Head Factory Part III: Savage Messiah

•June 23, 2014 • Leave a Comment

If the Devil says get down, I get down.

Fuck, I drench this dry concrete desert in malt liquor from the Fillmore to the Mission,

And back home soaking and shook-up from the war.

The hours of life’s seamless continuum grow long and late and heavy with paranoia,

For such antsy, twitching night owls.

So craven and suspicious, fierce wide eyes peering cautiously at every passerby,

Like they’re witnessing a God-awful nightmare–

Every hideous one more frightening than the last in their scowling mundane judgements.

 

Everything you see in this glorious wasteland is mine or my undead brother’s ’til the end of time,

Or ’til time ends us.

Keep checking out the window just to make sure…

Like, the jarring sounds of the busy, noisome streets stay with our breathless rhythm.

Drunkenly muttering, I come back from the blackout midway through an incoherent sentence,

Staggering and stumbling through a myriad of dirty sweet seduction.

Between aching locked jaws and grinding teeth stained yellow with nicotine,

My swollen purple tongue lolls out of the side of my drool-frothed mouth.

 

Shit, how long was I gone for?

No one can tell me in this hidden, secret place.

Here no one notices the unbearable world go by and no one thinks to care.

Am I even still alive?

I can’t tell anymore.

 

Your emotionless face is frowning shut and you mumble vague desires,

And somehow, I instinctively comprehend the deadly remedy you hunger for.

Ill-born desires, however, compelling enough to drag us into the unforgiving daylight,

With maniacal grins on our frost-bitten faces,

And throats thick with rapidly-melting venomous icicles.

We’re ready and willing to burn all outside existence yet again and bathe in the smoldering ashes.

 

The deep and winding crystalline labyrinth within us both will doubtlessly await our inevitable return.

A silent cavern oozing manufactured heat.

Eerily silent, yes, but sometimes I hear the shrieking of the voiceless dead echoing in my blazing core.

This measureless pitch-black hall I hurtle down is haunted by today’s broken promise,

And a broken weekend, so bittersweet, of spitting on any pointless regrets.

So, keep those white hot fires lit to numbly singe off years of my meandering life,

Oh, soothing stone-cold darkness of mine.

At least you are and always have been my own–

So faithful and unrelenting.

You know we’re not yet through with our ritual self-sacrifice.

Hail to the enduring winter, for it isn’t coming–

No, it’s here.

 

 

 

Advertisements

Head Factory Part II: Screaming Liquidation

•June 19, 2014 • Leave a Comment

“If I’m still like this when I turn thirty, I should probably kill myself.” -Jason Mewes

 

Hear the relentless marching over every surface of this house…

Built for the condemned.

The little mechanical tormentors are everywhere–

Behind every glowing screen and sightless windowpane,

Biding their ancient time like lurking black beetles,

Slavering over dung.

Unnatural tentacles,

Long, spindly legs,

And wicked venom-dripping stingers,

All wrapped in glimmering cannibal flame,

Like unforgiving demonic arachnid storm clouds.

 

All among us, within us.

 

Through caustic milky pools of choking chemical tears that…

Make us smile for the pain…

Paid for and slain by those who joyously feed on the cold afterbirth,

Of the gang rape of that softer reality I have never seen.

Fast and silent, they lash cruel whips studded with poisoned pieces of broken glass.

They smell the stench of human weakness,

And ruthlessly hunt us down with sadistic glee.

 

Spray the toxic ones down with endlessly vomiting streams,

Of their own rotten inhumanity.

Melt the whole desperate abomination,

So their scorched, gore-splattered bones,

Become the jewelry of this ruined, desolate rock.

 

The indelible ghostly markings of an enduring lifelong curse,

Shall be carved by your own cowardice into your worthless heart,

Sadly doomed to writhe in agony and forever crave and weep.

 

So, as my weary body crumbles to dust beneath me,

And I fall drained and defeated into those uncaring icy arms,

I hopelessly pray that my darling girl–

Dressed in intangible colors of shimmering gold and silver ectoplasm,

And murmuring with quiet laughter of terrifying familiar fantasy–

I pray she won’t seek me,

And risk herself such merciless evil and harm…

 

It’s pathetic how easy it is for one to let the madness in.

 

 

 

 

 

Head Factory Part I: Contagious Liberation/The Lust Harvest

•June 16, 2014 • Leave a Comment

“He who makes a beast of himself gets rid of the pain of being a man.” -Dr. Johnson

 

“Mother, wherever did he go?”

“Turn away from the door, my youngest,

He was swallowed by the starving night.”

 

It’s Friday the 13th now and the moon is bleeding out,

High up in the eternal mass grave of the abyss.

She’s looking down at the world through the hazy lens of recently awakened eyes.

I’m spun out and drunk on a couch with a lovely low-lit flicker from my past beside me.

As she speaks so softly to me, I can’t help but to imagine making adulterous love with her,

She’s wearing murder-red lipstick and making snow angels in white powder lies.

 

Now, bound in chains of discontent, we all descend into a dungeon,

Carved out of glowing rock and torture.

