self

Birth of Light

Folder: 
Dolour

The light pierces the thick midnight
Everything is all right
Back is tight from the tension
Of not understanding
The end of this dark road
It tickles at the mind
Rather makes me scream at the horror

The lead is out of me, the dead weight of you
Is gone as the fire dies
I am lost, a ghost within my own world

From the shiny future I have made
It blinds me
Bends all my reasons to the correct morals
All my fight has been staled

All ties to you have been cut
Making my gut sour free
The acid of all the sins
Melt the pins from the heart
Freeing me from the chains
Breaking the gin bottles
To make a pretty smile
Out of the shards

There are no more kisses
From poisonous lips
I don't dance on ragged blades
I run in the blue
Too bad you cannot see
Me this straight

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Crash Poisoning

Folder: 
Wulfman Adventures

An throbbing ache echoes through the body.

The mind is tree sap goo draining out of the ears.

I feeling the systems breaking down within the Spirit.

All that is poisoning me is bringing my own destruction.

 

Crash it all together in one ugly wreck.

A hurricane of intoxication and self abuse.

Tears of frustration, feeling of defeat.

Crash it all together into one ugly wreck.

 

I crawl out one last time.

Beaten, scarred, and busted but sober.

All the poisoning drained out.

The being of I, regathering to be my self again.

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Came to

Folder: 
Wulfman Adventures

I came home after being absent
Sought for nothing

I came to find misery
All the love is pain

 

I came to find the Highway
For I am the Highway Phantom

I came to be whole
Through the mud I walk

 

I came for nothing
Sought a false front home

I came to find my own
All I have is pain and sorrow

 

I came to sandy shores
Only to allow the sea to take

I came sailing from home
The sun burns the cold bones

 

I came back with scars
They are my pride

I came to accept me
I am the Highway Phantom

 

I came, I stayed, I left
My heart is not here
I sought, found but sorrow
My home is the Highway

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Pale

One: Heavens
The heavens I pray to are now draining of their glorious colours.
The washed out colours rain down me to drown the sins within me.

 

Two: Soul
The ravenous flames of inward hatred have bleached my soul of its blackened purity.
The life I had lived is at Lady Death's feet, and the rebirth child is within her embrace.
She spoons me closer to her bare breasts where I suckle new into my corrupted soul.

 

Three: Fire
The black flames like licking my impurity flesh.
The sins I sweat fuel the fire, burning all within its mouth.
Making bellowing clouds of ash to coat me and itself into the paleness of lost souls.

 

Four: Person of War
Birthed from battle,
Cried from clanging metal,
Boy of pale-gray ash colour,
With eyes fiery than the flamed arrows,
A being of a ravenous war wulf in search of peace for the immortal turmoil within.

 

Five: Eyes
All I see is blood and it burns me white of tomorrow's ashes.
All I see is white, and in my blindness I am humble.

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tags:

Reflections i

Folder: 
Wulfman Adventures

One:
Fractions.
The bathroom mirror is a lightning storm
of my own insanity.
Spider-webs.
Between the lightning bolt like cracks,
there is a black widow of sinned sense
spinning a web of truth.
Me, myself, and I.
I am a shattered self wrapped
in a webbed cocoon.

 

Two:
Windows of reflections suffer from my abuse
because I don't like the truth they tell.
All my problems and faults
look back to me from my own eyes.
All that is, all that was, all that has... it was me. The mirrors and I are the same.

 

Three:
The man in the mirror dislikes me
hence I dislike him the same.
'til one morn' we are silent,
who is what? - what is who?
Though in his eyes I see the man
that once lived and he sees the man he is becoming.
Our silence is one of feared
appetence of what we are.

 

Four:
In an angry blow
I break the mirror with a grin
of bliss from insanity.
In each flying shard
is a reflection of me screaming out its storey.
As the shards come to rest
my grin turns into a laughing fit
of a madden man.

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The Mirror 2010

Folder: 
Wulfman Adventures

One: Freak
The man in the shiny window laughs at my tears.
Now I am the one doing the laughing.

Two: The Glare
His lake like eyes trying their best to break me.
My smile of sanity gives him a spin like a butterfly caught in a tornado.

Three: Sharing
Together like some demented conjoined twins, we cannot live without one or the other.
Shame.

Four: Shard Dancing
What a pop I gave the man on his reflective jaw. Now we are a cutting jigsaw puzzle, help us please?

Five: A Dream
I had a dream but now it is shattering into glistening nightmares.

Six: Blood Hand Duke
Our fists match each given blow to our twisted snarls of anger ‘til one bloody self remains.

Seven: Mine
I am my sickness, the hatred for my reflective twin.
Like cat and dog, back and forth ‘til I lay waste to shiny glass and flesh.
The split blood is due to pay for the change.

Eight: Clueless
Our death at my hands, ripping my twin from me as Dr. Crude spins another vinyl for the sanity of my cottage-cheese brains.

Nine: Unknown
Why am I insane?
Why am I high with nothing?
But the soothing sound of breakage…

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My Brother Crow

Folder: 
Wulfman Adventures

In the flutter,
Of dark wings,
I find my sanity.

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Modify Me

Place me under lock and key
composed of knives that sever me,
pills that bind me to the breeze
and cast me far from misery

Your means of conscious tinkering
will suit me just as comfortably,
for when I'm risen from my sleep...
I'll be new and incomplete

Write it bold on inner eyes -
a simple blink will set aside.
Hindrance come won't break my stride
or fault the ways to which I abide

I've given up on self-repair,
through fault or switch or greenest air
the latter of which I do declare
a flaw the likes of none despaired

Modify or justify until I feel a change;
I give you every building block to feel or rearrange
I'll sacrifice all inner works and light upon my face
just to breathe with ease as I begin to slow my pace.

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Conversations with the Asshole in the Mirror

Don't you look nice today?
A fetid blast of business casual
that suits you, but only some times.
Other days you're not unlike Hell
in body, face and carrying
of the shoulders and expression.

This is the occurrence of
mornings suffered through
just after a glorious evening
of constant garden greening.
And yet, even with this daily
reddening of your fine blue eyes,
you still cannot fall to sleep
without a bit of melatonin.
What plagues you? You are
and have always been
living a life that is pained only with
the common and monotonous.

So you're still sort of reeling
from the sudden bit of knowing
that confirmed to you, once
and for all, that you are not special.
For the life of me now, I can't
think of how, to react to it.
I can only say, that if I were you,
which I guess I sort of am,
I'd try just to not be so ...
Moping, about it.

Try to care a little bit more
about ... Something.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This is a strange poem.

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