Signals

I’ve been listening
every time that you spoke
your virtue signals
are nothing but smoke

The nattering of you fertile
mind is in the plotting
you’ll only be benificial
when you’re dead and rotting

projector broadcast fear
with bigoted protrusions
leading a race straight down
with grandiose illutions

assisted tribal suicide
party to the bottom
screaming bumper ignorance
it’s easier to spot ’em

Where there’s smoke there’s fire but you just won’t fucking burn
I got the gas and a match so maybe you’ll fucking learn
I want to hear you scream in the flame and it’s your turn
Your ashes in the dumpster your home you return.

Ghosts

I wake every morning and face your ghost

A reminder each day what is gone

Another memory not lost, but archived away

To be experienced once more, redrawn

The echos in the calm from within, stir without

Evoking near choked back tears in the solitude

Another year is looming, a trip around Sol

Your memory rises with verisimilitude.

But what can I believe

And what did I create

Hoping that reality was a lie

Still no tears, despite the sorrow

A decade or more of denial

I still never told you goodbye.

The Tide

Rolling in

washing over

inevitable force flowing into every conscious moment.

finding who I am

destroying who I was supposed to be

The child died

stillborn into a world without wonder

understanding pain

rage

hate

there has to be something better

the riptide says no

pulling down

pulling away

filling lungs

the black water becomes the void

filling every moment

cleansing through rage

filling every moment

pieces of me

washing through the wake

hoping for a shoreline

glancing shimmering visions of a reflected moon

full on the surface of the deep

calling me up

through the turbulence

Following the light

Luna crossing the sky in time

Ticking away with the crashing waves

calling me back to shore

The jealous water holds me

her embrace familiar

whispering trickles of fear into my soul

that she has always let me catch breath

that she just wants to hold me

Fingers in the saturated sand

pulling into the frigid air

the sharp pain of wind biting

the caress of the deep still on my legs

reminding me that she kept the cold at bay

that feeling is pain

she can hold me

Fist fulls of primordial soil

every agonizing moment dragging me to the high tide line

baked in the cold glow of the moon

who called me

the skin falling away with every inch

exposing raw, enervated flesh to the ravages of the stones

the sand

the hungry gale

She roars at me from the depths

rising up, carried too by the moon’s pull

following the same thread

lapping at the naked flesh of my legs

trying to hold

slipping back into her death bed

her depth bed

The wind dies

the roar fades

and she whispers a song of loss

I lie on my back

eyes to the blinding moon

bathed in the luminescence

feelings, sounds, vibrance no longer mute

no longer held

no longer Held

The cool dark night

Most monsters are not active. They just… “are”. It is their potential that terrifies. Sitting, invisibly, out there in the dark. Allowing you to convince yourself that you are safe where you sit.
They do not have to do anything, really. Just exist. Quietly living their lives. Usually, they are oblivious to your fear as they matter far more than you do. You have placed them in that position of status. You are meaningless to their existence.

Until you decide to do something about them. Then you are reminded why you did not stray into their bailiwick. So you, unable to tolerate their quiet existence, prepare yourself. You learn to tolerate venturing into the darkness. Build your strength. Your resources. Accept the pressure and the shift in thinking.
You try to become the hunter of hunters.

But as you train, and modify the neural pathways to accept the reality of what you want to do, you begin to have an understanding. An “endarkenment”. The frightening shadows that once repelled you, now call to you. A cool, embracing comfort. The dark feels more home than the safety of the fire. That warm ring of light you have clung to for so long leaves you feeling naked, and exposed. Like ice on an exposed nerve in a broken tooth.

So you retreat more often into the cool, dark, but alive nights. You begin to witness the savage beauty that surrounds you. The visceral reality of the rest of the world. And the truth begins to dawn on you. You are no longer interested in monsters. You need to expand what you know about this broader, more vibrant world.

As you walk away, you hear the whispers of those still imprisoned by that blinding, searing ring. They no longer comfort you. They are almost silent, against the call to hunt. Fading quietly into distant memories. Because, now, you can truly begin to live.

Brand New Truth

You’re all so fragile
so broken
fractured beneath the skin

Facade of virtue
of kindness
Cover the hate within

Projecting weakness
your flawed core
Become what you despise.

You are the coward
weak minded
Lost in your fucking lies

Loathing your disease
vapid snow TV’s
low roar static ease
master you displease

Eyes devoid of thought
so empty
Moral bank drained again

Stare into white noise
void embraced
Tali Hebitudine

Rotting potential
so fetid
devoted to garbage

You got yours ’till death
cult of doom
pray that it all will end

Mythos spreads disease
keyboard vector fleas
suck life from the trees
Mort humanities