Our invisible shackles are tightened ’til none of us can breathe.

Inside the reflective walls surrounding us, the “Holy Father’s” unconscious,

In piercing shades of bitter addiction on the slowly sinking bedroom floor.

We’re all doomed to live, all in the sacrilegious name of our frozen queen.

Am i now the final speaker who gazes upon his own demise,

Or am I just a steadily rusting tool of my own invention?

 

Misshapen, vile humanoid creatures were dancing–

Slimy brownish spawn of filth rapidly growing and multiplying–

Across my sunken eyeballs, wide open saucers scanning the room and my company like a thirsty killer.

These horrors came swarming from some dimension of fearsome shadows and blazing unnatural light.

Not likely far beyond or forgotten by this dim and dank inferno.

“Can’t you see the wispy fingers of smoke slithering through every crack and crevice?”

The faceless lady smiling in the photograph seems to revel in my insanity.

 

Finally, I overcame the lifelike people I see who aren’t really there.

Nevertheless, they peered at me from behind trees and around corners.

Burning centipedes feasted on my mind that night.

Climbing up dead silk ropes through my skin,

The unspeakably foul others scamper, leap, and cavort all over the pale room.

They scuttle in and out of my hollowed skull, as you soar away from the noises outside.

Sparks shower forth as you open your tireless mouth to scream.

What’s a day or two lost to monsters like us?

What’s another ugly scar to my blind and drowning soul?

Seal up or destroy the countless insects’ tunnels, nests, and burrows.

Brush off this scurrying midnight plague with broken lovers’ hands.

They won’t find us before we disintegrate in the dark.

 

 

 

 

 

Christmas Eve Abortion (No Pride For The Conquest)

•June 15, 2014 • Leave a Comment

Of all the evil things I’ve ever done:

Fucking you is number one.

Loving you is number one.

Trusting you is number one.

 

My mouth still tastes like that girl beyond the moat.

But for some reason I’m barely complaining.

Teeth biting,hands caressing, tongue way down her throat…

At least she’s ready for the next thing.

 

I just kissed the one I shouldn’t have  right at the start,

…So, why don’t I feel more regret?…

Walking past the cold block we used to mob down with bottles full and empty hearts,

Just like when we met.

I still smell her on me, I still smell how bad I fucked up.

I know the wrong turn I took, I know this is just my luck.

 

My lips burn like I sealed a deal with the Dark One,

But she eyed me so pretty, so, I couldn’t stop, I couldn’t run.

I hurt bad, but  I hurt you more.

You’re the fallen bird in the right and I’m the whore.

 

You want me to burn glass and fill my soul with crystal.

I might as well give up and end us both with my pistol.

The gently fading warmth of another human body might…

Bring my blood back to a boil…

Or have all the things I’ve seen and done…

Made me a vampire under the swiftly-dying sun.

 

You call it pipe-drunk and I call it lifted.

Through your many pitfalls I must stand up and stiffen.

She brought me Gatorade and a slice of pizza.

Yeah, I’m hungry, but I just want to eat her.

Fucking my drug dealer’s ex is better than sex,

better than a naked pic of a hot bitch sent with a text.

I am the Devil and I’m here to do the Devil’s work,

but if there’s murder and chemicals involved…

Then those are just the job perks.

 

 

Soulless

•May 3, 2014 • Leave a Comment

All of this has already been said,

But your flower’s dried up, totally fucking dead.

No dice, you should already know.

See you tomorrow night, but don’t forget that anything goes.

I’ve been shot and stabbed, but I sure ain’t kicking.

While you’re up in your penthouse shooting dope and constantly dick-licking.

 

That black oil runs deep, but eventually runs out,

Same with unreachable bloody gold veins, too.

 

You should already know I stay real,

Here there ain’t no cheating.

Violate me only one and you’re sure to get a beating.

I can have you dream sweet ’til the end of time.

Love and hate are both the same if you’re an empty, soulless dime. 

The Roman Rite

•April 27, 2014 • Leave a Comment

God damn, I burn when I’m inside of you.

I guess Candida is a brand new word for my adult curfew.

This headless rooster runs around,

As if the two of us can’t find common ground.

All you’ve ever done for me is hoist a bright red flag.

You really think you have my heart in that brown paper bag?

When I’m done and add to that toilet water,

My seed swims around like what made my daughter.

Don’t talk to the evil things that we’ve seen.

On my own grave, you mean everything to me.

Your eyes turn to black every time I express my love.

Give up your name for I know your heart came from above.

 

Without My Life

•April 21, 2014 • Leave a Comment

Solemn faces around the table, as if somebody died.

I know if I killed myself, you’d be the last to cry.

I said persistence is the greater part of shame,

You know exactly what I mean ’cause you can’t even say my name.

Shiver ’til my bones turn to concrete,

I know you’re constantly lying because we’ll never meet.

You dragged your high heel across my brand new shoes.

There’s nothing left for you to take or for me to lose.

I’m happier without sobriety.

I’m happier without you in my life.

I’m happiest with six by six by six cuts from my master’s knife.

 
%d bloggers like this: