Pretender to the Crown

Self serving egoist, would be king
You are my hierophant reversed
Mentor and manipulator
You love me only in so far as you control me
Wielding facsimile enlightenment
Peddling holy profundity ad nauseum
Freedom is your fear
You wear it vividly in every grasping attempted sabotage
In ever condescension
Tumbling from your painted lips in frenetic assaults on my choices
Increasingly excluding you
Because, you are not and never were my friend
And, perhaps, there is some part of you that knows
I know
Don't worry though, dear leader
I shall be your crucible


You boast of God
Of your godliness and goodliness
Award winning humility, a performance
It is not faith that has raised you up
Nor whispered superiority in your ear
It is not the God of redemption, or love
Rather the god of hellfire and fear
Yours is the god of competitive virtue
Preaching faith that is not faith, but hate
For all your rantings and rosaries
You are humanity in effigy
A wickerman whose bones are made of straw


Broken baby swathed in night
Glowing in the incandescence of street lights
They paint you up
They put you out
You strut
Facsimile pride
Bruises beget track marks beget children never wanted
Babydoll cum Barbie doll
Saved By those who stole your soul
Weighted currency
Bought by the act
Sold by the part
Bred to obsolescence
Sing me the song of your sweet tainted flesh
Your chorus of critically compromised virtue
Innocence lost to experience lacking intent
Once beautiful now Damned
Refuse Even to the pious


Panic sets
The terror of expectations that cannot be met
Mission unreasonable
Palpable the suffocation of structure
40 hours per week and then some
Indentured servitude to objects which bear no meaning
The dilemma of decadence
Taught to worship the item and not the idea
Commodity genius prostrate on the altar of commerce
Our world too concerned with worth
Locust civilization, consume until you crumble
Family, community, humanity, exchanged for goods at the corner store
Or worse, for cash
Life and death between the lines of the ledger book
All that you love, already gone


Is this farewell to words
So long my torment, my companion
Eclipsing experience with intent
Ideas before existence
Gone now with the daylight
Imperceptibly beyond my grasp
All is vacant
September dawns and I am mute
Crushed beneath the weight of burdens not my own
Verbiage sacrificed in the name of responsibility
In the mirror stands not myself
This body stranger to it’s occupant
Emptied of treasured imagination
Razed for performance
Smile barely cresting the cheek bones
Eyes, blank
The curse of looking happy in pictures
Of, pulling it together for short bursts of sociability
Told out of necessity to keep from drowning
Tethers to this reality tantamount to hell
Waiting in the fall


Supplication to a doctrine that breaks
As boughs to those who need
When all that blossoms
Manufactured aridity of the soul
In classrooms as in pulpits
Without value
Without context
Without color
Of all meaning
Thoughts that scream
From the top of my ribs
For all that dies


You decadents you’re damned
Resplendent on your pyres
Empires of destruction
Gilded by your forfeit lives
Mortgaged to build them higher
Cavalcade of unknowing dead
Each day closer to anonymous ash
Your dust for all your wealth no different than mine
Your worms will dine no finer
Locust civilization
Consume until you crumble

Eden’s Children

The heartbreak of a shuttered mind
Willful ignorance mortared by fear
Divisive walls you yourself has built
For you
There is no heaven
No hell
No self beside
Cessation at the close of life
Comfort in a lack of permanence
How terrifying to think beyond this lifetime
That, perhaps, there is beyond the end of night
How easy to be an atheist
Devotee at the church of non-believers
So ardently desirous of being nothing
Bearing no weight of responsibility for eternity
Souls suspended
Perpetually seeking enlightenment
Yet tragically incapable of growth
Children of Eden
Ever in search of answers to questions beyond their asking


Observer under glass
Behind eyes seeing elsewhere
Just slightly out of time
Moving at a pace beyond my understanding
You are the sound of war
Of mushroom clouds eclipsing my horizon
The face of ache in beauty
You are perhaps a part of here
Perhaps a part of somewhere that will never be
You, like me, perpetually in-between
That my actions and my mind exist
Neither beholden to the other
Sentience split between existences
Nowhere home