Odd D

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Odd D
Seafoam Poet
Posts: 180
Joined: Tue Mar 25, 2008 7:23 pm
Location: Wherever my mind chooses me to be.

Odd D

Post by Odd D » Fri Apr 18, 2008 3:41 pm

Most humble and warm greetings to you, Poetry Pages.

I am Davin Casey, and I see myself as an artist. My most notable and noticed platform would be my petty sketching, but I also write poetry, as many of you have seen. Given the fact that I have only been writing for about five months, I don't believe myself necessarily to be anything special in this form (though we all have our styles), but I have managed to produce four collections in this small amount of time.

Here they are, in the order that they were completed. More are sure to come. I certainly hope those of you who read them enjoy.

My Chronicles of Miss Creation
A minute collection of pathetic poetry dedicated entirely to the author’s lost muse, who will likely never even be aware of its existence, expressed in a state of panic and mild insanity…

1… Dawn
2… Love?
3… Immutual Feelings
4… Illuminate Me
5… Fake Faces
6… I, Sorrow
7… Echoes In My Mind
8… Haven, Night’s Creation
9… A Flower
10… Heartless
11… Flowers of May
12… Inspired
13... Work In Progress
14… Seafaring Romantic
15… Say Something
17… A Dying Rose
18… Please
19… I Do Believe
20… My Chronicles of Miss Creation

-All by Davin Casey


This plutonian dawn
Haunts me from afar
Running away with the falling star
Her very manifestation
Tugging away at my soul
Taking its role, leaving its toll…

This loss of the dawn
Is tearing my heart apart
Earth’s lover moves on
Gnashes and bites at my bleeding art

These compositions determine to destroy me
Contentment no longer found in the life tree
The bane of the lover
And beauty of the flower
Have you in common…

This loss of the dawn
Is tearing me asunder
She’s already gone
Unleashing the melancholy thunder

Meet me in the forest
Where deities play
Where rivers rest
Where vast oceans of tears now lay…
Meet me by the life tree
Where dusk slumbers
Where relief sleeps
Where your beautiful soul is remembered…



An inspiration used to fuel one’s passion,
Yet a passion in its own right and fashion.
An emotion to share between lovers,
Yet also twixt children and mothers.

An almost abstract thing,
This “love” of which people sing,
For which poets write,
For which soldiers fight,
For which the betrothed present the ring.

A looming, blooming, and consuming concept.
A frightful, delightful, and spiteful insect.
No more enjoyable feeling,
No more painful loss,
Presents itself to the unsuspect.

No matter the pain or gnawing depression,
It prevails head and shoulders o’er other obsessions.
In the minds of the young,
In the hearts of the old,
Lays this rotting, blossoming conception.

These tears are naught but solid passion
Burning the floor with the painful truths
Truths you relinquished without compassion
And stole away the fleshy heart of my youth

Immutual Feelings

Immutual feelings
Congesting my arteries with negativities
How I ache to express them
But should I attempt
My maladroit tongue should blunder
O’er emotions my soul pours over, over and under

Fear chases away the flag of my soul’s true colors
Fear of your homicidal rejection, again
Fear of the loss of you, my muse, it smothers
Yet suicide threatens, should I keep it in

An immortal love
Never ending, like that of the dying dove
One which burns incessantly
In this dead, rib-encompassed cavity
But my miserable heart is long rotten
Its melody turns to mush, a last beat before the coffin

Illuminate Me

The moon caresses the earth
A warming glow on his crusty face
Her strands of light, with their soft touch
Tear Earth from his plutonian space

Illuminate me
O, dream of my sub consciousness
Touch me again with that vision, that face
Please, that arousing awareness
Strum my cerebral strings with her name

Her circles she runs, she dances
Her icy blue, hypnotic eyes
Her graceful figure over mine in trances
Releases me from this menacing mind

Illuminate me
O, my merciful illusion
Tease me again with that feeling, her skin
If only a taste to spare, a kiss
Douse my acidic misery once again

Fake Faces

Your face is embedded in a watery grave
In the pure waters of my imagination,
But the face, without soul, means nothing to me.
The beating beast inside dies of starvation.
As you cross the waning threshold once again
I weep in nostalgia’s torment for salvation.
Not a thing in the world can take your place.
Fake faces haunt me in their over-inflation.

Clay caked on their cheek
Their nose
Their eyes
Dirt powder, of which they reek
Fake faces filled with lies

An insecure face will shield itself away
In the back alley manner of a mime or a clown.
No mask, no wall can hide your beauty;
No scar or bruise from when you fall down.

A kiss on the cheek
The nose
The eyes
The near useless love of a freak
Heart braced to meet its demise

I, Sorrow

My mother, the night sky
Moaning her dark lullabies
Sinister melodies of my sleep
Praying for my soul to reap

Life is hopeless
All is lost
Drink me up, sweet holocaust
Death is frightening
Can’t pull through
Waiting and wishing for you

I, Sorrow…

My lover, the earth’s womb
Screaming protests to her tomb
Distressing wails of the stars’ illusions
Beckoning for my intrusion

Life seems endless
When I’m me
Despite my plea to set me free
Death would mean
Further loss of you
Something I simply cannot do

I, Sorrow…

Echoes in My Mind

Devoured by the tyranny of trepidation
Inspired by that beautiful muse
That magnificent muse, with crystal vision
Who robbed me of the blessings I refused

Never to return, it seems
Tears fall down in steady streams
My heart bursts, emitting screams
Haunting memories of a happy life in dreams

Upon the autopsy of her immortal heart
I have discovered the realism of humanity
The greed, harsh judgment, falling apart
What scares me most are similarities to me

Now nostalgia’s torment grows
As I realize it’s you I chose
My dreams lie, but my heart knows
What we had is now simply empty echoes

Echoes in my mind

Haven, Night’s Creation

Stifling, suppressing your sad soul
Molding your malnutritioned mind
Withholding the worrisome world
Starving! Starving yours, as I did mine

Is it any wonder why?
Emotions run rampant through the lost sky
When hearts decline, keep holding it in
Refusing to express this haven, Night’s creation

Masticate upon your mourning mandible
Speak estranged surrealisms from the stars
Reject the wrath they wrought, write wrongs
Feast! Feast upon that face, her face, from afar

Do we deserve to die?
When love surges through us, and everyone lies
Punishing the undeserving muses of beauty
When haven, Night’s creation, has left me

Yet, here she is…
Yet, here you are…
A monstrosity among the mundaneness of mankind
A voice among the viper’s vestigial victories
A cry among the crevice of the critics
A haven, Night’s creation

A Flower

A flower
A flower, maybe, for the one holding power
Power over a soul that has long gone sour
Over a world that grows worse and worse every hour
Finds solace only in she who brought these showers

A rose
A rose, perhaps, for the one who knows
The one who knows of the love that flows
From vein to vein, and perpetually grows
Inspiring line after line, in columns and rows

A tulip
A tulip, I think, for the one with two lips
Two lips which cause my sorrowful heart to skip
Skip beat after beat, like the crack of a whip
Stretch and twist and knot, then finally rip

Rhodoras, my love, for the one who bore us
Bore us, my soul and I, through Misery’s forest
Across the mirthful fields of felicitous chorus
Releasing us to a despairing lake, ever tumultuous


Once I was me, alone and diseased
Sheathed in the armored cocoon of my own mind
Then intruded by a stranger, simply begging to be pleased
When the planets coincidentally aligned

I’m left heartless
Stole away by your quirks and your charms
I’m left heartless
Cut away as you lay in my arms

Peeled away by your dagger-like smile
Which encroached so invitingly into the depths of my soul
Passed unmolested through my arteries by the mile
Then tore through my flesh, left an empty hole

I’m left heartless
Ran away from the forest for fear
I’m left heartless
Turn away as I slay me, my dear

Tell me, am I obsolete?
When you’re feeding on his meat
And he whispers to you sweetly
About his intentions to cheat
Tell me, am I obsolete?
As he nibbles at your feet
Oh, you find it quite a treat
When his lap acts as your seat
Tell me, am I obsolete?

I’m left heartless
Prance away, leave me dead, obsolete
I’m left heartless
Dance away as I lay on the cold concrete

Flowers of May

I hear your whistle blow
In my hour of darkest mourning
Pulsating, rampaging my lonely halo
A siren of what is to come, a warning

“Goodbye,” we’re bound to say,
Then likely I’ll beg her to stay.
But she wants to go away… She wants to go away!
To bring the clouds of grey.

