Your god is dead,
Their god is dead,
All of your pantheons have perished,
Olympus is vacant,
I swear to you,
I’ve seen their graves,
Desecrated by roads and homes,
Covered in skyscrapers,
Gasping on industrys fumes,
Ravaged by hordes of heretics,
In their cafes and clubs,
Their boutiques and parks,
The pollution of mortals,
Pray all you like,
Let the words be sand in your throats,
Your prayers won’t be heeded,
Your saviours thrones lie empty,
I’ve seen their graves.
This world is a table,
Within an asylum,
A splendorous banquet,
Graces its gingham cloth,
But most reside on the floor,
The tablecloth is stained in blood and oil,
The price of food,
The price of decadence,
It’s laden with edible blood diamonds,
Out of reach of us serfs,
But the elite pigs,
In their suits,
And cruel heels,
Feast up above us,
Conducting their debates and wars,
A crumb falls down sometimes,
A divine ambrosia,
And we swarm to it like ants,
For a chance at greatness,
Even as it’s covered in dirt and hair,
Our gluttons in power preach,
We’re all in this together,
Or so they say,
Yet I see no ladder,
Enabling us all to see the tablecloth,
This world is a table,
Within an asylum,
And we need only chew the legs.
Last night,
In the early hours,
As the candles began to gutter,
Even as my eyes grew heavy,
And the evenings ale wore off,
I had a totally sane gab,
A completely lucid discourse,
With one of the voices,
Inside my cranium,
Or maybe several,
Voices of all pitches,
Their words cut into me,
Dark blades of tongues,
The points they raise are evil yet compelling,
I’m not fit for society,
The moon tried to interrupt,
Drawing me towards sleep,
Its song couldn’t be dampened,
Much to my minds dismay,
The voices continue their assault,
Sleep was no escape,
A failed escape attempt,
The voices followed,
The debate raged on,
In my nightmares.
Time to put the universe to rights,
I shed my fabric skin,
The shower opens up,
The senate has begun,
In this congress of glass,
The water pours,
I establish my assertion,
To the shampoos present,
To the bottle senators in the room,
To the shower gels and sponges,
I pontificate,
And argue astutely,
With a confidence,
Invisible at all other times,
And a shrewd reasoning,
That drains away as the aqua ceases,
All clean,
I’ve won the argument,
I’ve cracked the problem,
The water is their applause,
It fades down the drain.
I’m a cult of one,
An acolyte of the written word,
Cloaked in a dressing gown robe,
I sit at this altar,
This writing desk,
My sacrificial pen in my clutches,
I begin the ritual,
My bloodshot mind’s eye,
Calls to dark places,
This page is the sacrifice,
To the voices between worlds,
The leaden weight of baneful gods,
By the end,
I am all sweat and aches,
The ritual is complete,
The words are on the damned page,
Creative aether,
Madness in letters.
Looking out to sea,
Reminds me of your face,
Each wave a memory,
Ashen is my face,
Since you left,
You returned to the fatherland,
I never heard your voice again,
Why did you vanish?
Do you miss me?
Do you even remember me?
You were a complicated soul,
At war with yourself,
But I adored you all the same,
You had a pretty form,
That screamed nonconformist,
Do you remember that night?
Among the gravestones,
When we first kissed,
You were never a lover,
But you were my true friend,
We were a pair,
Of eccentric clowns,
Dancing in the worlds misery,
Ballet in the sunless streets,
Nobody else could make me dance,
I won’t dance again.
In my minds eye,
I see myself,
In the coming years,
Down on my luck,
In the brumal months,
Cloaked in a ragged greatcoat,
Among the dreary remains,
Of a night in a haze,
A melancholy stupor,
Initiated by the barman,
But not of his design,
A tap of liquid misery,
Will they find me in the gutter?
Slouched with my whisky friends,
Bottles of woe,
Among the scents of ethanol,
And spoils of spilled amber,
Spirits on the stones,
And when it comes to the grim autopsy,
Will the cause of death be phrenitis?
Or a broken heart?
In these trying times,
We are as hounds,
Fear has us becoming dogs,
With a canine thirst,
And a hyena hunger,
Society has become a pound,
Social distance growling,
Crawling around,
With an absent master,
Scavenging from the agora,
We feast ceaselessly,
In our doghouses,
With our mates,
And our feeble pups,
Our pack at home,
The dog bowls run low,
We pant from the panic,
Only animals afterall,
Beholden to primal urges,
We are as hounds,
A thought howls to my mind,
I do wonder,
How long until we feast upon each other?
My mum,
Mother,
The strongest woman I know,
You offer me unparalleled succor,
Protecting me,
Teaching me,
Thank you a million times over,
Wherever you are,
Is home to me,
You brought me into this world,
And now you help me through it,
A stable hand on my shoulder,
Guiding me,
Thank you for being there,
I’d not be me,
Without your love,
The words,
I love you,
They’re not enough,
Not by magnitudes,
Thank you for everything.
WorldofHarley 