Observe
my past actions,
you should know,
this is why I have become,
the lowest of lows.

I observe the words
I painfully wrote,
there is not a magic sorcerer,
that can undo this illusionary
mask of pain I don't show.

Insanity.
I provoked Satan's demons,
insanity,
contemptuously,
choosing to
hate.

Billowing feelings
of my mother's raising,
making her look
so
demented,
the incentive to hurt
so many people,
was suffering,
for what reason,
did this serve me?

senseless
to
my
core

I write of beautiful
things,
like the language of the ocean waves,
to the shore.

then I spoke of
demonic
fangs,
that
cut deep in the sick breath
of reprehensible, illusions, my hate colors painted.

Shuddering towards the unalienable thoughts,
that left me with nothing.

Such a choice I had, to be given,
to walk alone in the catacombs
of the unforgiven.

Quite rayless sunlight,
my soul wanders opaque,
memories of me, nebulous,
of lackluster colors,
or leaden weight,
couples with wind
so obfuscated disembodied
fate.

souls of midnight,
roam such dark,
in search of light,
though never to
transmute into the blackness of the night,
until it swallows them whole.

But I did.

I surely warped into a dedicated darkness,
to disappear,
when fighting for myself
hadn't become some of
a billowy concern of light,
of cavernous covenant between the mode of my true core.

Showing my light
is beautifully intimate,
of deep hazardous abandonment,
I decided to achieve an uproar,

QUIET.
Arcadian thoughts, abiding of action,
was a hope of my true self,
so disasterous,
far from comity,
anger was chosen.

Karma
stains me.
in life times after me.
Finding dark hallways
of my fears forever to over come until I learn to
keep it where,
it started,
uninhibited by
it's artistic innebriation.
It's not an art form,
that feels authentic,
nor
translates
by anyone.

And I was just beginning to hope for hope again,
the my mind,
reminded me
why that journey,
shakes the dust of my shoes,
antecedent courier of what to avoid,
has been the warned disclaimer,
branded on my energy.
No muse
energy, unless I pray
for the little bit of light
to receive in the dead of
Black out winters nights.