of a poisonous viper.
A purity reigned in existence tilling the fields and broadening the view point.
You of now so silver and cold, as a corpse for the fresh yard dirt.
The beating of your heart has stilled into a despotic rigid mortis till only silence occupied the domain.

A love once drove the blood in those viens, the rush of warmth emitting and enveloping.
Oh, how had you loved when your heart beat of fire and passion for humanity and then the warmth faded like a loved silk print or the marks of hatred marring gentle skin. You who now stands upon the steps demanding entry, so as to in a single stroke of the sickle erase all that is and once was from the pages of eternity.
Not a soul dares to unlatch the wrought gate and allow what once lived, loved, and spilled warmth upon the earth to now as a painful reminder not be of any use at all.

The northern winds blew into the deepening odessey that sweeps the europhic soul and drowns pitiful creatures like that of a vice grip in sinking horror, that of quicksand.
Dripping the substance upon the earth, dripping, lying somewhere in a alleyway.
Dimmer and dimmer grows the bleak flashlight.
Exhaust spiraling ghastly into the air above gently, like a cigarette left unattended curling in agony.

The alleyway is freshly sodden with rain yet the smell dreadful quiet lingers.
Like viens snapping and cutting you harm your pale inner ghost, your pale flesh gleams in the faded moonlight as the street is run red in waves of crimson.
What a treat the scene is silent and whistless leaving a jaunty imprint on the mind.
Careaning footsteps near the dingy expose` of marred perfection.
Not a single element stirs, not a drop drips onto the earth below it which signals the start of a shattersphere in our system.
Smog wafts as footsteps continue in langerous pace.

The atmosphere is hint with the tear sodden memories of home, where cries of bitter love burn the air.
Where years of newspaper is covering the walls to keep the world from falling apart pitifully in front of innocent eyes.
Where bottles are shattered and wine drips unto the words of someone forgotten with the flow of time.
Where one lies, stands, sits, lives in solitude always the spector of the innocents dancing around trying bind some of the scars gained with expirence.
A home where anyone seldom knows the current events of the outside world, where rumor is a best friend and truth is a worst fear.
A home where we tred upon blood soaked ground, and where we could have seen something beautiful but missed the chance because of our restricting blindfolds.
A home where we wished to be elsewhere in eternity and be able to watch the stars fall into the black sea.

Forget about days past throw them away such as that of crumpled newspaper from the day's record of news.
Continue to travel in silence as every step stings and burns such as that of scars dripping with with memories that I would have rather balled up and shoved into my back pocket to forget.

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Saturday, September 23, 2006

3 universes meshed
The moon had risen far before I could expect it
Along with that you left only the wind on my doorstep
A whistless flat in my step since the moon had spread it's halo on my computer screen
The logical drives crashed, and the fourum spread like wildfire
Every shred of material left in the place called home, a place of nothing but of what we once treasured

I can no longer see your face, I cannot remember our moments of vitality
nor the reason why I can't bring myself to read your e-mails
Leaning or leaving is the prowress of our infidel
My fast-paced beating is left untuned on the mamogram
Halo's imprinting themselves on the skin of mutli-tab role players

Just the sanscript of our decisions is outlined is screaming to stop.
Cut the cords I`m far too addicted, the cause-effect theorem is unplausible.
Shivering to the tempo of the frigid dance
Just a little bit longer, and the scienide will take the full effect.
An emptyness that betrays the reason for romanticide.
Too much after the common denominator does not break the geas that makes the body ill.
It had not finallized yet, stay the effect to last it a bit longer.

Sleet covering the blood slipped upon the marble mosaic.
Falling into wave-length patterns, our frequency matches that of Gibralter.
The thread-bare appearance does nothing to aid the beggar plowing doen the alleyway.
The stillness of the scene only adds to his character.
The forbidden gates have been labeled from every archway.