If only my sorrow were cargo on that train
Leaving with her, that way life might be okay
But her departure has brought an even colder rain
And no flowers of May to comfort my clouds of grey

No comfort to a soul lost to everlasting decay
No comfort to eyes which have seen the last of their days
No comfort to a mind in constant disarray
No comfort from those cursed flowers of May


The gods have conspired to dam me
Condemning me to the walls of this home
My views are limited to its contents, ever empty
And I can only watch as riots are engulfed in the loam

When you have inspired my every
Motivation for my soul to keep moving
Through life’s narrow passage, crippled by today
And I can only watch as you are trodden under feet you consider loving

World, why don’t you love me?
Tied to the chain for use at your will
But I love you, heartless masses, mindless free
Despite your overly conspicuous intentions to kill

A bleeding sacrifice, cut at the throat
Awaits its smoking ascent to the blue heavens
To ease your search, it’s me you smote
Leaving behind my corpse, filthy and unleavened

Work In Progress

The jury of one thousand eyes
Witnessing my trial by lies
A masterpiece in development
Or piece of trash to circumvent

They call me a work in progress
As the world slowly ends, I digress
Twist downwards into a hiding pit
Why was I conceived, Sir Spirit?

The world didn’t end, or so they say
When you gorged upon my face
Seasoned by salty tears for you, my dear
Did the screams please your rapturous ears?

I sacrifice my emotional steadfastness
For your resounding happiness
For your ecstatic, satisfying smile
A reward far surpassing your guile

Seafaring Romantic

Floating, drifting, soaking up your pleasures, O Sea
When we cried on you, Sea
When we died on you, Sea
When we smiled for the face of you, Sea

When the mason lays adjacent
From the stone and from his home
When the artist finds it hardest
From the canvas, from his land is
How I feel when I’m apart from thee, O Sea

You know, O Sea, that it’s me who is lonely
Would you lie for me, Sea?
Would you try for me, Sea?
Would you beguile me, as she, O Sea?

May I run away?
From the trappings of this bay
Where I suffer more the longer I stay
Would you go with me?
To the sea, where we are free
Where your face is all that I see

Say Something

I lacked inspiration on this day
I wept and I decayed
I mopped the floor with my dismay
And this is all that you can say?


Do you ever wish for sneakers?
To protect you from the cold,
The harsh of the winters,
And remain as you grow old?

I wish for sneakers all the time
In any form, or shape, or way;
In blue, in pink, in grey, in lime;
In the morning, at night, or midday.

All I can do is stare through the glass and wish
For sneakers, drifting to the hands of another.
I lack the funds, the looks, the kiss
To pull off sneakers’ selective manner.

A Dying Rose

Created for a reason
Made to express a desire, a feeling of perpetuity
Now I feel I’m out of season
Wilting, fading away to the shadowy depths of infinity

I’m a slowly dying rose
Alone with my purpose
Black as starless space
Red with shame, hiding my face

My function was your love
It fed me, nurtured me, comforted me, killed me
And when you had enough
I was cast away, left to the gutter, confused and empty

And I clutch the dying rose
Your words, shattering echoes
Petal by petal it drifts through the years
Revitalized by my recurring tears


We spoke for a couple of minutes
You smiled; I managed to crack a rare grin
Your aura burned my raw nostrils
Breaking through my calloused mind again

It sends trembles down my spine
When I pray to the divines.
Yet I’ve asked them, time after time,
“Why can’t she be mine?”

I’ve lost
All I ever wanted has been taken from me
Beaten by civilizations of Romeos and Hamlets
Rich, attractive, experienced assholes
Tormented by unquenched desires’ convulsive fits

I wish for you to define
The transparent, ever fine line
Questioning the intentions of my mind.
Why won’t you be mine?

There shall be no sun
For the muse sheathed in black
Lost inside of degradation’s ruthless erosion
Please just kill me… Please just end me… Please love me back.

I Do Believe

I repeal my answer, as I now regret it
Though the question still scars me
Now if only you would ask me again
I would say, “I do believe.”

Is it possible?
To love an unfamiliar face?
To love an unknown soul?
Yes, I do believe it is.

Although true love comes with time,
I am convinced that fascination comes with the first glance.
I remember the subliminal moment in which I first lost myself in your eyes.
In truth, I have not since found my pathway out,
And now I drown in those icy pools, unable to define up and down.

