Child shit

I am beyond these simple plays over women.

There’s more to life than this primitive shit.

Men play chess women play checkers.



Who am I to the sky I am a child in a palace.

What is my life to the heavens I am the repressed the stomped asunder.

I am the valiant in a mad dash to the end.

I genuinely do not care about anyone else but simply myself.

I genuinely started from the bottom there never was no team.

My parents raised me with above average wealth but it was nothing to me.

It always felt empty.

There’s more to life than women drugs and food.


My soul is withered and beaten. 

I am the carcass of a child lain strewn upon a abandoned street.

I am a blank canvas painted with a palette of blood and tears. 

A flickering candle on a window sill on a full moon. 

I am the energy of a thousand years of repressed hatred begging to be freed. 

I am the tribal war paint that hugs a chieftain’s body. 

I am the void inside your soul. 

I am the steady drum of a drummer boy. 

I am the cadence of hope within chaos. 

I am everything you fear and love. 

I am a deity embodied in frailty. 


I merge into the shadows.

I am a labyrinth of cerebral stairs.

My humanity is to exist; without compromise.

I seek perfection in a existence where time cascades through my hands as sand.

The darkness calls me by name yet I turn a deaf year to it. 

Temptation is the lifeblood that separates us. 

I will not falter. 


It starts in the mind like a tiny seed of chaos.

Fighting our very being to be rational.

Evoking our very being with pathos.

Knowing that in every sense we are fallible.

It inebriates our essence.

The agony that follows.

To strive for coalescence.

Like a fire inspired by bellows.

To move against the grain of reality.

And only feel discord in your marrow.

Searching the deep recesses of your mind’s cavity.

The sharp pangs of a wound caused by sentience’s arrow.

To perceive loss of consciousness’s bearings.

And search the very fabric of nature’s being.

Every hair of Vigor and Vitality’s crux dismembered.

To experience loss of all reason and logic.

This is the very core of Insanity’s cry.

My earnest plea

The pain of yesterday is but a drop in life’s never-ending cistern.
The journey through the darkness makes us cherish the light.
Never absent but simply denial.
There is a dawn to those who have tasted darkness
There is a presence that fills the void of our souls.
We are lead by our eyes but they deceive us.
We are lead by our ears but they betray us.
The light is given only to those who desperately seek it.
Those who forsake all.
There is no pleasure in darkness.
To lose one’s birthright for a morsel of meat.
Vanity of vanities.
Saith the preacher all is vanity.
That my cup would run over.
That the years that the locusts had made destitute.
Would become renewed by the working of His spirit.
That I may forget my desires to follow His.
This is my prayer as I journey through the wilderness.
Because whether the Sun shineth in all it’s glory or the storm swallows me within it’s eyes.
Lord every hour I need thee.

The Blood as it Curdles

I sit and ponder the melody of life.

The rhyme without reason.

The never-ending maze.

The journey through the mind.

The aimlessness within.

The constant cry– a slave have I become.

To live unfettered for one’s heart to be light.

I sing a song of despair.

Vagari– to wander.

The journey of the mind in our wondering we wander.

The cerebral arts.

One cannot think without one’s soul intact.

Because knowledge is a outstretched arm reaching towards God.

It removes man from his animal state it gives him wings.

But the misery of the soul the raging discontent.

Melancholy riddles the motivation within.

I have no fixed remedy.

My greatest enemy is my own.

I call him my brother but is he a friend.

He never leaves but does he mean well.

I wish to maim him by his very neck.

But how can I slay blood.

Is he not a part of me.

Is he not my very essence.

Do I embrace him.

I wish to help him fight the demons within.

But a multitude stands before us can we really win alone.

Should we grovel upon our knees in pathetic fashion

That our fathers in the heavens would turn their very heads in shame.

To be forlorn before God is one matter but to expose every vulnerability to man.

Does it not strip a man of his very being.

To wear no mask; to admit that a king is a pauper.

The saying is said that Pride cometh before destruction.

My hour is near.

Tis better for the captain to fall at his knees before his kinsmen.

To fight another day.

Then to forfeit the ship to strangers who wish death.