Snow drizzles from an early morning sky, and the youthful generation continues to slumber unawares.
The waters have become frigid with hatred marring the tides, they have rippled calously upon the mirrors in infinity.
For reason, a hateful emotion rises out of the dark and pours night's potions that spread like a soft rain without meaning.

Cerberus gaurd of the underworld shows the poetess the way to Persephone's throne. Fall upon the river's boatman, dancing souls greet you.

Redemption. The memories of those float by on the way to destruction swept away on deft currents. A hatred burns in the eyes of the walls in hades opposition.
We stood upon the white as if in a dream, but all of us knew that in this city no one could dream, ever. This landscape so similar to reality but not as cold, and the pain seems to have vanished...
She smiled at me as she saw me, Her siloette neared then I opened my arms wide to catch her. As expected, like an angel she fell into my embrace. She was my everything..



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Monday, September 11, 2006

the last romantic
The final complete version. yay. ^__^

The Last Romantic

Starting off at a point in the center leaves you at no end. As I sit here in the dark, under candles and shadows dance on the walls. Words litter pretty sheets of papyrus only to be torn at the crack of dawn. I have a story to tell, but I want to refrain from too much exposure. This tiny fable is fragmented as I throw it against a wall.

As an innocent, you spend your time dreaming of happy endings and passionate nights that only a youth could paint.
When in the reality outside your dream world gives a rude awakening. I want to refrain from too much controversey, let the atheists rest my soul. I still seemed to be stuck at a crossroads in my unrelenting tale. Not like I expect anyone to listen to my woes. A glance toward the clock shows 4 in the morning, yet I still want to finsh this tale, this long rant of a woe.

I do not expect cynics to understand these feeling that are rapping on the door to my battered heart. I am famished, exhausted and tired, yet still the papyrus litters the floor as an ocean of beige contour. A sigh of disappointment here, and a crowd of nasty rumors there. I still seem to be suffering. My personal woe is as the stories that litter the papyrus ocean on my floors.

Stories incrypted with bloodlust, betrayal, and broken hearts. I saw her and my petty sufferings faded as her profile was in my heart as my mind. I spent my days dreaming and sighing with a private happiness. I was laughed at, but then one could care less. There were plenty of romantics, the century was filled with them.

With frozen tears my mind faintly registers the dull metallic clang upon the floor. Resigning to fate is the temptation of the forbidden fruit. To stand upon the soil of the lost ground is to visualize your image eternally. Though, I cannot see you nor touch in reassurement. I seek a preordained happiness written in the biege contours of woven sheets. The tales float as if in stoned motion.

I am deemed to be bitterly poetic, to dream, to visualize, the things that bring forth from seclusion of my wounded heart. A romantic, a race of idealists who pretain to thrive in unrequited love. The bitter taste of sorrow upon one's lips as their hearts break away into the million fold shards. Staring upon the unoticing world through the glass prison, our race has vanished.

I've left my beige ridden quarters behind, I want to run through this opaque colored prison. I once loved the sweetness of my youth, the battles for the truth, I believed in this beautiful lie. To label my mind as obsolite, is a generation gap torn at the seams. Simon could no longer speak due to the seams of cold restraint around his frigid lips.

The last of the last, fallen above the angels, allow my title to be the last romantic. I wanted, I pleaded, I gave, please answer the last message left upon the desk of the dreamer. The daring of the romantics was precious, it lit the world ablaze in a passionate fire. Theembers of the orange revolution froze the last of the native creativity. Our well spring of vitality crushed under the gears of time which move in deliberate slowness to further agonize the remainer of dreamers to suicide. A visionary of contempt had slaved the outside world, allowing man to fall once more into wistful sleep. Thus meticulously having the memories of history and lesson slip away in their unburdened sleep. The romantics disapper forever into the desrt as if all of this was nothing but a mirage.
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Wednesday, August 9, 2006

the last romantic demo
Starting off at a point in the center leaves you at no end. As I sit here in the dark, under candles and shadows dance on the walls. Words litter pretty sheets of papyrus only to be torn at the crack of dawn. I have a story to tell, but I want to refrain from too much exposure. This tiny fable is fragmented as I throw it against a wall.