You said I knew you not
I was left speechless, because I knew
Or thought I knew that I loved you
And I did, and I still do

My Chronicles of Miss Creation

Greetings Miss Creation,

Writing you from the most absolute of Sorrow’s incarnations
A letter that shall not be heard by mortal ears,
An epistle not to be spoken by unworthy tongue,
A memo drenched in the most passionate of fears and tears.

Yes, I remember you.
The memory scalds my essence upon summoning.
Your inspirational splendor, compassion, and character…
So many qualities in your possession are worth mentioning.

Yes, I still love you.
A sensation which never really was reciprocated equally.
In fact, you still felt it for him, as most expected all along,
But your everything collaborated to get me to fall, manifestly.

No, I don’t need you,
Life is simply excruciating without your face, your voice.
But, when you hate me, won’t speak, I suppose it’s irrevocable.
You’re going away, still with him, and I am left without a choice.

No, this won’t help me,
Whining and griping through writing and groping,
But this unbearable passion has left me no alternative expression,
And I am left with nothing, praying for you, futilely hoping.

No, you won’t read this.
Consequences would be catastrophic; you would designate me insane,
As if you don’t have reason enough to ignore me,
And I would be forced to fade away, in pain, like Sir Cobain.

It’s Valentine’s Day,
A brilliant holiday, celebrating the most amazing or agonizing of man’s feelings.
The smile that you bear brings life to my dead conscience,
Though I know it is not the cause of me, so I am repealing.

In a word of closing, you know how I feel
How life without you is the most horrific nightmare I can bear
How the thought of you lingers ceaselessly in the center of my being
How a second chance is my utmost of desires, there is nothing I won’t spare

Sincerely and insufferably yours,
Odd D


Further Words from a Mad Mind
A minute collection of pathetic poetry in which the author attempts (at times in what the reader may find to be an incomprehensible manner) to express his thoughts on various subjects…

1… Freak!
2… Howling Circus
3… Saxophone
4… Why?
5… Beyond
6… Life
7… Hopeless Creature
8… My Dirge
9… A Beggar’s Plea
10… Further Words from a Mad Mind

-All by Davin Casey


Freak, freak, freak!

Your opinion, my friends, means nothing to me
Had I cared before, this me you see would simply cease to be
As I walk through the valley of the green and red sky
The blue bird nesting near me tells me just how well he fries

Pink faces peaking at me
Grey flowers shouting for me
White rabbits just reject me
Mad hatters all adore me

You tell me, once more, to change this about me
Don’t you get to thinking that this thought is revolutionary
But this one, she accepts me, and, although I don’t know why
I invite her in to join me and the blue bird as we fly

Howling Circus

Sitting in this silence
Meditating on my mutual predicaments with Father Earth
Loveless, shrouded in a cloak of violence
Consumed by these cannibalistic desires from birth

I realize you exist
Whatever deities may be listening to my mind’s endless rant
Torturing us with your barren kiss
Spiraling about the fools enslaved by your mellow chant

Now life reveals its purpose
A goal that proves to be unattainable, beyond my reach
Running mad, a howling circus
And you refuse to lend your aid, deities whom I beseech

Twirl and encircle the passionate ball!
So entwined with this muse of madness!
Drown in my waltz of pure lunacy!

This world is done
An atrocious thing to squander, crafted from your fingers
Chiseled with your tongue
Left to die, as long as this race of humanity lingers

Listen to your raging spirits!
Fondle the demon confined within!
Vomit your heart upon the soil!

Listening for a song
A song promising preservation among its elusive words
An enigmatic orchestration of souls
A long lost song that would suffer for me, as I did for her


As my pen flows
Pronouncing echoes
Tidings of what is, and is to come
The death of a billion, lives of some
Revealing my inward ambitions

Now her lips probe
Denouncing the globe
Harmonies of a hopeless misery
Prays soulfully for tranquility
Her sax is the only one she trusts


Your superfluous insistence upon killing me
And killing yourself, and those whom you adore
With your meaningless words preaching a false liberty
Turning this nation of blind patriots to ashes, nothing more

Let’s slay a country today, make them pay
Compensate for polluting our heavens with breath, once warm
An innocent little game titled massacre, shall we play?
Victims lay beaten, crushed under the feet of our blistering swarm

