Thorns

Viewing the darker side of humanity. Not happy with it, but most people know me to be a little picky with my high expectations for poems. The second poem was experimental but unnecessary.

Prickling

Humanity’s only rose is plastic

Chained in my double helixes like a Rorschach straitjacket

Ribcaged in my empty chest, in a prison, named a cell

The arteries pierce the silence of the darkness stark

Just like thorns

Like knifes

Like needles

Like pins

Like penance

 

Sweet dreams for a bitter world that left a sour taste in my mouth;

Where in the height of my career I looked down on others;

In the crossfire of shooting stars

Where body and bloodshed their husk hunting for the astral netherworlds

Of primordials stoic in their Babylonian pandemonium

Unravelled hollow shadowed Valhalla scowling hallelujahs

Of shallow gallows shaving days in a polluted revolution of plastic sapphire wrapper saplings

Sprouting delicate felonies in the melancholy polymerization

Armoured in hatred’s aether gravestone paramour disparity

I feel like a person who never was a person

 

I feel like a human mannequin in satin Abaddon clammy with the cadaverous weight I carry

Such is fate, for the warrior who wanted peace and parcel

Bartering martyrdoms of heartless reincarnations patiently awaiting condemnation

Shackled evacuation emancipated rejuvenation culminating, break away from

Dreamland’s Abaddon sabbatical Nirvana’s own set in stone drown alone with Belphegor

We are but pieces of a puzzle that will never be whole, never be put together, never be one again

We are but fragments of what has been, or what has yet to be, or what could have

We are dreams that never came true, we are stars that cannot be wished upon

We are story’s that are almost fiction

Driven by ellipsis
Incandescent maleficent effigies of pestilence mimicry of symmetry defibrillator windbreakers imitating

Maddened by the mystery of photosynthesis’ syphilis iridescent celestial as the crescent moon

Polyphonic homicide guides the tides blindly into a riot against the shore

What are you fighting for?

What kind of write is war?

I bathe in the shadow of the setting sun

I’m not a coward yet my blood still runs

Drawn in a portrait of red

Scorned the four horsemen of their dread

Beheaded evangelicals wail wallowing in the holocaust of apostles gospels phosphorous pitch, ventriloquist

Neanderthals propaganda slander the red-handed gander Satanic as humanity

Syllables of umbilical guillotine virility as bloodcurdling vertebrae hurricanes of perjury merge like a demiurge

We cut down the trees so the cities could breathe easy

We played at the casino’s until the filthy rich went clean

We drilled through the earth

Until even our mother who was raped into cancer could be cured with self-centred fear

Stuck our hands into the gears, so we could gather up the tears

Feed our hearts the demon’s sword

We are the reason roses have the need for thorns

Freed of the treason, always wanting more, longing for

As I grin with vice smeared between my lips, bleeding gums, the homunculus of serendipitous cruxifixion, rippled in the dark hearts of missionaries of war

The unrequited love I've fallen for

The bones of pandemonium harmonized unprophosized

Crawling bodies cry fallen lines all intertwined

For this is our only walk of life

To run, the world biting at our heels

Hang my head by the neck of the woods

Put me back within that Death of Nephilim

Where I once stood and made my final stand

Upon the tower of bodies made by Babylonian man

Crept the shadows, lept the devils who kept us treacherous

In their oh so forgiving hands

(Fucked by those who left us damned)

Psalms of War

Pick the Valhalla’s flower from the stem,

The eldritch Valkyries hanging star-spangled tread

Entangled in a revenant of heaven's threads

Dangling from mandolin strings

Never to be whole again

Singing hymns of karmas wed

A dapper cadaver of psychosomatic avalanches gone to bed

In the polychromatic stratospherical lyricism of Abaddon's solaced psalms

The catalyst abracadabra shapeshifting labyrinthine whimpering vermillion soliloquy's throng

Resurrected silhouettes depths beneath the ones who weep

Metamorphosis of incorporeal bliss, ones that creep from crucifix, a beast

The shapeshifting chrysalis abyssal missive

Of antithesis to the glistening willow wisp beseeched

Of photosynthesis amaranthine dancing mad master

Of the alabaster sacrilege of daffodils vilified amaryllis bride to bone lit night sky of white

The bones of malachite spite philosophized, nocturne prophets wise to slipknots, poltergeists who lost their wits and sought the scythe

The ones broken in their nurtured vice

Virtue cursing unspoken words all serpentine

The Summit of the Storm

The sacrilegious privilege hangs entangled

And we hold our stolen loved ones hand in hand all mangled

And bury every semblance of the embers branded bangles

Guillotine pilgrimage strangled umbilical strands intangible

The only peace that's left in me

Is what has grown beneath the trees

My brothers join me in their slumber

Drunken under the summit of another's thunder

Author's Note

I promise I read every single review, and I generally will reply to them. I look forward to my next review, because it helps me learn. Even if it's just one word, I promise, I will be happy to hear anything you feel needs sharing. Whenever you write on my shortcomings or breakthroughs, or the themes of my poems, or share ideas and friendly criticism, it decides my next poem to an extent. I will listen, learn and be thankful. And 99% of the time, you'll get a reply unless you're trolling me.

Reviews

[Katrina Mckeown]

Wow... your poem incorporates everything that’s wrong with this world.... it’s fantastic and it flows particularly well it’s amazing.. brilliant work RJ