As an innocent, you spend your time dreaming of happy endings and passionate nights that only a youth could paint.
When in the reality outside your dream world gives a rude awakening. I want to refrain from too much controversey, let the atheists rest my soul. I still seemed to be stuck at a crossroads in my unrelenting tale. Not like I expect anyone to listen to my woes. A glance toward the clock shows 4 in the morning, yet I still want to finsh this tale, this long rant of a woe.

I do not expect cynics to understand these feeling that are rapping on the door to my battered heart. I am famished, exhausted and tired, yet still the papyrus litters the floor as an ocean of beige contour. A sigh of disappointment here, and a crowd of nasty rumors there. I still seem to be suffering. My personal woe is as the stories that litter the papyrus ocean on my floors.

Stories incrypted with bloodlust, betrayal, and broken hearts. I saw them and my petty sufferings faded as their profile was in my heart as my mind. A slow friendship followed as I grew rather more fond of their inner light. I spent my days dreaming of them and sighing with a private happiness. I was laughed at, but then one could care less. There was plenty of romantics, the century was filled with them.


this is just a test run.

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Tuesday, August 8, 2006

thinking things over
I don`t usually write about how my day went or how I feel..
but this once I could try to.
Today like all other days passed in slow but quick movement, as the silence woke me to the early rising of the sun in the sky. I barely slept last night. The lady seemed to be cooped up in her bedroom since last night doin shit. I can`t seem to care a damn about her these days. Loneliness is always a step behind me, I spent the day clearing out my junk, threw out about 70% of my stuff. I can`t have a lot if I want to be able to leave at a moments notice. just a little time left to the start of a new school year...not very exciting.

Last night, after such a long abstinence, I got a bit carried away and hacked away at my forearms. Its a bad habit but it helps clear some of the cloudy uncertainty and pain. not like I got the worst case, just sometimes I don`t really see how I react. I can`t be faithful and cheery all the time. I`ve been so upset and angry at the world for so long. can`t get over it. maybe I`ll hack a bit more tonight of the ole` block. this is boring and distracting to think about. I`m gonna write it out, see where it gets me.

I don`t think I wanna do this again anytime soon.

Leraijie

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Sunday, August 6, 2006

We stood upon the white as if in a dream, but all of us knew that in this city no one could dream, ever. This landscape so similar to reality but not as cold, and the pain seems to have vanished...
She smiled at me as she saw me, Her siloette neared then I opened my arms wide to catch her. As expected, like an angel she fell into my embrace. She was my everything..



so tired....my time is running out.
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Friday, July 28, 2006

winter
tHe uNfOrGotTeN WiNtEr

In poetry they say the kiss of a rose upon one's grave desacrates the foye` all have become acustomed to seeing. My thoughts litter the winds that flow to the north. I sighed in a heavy resignation. `Another day yet to pass....` My eyes trailed over the patterns left in the aged wood. I trail a hand through my hair, `The snow sees no end as always. I swear I've never seen a day when beauty had been found in this cold desolate city.`

Starting from the begining, the city was a metropolis, but never bustling like those in fairy tales. Shake it, this place is a wasteland, but it works for those that are here. It hasn`t been easy, It always snows, always freezing, and everyone looks depressed and blue in the face from hypothermia. However, like I said earlier it works. Cause` in this city, as in many other we are all outcasts or those running from whatever haunts them.

Those who need a threshold or sanctuary or just a place to stay are welcome. No one can find you, the snow covers your tracks,the forests and winds push back enemies as well the fear of what lies out here in the cold. Besides being a snowy wonderland, this place has a bit of old world charm. Unlike others we stopped evolving in technology in the year 2006. To the past that date is significant, but here there is no time we stopped living for time long ago.