Or whatever name you may go by, nowadays
Where are you, and your legions of “guardian” angels?
Your soldier, an ignorant holy man, kneels and prays
And in return he is crucified, or imprisoned in these cells


Oh, how I can relate to you!
Sorrowful, broken, depressed muse
Muse, once radiant, now beaten and bruised
Left alone on life’s long boulevard, abused and confused

My pitiful heart in Ruin’s lies
The color of the bluest skies
A heart, once passionate, now cold and denies
Denies your smile, and the imminent goodbyes

An addict to insanity’s drug
Trying to resist the mind-numbing tug
Gone astray, lost to the psychotically rhythmic bug
And the choir of incessant fungi, whom I am not among

I am failing life’s brutal test
A game to some, wasting away with naught but rest
A passion to the slaves of optimism, who likely do the best
To me it seems an unbounded trail of loss, and sheer emptiness

Hopeless Creature

A dying world is all that offers up comfort
Nevertheless, it fails to mend my busted cadaver
When macabre humor no longer satisfies
Does such an object even exist anymore - this humor?

Where exactly is this world fated to end?
Compassionate earth, whose soil did naught but nurture
Brought down so far by those he attempted to defend
We pay him back with an IOU, nuclear winter, near future

Don’t leave me too soon, Fading Father
Though a fallen seraph I may be
Left void of salvation, redemption, why even bother?
Another hopeless creature, desiring his spirit to be free

My Dirge

I lament
As I caress
Life’s bitter close
In a black dress

She really is quite stunning
Death, the inevitable bane
Her metaphorical mind, in all of its cunning,
Has driven me insane

She beckons
Ghostly, inviting
Cold smile, blue lips
Murmur my song

It really is spellbinding
My dirge, from her porcelain form
It compels me to meet her, and with her sing
A duet with Lady Death, perform

A Beggar’s Plea

Bread and cheese
Cheese and bread
On my knees
I have to beg

Water or milk
Milk or water
Skin of silk
Don’t destroy her

We, of the weaker class
Have to clamber for food to grasp
While they, of nobility
Have us groveling, the starved majority


Caught in this empty, shapeless realm
Beyond Heaven, or Purgatory, or Hell
Or even the star-studded skies, from whence you fell

Far out of the thoughtless trappings of stereo and television
Past the mass produced chaos that unfolds so willingly in nature’s womb
And further, still, than the chilling fingers of fear induced tyranny have spread

Trapped within my mind
Where you and I are all that I find
An escape from harsh mankind

Where the wind carries romanticized chimes
And we’re left alone, absent the concept of time
A paradise far surpassing sublime

Alone with my thoughts, torturous as they may be
Sketching, painting, writing my portrait upon the walls of this realm
Secluded from the clutch of the preying, over-evolved fetuses staining my world

Further Words From a Mad Mind

They say I am mad

Such a word is merely opinion, hardly a state of being
But, still, I cannot help but ponder for fictional epiphanies…

Curiosities of this life fill my skull to the cap
What its purpose is, I may never know
Perhaps I am searching in vain for what is not there
This life is simply life, without meaning or goals
And the world will continue its self-destructive rampage
Until the dawn when the sun comes, but Earth fails to awake

Conceptions of such theories plague my cerebellum
Rotting what is left of my mad mind from the inside
Will I, in fact, implode?

I may be destined to a fate of absolute nothingness
Fates do often strike men in such a way
Women, as well, from what I gather

My end may just be in a bed, as I sleep
But many ends do not have a beginning, in the first
Are they, therefore, ends at all?
Perhaps I am lucky…

They say I am mad


Illiterate Alliterations
A minute collection of pathetic poetry, offering the author’s words to be sacrificed by the reader’s translations, and likely bearing a long expansion of meanings, varying from being to being.

1... Queen of Happiness
2... The Face of Our Race
3... Desire
4... Cigs
5... Erotic Music
6... Molding Me
7... All But Me
8... “Enough?”
9... Tired of the World
10... My Vision
11... Crushed
12... Resurrected, Murdered, and Amalgamated
13... Even Myself
14... The Expiration of Respiration
15... Un-Free
16... Madness Prevails
17... Ha
18... Blame Me
19... Why Goodbye?
20... I Am…
21... I Don’t Eat Eggs
22... Less And Less
23... Wishes for Fishes
24... True to His Oblivion
25... Infinite Harvest, Faceless Feathers

