The smog lifts,
Feelings of smoke dissipate,
Emotional baggage lifts,
I can breathe again,
No more choking,
The smog lifts,
The soot leaves my mind,
No more tears,
They’ve all evaporated,
This clown looks up,
I can peer through the haze,
This painted grin returns,
The future beckons,
The show must go on,
The smog lifts.
I once began to make no sense,
My mind squirmed blissfully,
Kaleidoscopic thoughts,
And nonsensical images,
Such insane joy,
Or perhaps misery,
They tried to send me to the funny farm,
Pearly gates and high walls,
They came for me,
The demons in white coats,
Doctorates of deception,
Or perhaps altruism,
They came for me,
The voices told them i’m sure,
With a straitjacket dress in hand,
Fashion for the mad,
A gown to suit my luster,
Or perhaps my folly,
So they gave me candy,
Of myriad shape and shade,
Confectionary for the brainpan,
Citalopram comfit,
Sertraline confection,
Sweets of depression,
They want me to be mundane,
A productive little cog,
Now i’m off to the funny farm,
Cackling all the way.
Crying all the way.
The entity hungers,
Its realm shall be your eternal hell,
And it brought you here,
Into the fog,
Your agony is its lullaby,
The hooks call,
Dripping with thirst,
You will hang,
Left to die,
Over and over,
Its slaves will find you,
And take you screaming,
Through blade and chainsaw,
Club and disease,
You’ll feel the red glow,
You shall be grist,
For its tendrils,
Hook-like and quivering,
The fog god whispers,
And its servants obey,
Your suffering shall be its nourishment,
Even death is not an escape,
The entity hungers,
I fear only one thing,
The ocean,
The waves,
That all-encompassing monster,
The surf attempts to creep towards me,
Clawing hungrily,
Eroding the land,
Just to reach my flesh,
The water calls to me,
With murder in its voice,
The swell appears as fangs,
Each wave is a beast,
It wishes to consume me,
Drown my soul,
To take me into the abyss,
To send me to the locker,
The waves dance seductively,
They glitter entrancingly,
It’s my idea of horror,
I see it in my dreams.
My friend,
Are your humours askew?
Brought on by gossiping rats,
And flea-bites of rumours,
Call the plague doctor,
In all his ostentatious regalia,
And his avian mask,
He will soothe your soul,
You are a sick being,
Your soul is covered in buboes,
You spit bile and pus,
Your actions reek of necrosis,
Of rot,
You are a sick fool,
He’ll quarantine you from the worlds hurts,
His mask shall shield him,
From your ireful infections,
With juniper and rose scent,
Your spirit requires healing,
With his cane he will show you,
The way to healing,
Ointments and tinctures,
Of calming words,
He’ll blood-let all of your fury,
And all your bad thoughts,
Will be for the leeches,
He will remedy your aura,
You will be better,
Your humours rebalanced,
Your humanity restored,
The plague will pass.
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?