I traced my way through the living room to the foye` so I could watch the scene unfold outside. `The world covered in a blanket of white made everything appear so innocent.` I decided to to venture to the city for the needed supplies. Moments later I was properly dressed for the weather and made my way out of my large apartment building. Traveling the cobble stone streets and small shops on the calles seemed dreamy to a newcomer, but I have been here a while which is good you know who to avoid.

The people are all the same, we all have reason enough to be here. One thing we all share in common, is burdens. We are all privately in pain or fighting our own ghosts. The struggles seem to be like ripples on the water. Even the children you would think are pure, sadly we have all tasted bloodlust.

I stared up at the mellenium tracks and watched as a phenomenon took place. A boy stood on the platform at the very edge, his head was raised toward the sky staring with intent. We all dream of the sky, its forbidden to us because we are all trapped here on the earth.

Soon I didn`t understand why, but my body willed itself into movement as I ran toward the station.The others turned thier heads in my direction as several followed my footsteps. I wanted to do something rebelious, the station was a place where one could escape the cold if not for a moment and forget their pain. I saw the staircase come into view, something in my frozen heart flared and I wanted to run further.

I had ascended the flight of steps I saw the platform and mellenium tracks strech out before me. I stopped near the toll booth, my breath coming out in gasps. My mind felt blank as I saw the boy still standing there. I got up and ran to him before collapsing in front of his feet. The boy slowly turned to meet my face, and as if a miracle had occurred he smiled. My mind blanked and my body still numb from the cold froze in motion.

He fell to his knees and neared my face and before I had known, he whispered against my lips in warm breath `` This world makes no sense.I want to float in the forbidden sky, love.`` Somehow then, his lips collided with mine fire against ice. This was a passionate cruelty, yet like a dream I could never remember.

He moved back and stared at my newly flushed face and smiled, then spoke oncemore `` Love, meet you in the sky.`` My eyes widened at his words I was speechless. He got up and then smiled at me oncemore before stepping to the very edge of the platform and then leaping off the platform. In a sort off grace angel feathers fell with him to the earth. In the frigid cold I wanted to keep that small dream alive, never realized I had shrieked then lost everything.

When the world returned to me I was back on my charcoal leather suede sofa alone in the cold oncemore. I felt anger, I screamed at nothing and punched the cushions then burst into quiet sobs as the tears ran unchecked down my face. I never wanted to be touched by warmth.

I ran oncemore down the cobbled streets after my period of reawakened sorrow. He was still in my mind, the beauty of the sky still there in my heart. I ran across the steps and when I neared the tracks and the platform I suddenly slowed. I walked down the platform looking around, everything still was the same. Even after his miracle. I stared at the city down below, then at the sky. Something painfully foriegn yet, suttely familiar came back. From this I ran, bolted down the platform and back home.

Only sometime later did I return to the station, I stood on the platform oncemore to try to see what he saw. Then as I waltzed toward the end of the platform..I stood, then I lowered my gaze to fall upon our frigid city. With a cold sigh I leapt off the platform, stared into the forbidden sky. For the first time a smile twitched at my lips.`
``How ironic`` I whispered.


END



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Thursday, July 27, 2006

an ode to the white shadow
This is what I wrote as a gift for my mother`s birthday.

Lost , always searching for something worth the time to spend effortlessly.
I seem to be dreaming of something else instead of what I truly wanted.
Crossing the rooftops, aiming for the forbidden sky up above.
A sin of eternal chaotic proportions, a nuetral shade of darkness pushed away by the wary tide.
No longer in need of the problems that ensue in your heart, there is no denial.

The proper and inproper are recorded on the old tape, winding it is staggering.
Listening is easier, it doesn`t hurt as much when you break.
You listen to the sodden melody and the introspective message left behind by the shadows of society.
I seem to sit at the station watching the others cross and pass by my silloette.
I never notice the strange aroma in the air, or the sound of snow falling from a dingy sky.