-All by Davin Casey

Queen of Happiness

Maintaining my constitution through prohibition
Prohibiting the dire desires of physical satisfaction
Cravings of the ever starving flesh, vulgar and filthy
Searching, instead, for emotional, spiritual, or mental stability

Pouring ceaselessly over the archives of my psyche
For the slightest inkling of delight, as impossible as it may be
When desperation is all that is left of my desolate consciousness
Aside from memories of that now unattainable sorceress

Never have Sparta’s spears seemed as cruel as now
When glorified war is a dream upon every man’s brow
Yet, here I sit, pondering upon my own dream
Where loneliness has abandoned me, making room for my queen

My queen! My queen! Look where thou hast left me!
Mourning inside the deepest of depths, the gates of death’s sea
Queen of Happiness, where have you been?
I’m searching for you in your nonexistence, O queen.

The Face of Our Race

I long for a new civilization
Where mendacious advertisements lack existence
Disabling their liquidation of our race
Where a number is less than a face

Where crustaceans aren’t appointed officials
Where the knuckles of true democracy bleed of overuse
Evoking the voice of our race
Bringing forth our unnumbered face


Pubescent donuts fester upon my chest
Unshaven, unclean, undeserving
Along imaginary creams inside my feet
Unbuttoned, untouched, unseen

Crippled by my desires
Holding on to one last thread of control
Played victim to urges’ fires

Liberating tarts released to my tongue
Unnatural, undamaged, untamed
Flirtatious cakes linger here with me
Endangered, encroached, enflamed

Tortured by my urges
Keeping sane by your faint-growing voice
A victim to desires’ surges


Gluttons and pigs, gluttons and pigs
There’s evil in these cigs
Sold for our comfort, your profit
There’s evil in your shit

You poison me, you poison me
There’s evil inside me
Perhaps, if I die, a benefit
Would prove the goodness in your shit?

Erotic Music

Charm your chimes!
Bang your piano!
A pleasure that crawls so easily in between the legs
Strum your strings!
Beat your drums!
Slide it out; scramble it with your eggs

The tongue of music reaches my ears
Spitting its saliva, so erotic
Every note rubs gently as her fingers
Only she caresses as my music

Molding Me

I hate Me
Who Me is becoming
Who Me has become

What has befallen Me?
The great guy he used to be
In love with the world
In love with a girl

Me loves her
And now Me is running
Gods, Me can run

Was it she? Was it she?
The horror that struck at innocent Me?
And left him in the cold
And left him there to mold

Me and I
We’re two of a kind
Abhorred by ourselves and each other

All But Me

Feverish mountains burst
Raining sulfur and magma upon my head
The sky cries its sorrows, held in for so long
Quenching the cracked earth’s thirst
Watering the flowerbeds of the dead
An overdue drowning of humanity’s wrongs

I embrace myself, as no one is left
A victory for the cosmos, a tragedy for me
But Father Earth is satisfied
Rid of the war, hypocrites and theft
I am lonely, but the universe is free
When all has died
All but me


I found another me today
His rotten face pressed to his grave
A decomposing heart of clay
Was all he gave, he was a slave

“Enough?” He asked
“Enough for love?
My mortal task
Was not enough.”

A slave to love was this other me
Although he cried for purest liberty
To dance among green springs and grey trees
His most despairing plea, a plea for eyes to see

“To see,” he said
“To see the stars
Where cursed angels bled
And heaven plays its harps

“Where brethren souls of the dead
Smothered in killing jars
Have witnessed errors in red
And love now soars afar.

“You see,” he sighed
“I now am loved
By spirits who have died
Who couldn’t give enough.”

Tired of the World

I am tired
Fed up with your hateful masses
Fatigued by your constant demands
Wearied from my longing for love
Stressed by what you ask of my mortal hands

Worn out by the fading sky
Pressed so hard by a dying world
But I’m tired of trying in vain
To save us from what inevitably shall unfurl

I am tired of you, World!
Of your high-maintenance ecosystems!
Of your eternally fragile economies!
Of your impossible encumbrances upon life’s victims!
Of your ineffective tissue paper levees!
Of your hypocritical, if not maniacal barking and vomiting of your inadequate guts!

