Far; between the darkness and the light.

Far away; gray clouds ride the illusions.

A crow on dry tree observes the time.

A toothless laugh fills the silence.

Far away; in eyes of loneliness a tear slides

Far; between the darkness and the light, the reflexes are diluted.

Old voices of the old times;

Agonized screams, ranting; pain, blood, death.

everybody enslaved by the miserable power, corrupted by human beings.

Far away; observes a Raven, it's counting the minutes of the twilight.

Pain walks barefoot through the solitude.

sing the nocturnal bird to the human nastiness

sings the wretch enslaved in its poverty

sing the rich one its abundance

sings the unsatisfied death..., and far:

Far away rides the time between gray, desolate clouds.

The truth falls against falsehood

when it is a weapon of the politics.

Far away a sigh falls down in bleeding heart

It falls down to the abyss of the storms.

The human being cries, detached to the excessive ambition.

A handful of earth, it's leaking on their fingers

There is nothing ..., just the life is dying.

Titus Andronicus, Sweeney Todd, Arya Stark:

All place human flesh in meat pies

While seeking vengeance for loved ones.

Jenna Rink, Mike O' Donnell, Josh Baskin:

All wish for their age to change

So they can find a sense of fulfillment.

Mary Jane Watson, Bella Swan, Snow White:

All irritating damsels in distress

Who hardly ever fend for themselves.

Po Ping, Elle Woods, Rocky Balboa:

All individuals underestimated in their fields

That end up coming out on top.

Constantine Bates, Mrs. Gump, Sairy Morey:

All incredibly nurturing mother figures

Who influence their main characters' personas.

Where is the originality?

Now, don't misunderstand me;

I enjoy most of these characters immensely.

And I also realize that all these characters,

While very similar at their core,

Have distinct personality traits that make them all their own.

But why do writers limit their imaginations

And stick to character tropes that we have seen

Time and time again?

Do they not trust us to handle anything deeper?

Or have they simply run out of new ideas?

I wonder...

My hearts racing all the way to tomorrow

Breathe...

Breathe

1

Breathe

2

Breathe

3

pounding in my teeth

melting brain tickles down

sweaty skin

numb fingers

and my feet drum

a rhythm

never stationary

anxious to chase down

the vestiges of my sanity

"Now, say, what do you see?"

"A blackout octopus."

"Hm. Now what could this be?"

"A blackout octopus."

"I don't think you're taking this seriously."

"Heh. Yeah. A blackout octopus."

"You're avoiding with humor, and believe you me-"

I interrupt. "Blackout octopus."

Art is a release

From the corners

Of our minds,

A visual interpretation

Of what's going on inside.

It's a web created

From finely spun words,

A sunset designed

With a palette

Of marvels.

Art holds out its hand,

Beckoning for us

To come enjoy

Its wonders.

Beyond bewildered that one of class

empowered by playing politics.

Dare now to claim ground so far distance

from democractic vote as good practise .

Rule; a shameful parade dressed in colours

a manifesto for favours hued

resplendently stained by party failures

to engage despite pressed powers used.

Influence from Baron's of paper print

devoted to preserving the city state.

Machiavelli and power of the prince

Used against democracy as vile hate

That we demos, the people, maintain

the laws that protect as one, the same. 

Wounds of you inflict intense pain

scars damaging my psyche forever

vicious word guns pointed at me

stained my soul, ingrained in slices.

Your tongue cut me to pieces

hacked in little chunks of angst

chopped down my tree of life,

wood chips strewn in the wind.

Your shadows of darkness

spun me in sinister vortex,

bottomless abyss of no tomorrow.

I struggled to crawl out

bleeding fingers of hope

but jailer waited with evil stare

imprisoning me with weapons

of malignant, poisonous words.

Little white note, on the table

Express my thoughts clear and vivid

Reverenced by writers stable

Little white note on the table

Preserve my words like a marble

Fresh, as onion bulbs in liquid

Little white note on the table

Express my thoughts clear and vivid

I'm not sure

       What to say

Not looking forward

        To the next day

Pills not helping

        Crush them up

Half fucking empty

        Touch the cup

Sick of this tired of that

        Crawling skin waving bat

Fucking up reckless

        Sick and helpless

Buried alive

        Worlds do collide

Keep on wishing

        Shooting stars

As I'm fishing

        Snagging Mars

Nothing ideal

        It's preposterous

Numb yet I feel

        So lost in this

Thinking about death

        An awful lot

As if my last breath

       Was a blood clott

If life is Broadway

       I'm not a dancer

I'd rather not say

       I think this is cancer

My only conclusion

      Before I'm in the ground

Is to hope for profusion

      My written voice passed down

Daniel

Jacob

Dabney

And

My

Blah

Fucking

Blah

06-24-16