I feel remorse for no aparent reason, I am not able to recall happiness or sadness.
This station where trains rarely run, I seem to be quaint watching the snow fall.
Neither myself nor the others feel the cold, or the bistering pain of memories.
Because here at this station the sleepy warmth envelopes those who wait for their train to another destination unknown to mankind.

The melody of the old tape fades into the distance as one looks at the sky in wonder of when crystal tears will fall.
The train is far in the distance, heard straight at the station, affecting the solace of the atmosphere.
Destiny lies in the wake for its passengers, the movement across the city below the platform slows unaware of time slowly chilling the souls of it`s contenders.

I stand at the edge of the platform staring straight below into the illusions of a peaceful snowy world.
Only a moment to catch the crisp air, then to let go of it in a sigh of disappointment..
I step into the rails and wait for an unknown feeling, as the sky greets this newly found bittersweet fear of mine I can`t hold back..
I laugh as a bitter smile twitches at my lips,
then I turn and flee from this new found presence.

The world switches skins as the sun fades from the east and rises in the west hidden by the cloudy facade.
Two found beneath the forbidden sky ,the rain acts as tears signing the faces of the occupants of light.
The grip of tight insistance that of steel upon the doorknob, time never even threw a prayer in my direction. A lost soul leans against the heavy frozen doors for support.
I called out to you so many numerous times, that I cannot remember when I did not do so.

The suffering is quiet as the murmur of the city at dawn, but in this harsh reality one can runaway with the earth fading beneath their feet and dive into the forbidden sky.
A treat to the heart, music to the soul, the drifting to paradise unseen.
Your sonnet echoes on the surface of the moon, spilling into the night sky.
But wishes seldom come true, and at this pace the cities in the suffocating snowy silence have not yet found warmth.
I still look on when the day when the sound of snow falling will be in the distance, as the scenery outside the shaded windows turns into a vibrant world and the train speeds down the tracks toward a preordained destiny.

But, here the trains seldom run and the snowy world of silence seems sleepy from afar, the platform glistens and brightens the station.
The town below is a fridiged mystery, there always seems to be snow falling from the sky so misery is at no end.
May the occupants of our cities find solace in the arms of their lovers and the grissly cold be kept at bay for a few hours of warmth.

The days are like the nights in this place, darkened slightly by the shadow of the cloudy sky.
Running down the cobbled streets in search of something more than this city could offer one may get lost in the white of the shade.
I have lost the pathway to the end of the line, alone again as a passerby in the morbid shops and a deviant to the red light district in a icy gaze.
This city is a memory within itself, the shops, the occupants, the station all a apart of the darker side of our lives. The ice and snow are a colombine of the forces in our sins that are reflected as the blood upon the mirror.

Can existence in this remorseful place be as truly frigid as those who choose to lose themselves in a perfect mirage?
In point, this frigid wasteland a city of snow ice and regrets is the only truth among a sea of lies.
The trek through the snow to the outskirts runs through age old mementos of the past, the existence has suffered.
The city built upon the bodies of our long dead, built upon the sins of the previous era.
Stepping through the outer gates to the choas outside in the black forests will taint any innocent.
Sadly not even to children of this forgotten city are pure.
All have succumb to the sadness within themselves, the private stuggles to survive the terrain and ourselves are outlined by frozen tears among the graves of the brave from the last generation.
These stuggles forged by the frozen flame have no shame in thier elipses.

A feeling of lost grace blows by in the helpless wind, just as the frosty thoughts wisk by in dark.
Technology is beyond us, a city lost in the shadow of the past.
We seem to have misplaced the door to evolution.
The past is all round the city, what are the secrets lying beneath the snow?

The samurai have rested their swords, the muslims have dropped their bombs and praised allah.
The last allied battalion have lost their guns and fallen to their knees in horror of the terror before thier unshielded eyes.
The weary prophets have sat to rest their feet from the eternal trek through the sands to the promised land.

All of these reminders are screaming for us not to forget their pain, their tears, their struggles.
The world makes no sense as I white shadow covers the earth to silence our cries.
We diminish in it`s presence.




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