Archive for February, 2020

I linger for now,
I don’t spy much of a future,
I want to die,
I’d rather be a pleasant memory,
Than a nothing of a man,

Life sucks,
But it’s not all bad,
Bring me a bottle of amber,
And i’ll live life for a day,
Like a twisted mayfly,

Maybe I ought to take a jolly leap,
I’m not afraid of the abyss,
Simply the void i’d leave,
For friends and family,
Lovers and enemies,

I want to die,
But i’ll continue to persist,
For the others,
For those who care.

This book,
This necronomicon,
A manual of madness,

The book is a key of sorts,
To the weird,
To the insane,

To the eyes beyond the stars,
The voices in the dark,
The old ones,

Each passage is a sermon,
The names within call to you,
Tentacles writhe excitedly among the pages,

They see into you,
They reach across the cosmos,
They’re coming.

True kin are hard to come by,
But I thankfully have one,
My brother,

We’ve always been partners in crime,
We’re very different for sure,
But also very alike,

There’s always smiles,
There’s always support,
There’s always been love,

Thank you,

You endure my melancholy,
You give me a boost out of the dark,
Always free to chat over a lager,

Thank you,

You’ve been there all along,
Always a phone call away,
My brother.

This facade I wear,
It’s the other me,
That alter-ego,
That character,
The Harlequin,

The top hat,
The long coat,
The mad cackling,
It’s not me,
It’s him,

Face-paint is all that separates us,
Remember the grin is painted on,
The laughter is false,
Costumes and masks,
It’s all a facade,
I’m just me,

A sad clown,
Impersonating a performer,
A showman,
I’m a misanthrope,
Playing at being a thespian,
An actor,

We are separate men,
Though we are one,
I’m no jester,
I’m not laughing,
I’m not smiling,
I’m not him,

I’m not alright.

The world often becomes too much,
Its weight burdening me relentlessly,
The trials wear me down,
Shark-toothed as they are,
And when those jaws close in,

I escape into video games,
Those safe places where anything is possible,
Make-believe worlds that never existed,
Their denizens fanciful and vivid,
Worlds that are perhaps better,

I can become a valiant hero,
A grizzled soldier,
A wizard,
Even a tyrant or villain,
Anything but myself,

The stress dissipates,
Like undressing,
Like dropping a veil,
A colossal weight departs,
The strain is naught but memory,

Perhaps it’s a drug,
While others have nicotine or the bottle,
The needle or the pill,
I have the gamepad,
But we all sin right?

We all have stresses don’t we?

A young boy was born,
Rosy-cheeked innocence,

A young boy was brought home,
By beaming suburban parents,

A young boy began to play,
Mud and toy soldiers,

A young boy became a student,
Shy and introverted,

A young boy was bullied,
Beaten to tears,

A young boy continued to play,
Dark rooms and razor blades,

A young boy cried for help,
No help came,

A young boy began to crack,
His innocence beginning to fade,

A decision was made,

A young boy became an active shooter,
Clad in trenchcoat,

No more tears,

A young boy was shot dead,
By a good guy with a gun,

He was just a young boy.

Literature is alchemy,
Writing is a form of thaumaturgy,
The mind provides the alkahest,
The hands follow the formula,
The great fire,

The pen is my caduceus,
This desk is my still,
The page a crucible,
The ink is my aqua vitae,
The words are my magnesia,

I reduce the words to flux,
Tear up their humours,
Coagulate the phrases,
Acids and alkalis,
Feelings and thoughts,

Boil down the context,
Mercury gold and silver,
Nouns verbs and adjectives,
Distill the words,
To create a poetic potion,

This great work,
It could be my lapis philosophorum,
My philosophers stone.

Through this glass,
Is it a window?
I see you,

Your countenance is clear as day,
Perhaps you see me too,
Trying to signal you,

Something keeps us apart,
A vacuum of memories,
And past actions,

This crystalline field between us,
A killing ground of intentions,
A reflective barrier,

Its surface is chilling to the touch,
It’s made up of our pasts,
Times we had gone by,

And fear of shattering it,
Terror of reigniting the flame,
And the pain,

We dare not fracture it,
So we longingly glance,
Across this glass mile.