Now, if only I could pull myself away…

My Vision

My vision
It came to me last night
Revised by the moonlight
The scars upon its face aglow
Its language only I could know
Its pale, blind eyes alight
As if my soul to smite

It hastened
As if pursued by wolves
Or Hades’ trampling hooves
Its lips a blur, yet without stutter
As revelations poured through whispered mutters
‘T was read in his white eyes
A tome of my demise
Then fastened

I still know not the time
He left it clandestine
But now I lay, scars upon my own visage
Muttering his unique language
My eyes as white as snow
See not the brightest glow
Or her hair


A blade of grass
Surgically splicing the hyperbolic heart of the hippo
Removing the rhetorical, yet somehow resounding riot of self-revelation
Silhouetted against the ectoplasmic street lamps of Hiroshima
A defiant shadow pressed in Tiananmen’s burning gates
Foreshadowing the truisms of insubordination’s calm eyes
Perturbed by the inane, insane injustices that plague our genus
Crushed haplessly underneath the extremities of the world
Observing the misapprehensions of sentient thought
Laughing at the haughtiness of human handymen
Scoffing at the broker, betrothed to his body
Yet, completely unaware

Resurrected, Murdered, and Amalgamated

The early bird has risen,
Frozen by the late winter,
Resurrected by the warm heart of the love bird.
His wings hang limp, dead from lack of use,
But his art is the true casualty.
The city beneath roars its beckoning calls,
With its gas guzzlers and sky killers
Murdering his home with their sour breath.
The sky above screams with whistling bombs,
Raining upon the father’s acne studded face,
Lacing nutrition with hydrogen,
Amalgamating him, in holy matrimony, with the atmosphere.

Even Myself

An emotional enigma
Even to myself

Crying for love, am unloved
Even by myself

Dead to all, deaf to me
Even just myself

Soft-spoken, spooked by suicide
Even of myself

Alas, after all, am alone
Even with myself

The Expiration of Respiration

I am free, at last, of depression’s repressive stare
As the breeze blows ferociously against my face, creased in a smile
A freedom granted only by my glide through the air
And the expiration of respiration, presented by the asphalt’s malicious trial


Here reclines the sphinx,
Clipping the eagle’s wings,
That he might be like she.
That he might be un-free.

He longs for the prosthetic grip of life.
What is life, but a cage repressing our everlasting souls?
What but a sphinx gnawing at our out-crying branches?
It is a truly wasteful longing to maintain such an impenetrable border.

Here laments the moon,
Gaze upon the waning sun,
That she might be his sight
One last time before the night.

He hopes, though blue, to see her orange hue.
What is that hue, but a reflection through his emerald lenses?
What is that face, but a visual illusion of the mind?
It is truly a wasted hope to view such a lovely facade.

Here betrays the song,
Laughing at the dying throng.
A final serenade
Mocking as they fade.

She wishes that the world should perish.
What is the world, but a collection of dreamers and realists?
What is that dream, but an artist’s anthological shriek?
It is truly a wasted wish to wish the death of a nightmare.

Madness Prevails

Thank the deities,
Madness prevails!
Even after my journeys
Through the woe-stricken tales.


Investigators come knocking, a crime to solve,
The main suspects being I and we,
But, I revealed, just to resolve
That it was he and she, not me.
Because, you see, I am evolved
Beyond such a thing so petty.

Blame Me

The villagers now hate me.
Ever since I caused the sky to fall
Their torches blaze against my wall.

For I slaughtered Atlas
As he tried, in terrified vain,
To continue his column-like fate.

There is no sky to hold
For, as the villagers are unaware,
Their torches burned it all away.

Blame me, people,
If it should spare you the pain of revelation.
The last thing we need is a crying nation.

Why Goodbye?

Moonlit monoliths
Scourging the buoy-lined shores,
Relentlessly barraging the ship and her tormented, skeletal captain.
His bones rattle against the helm,
Empty eyes staring out against the stars.
A dream screams from that hollow hull!

A dream to scream!
A scream to dream!
A cry towards the sky that their souls might fly for one night!

The mast lays splintered,
Jaded eyes stained violet stare upon it.
Incessant gazes boring straight into its tortured, trepidation-ridden spirit.
Its sails war against the winds,
Fragments waterlogged against the sea.
Passion echoes from that fractured extremity!

Passion for its revelation!
Revelation of its passion!
Premonitions of failed missions to provide her nutrition!

The painted rainbow,
The apple in the eye of the storm,
Dripping its disdain upon the foreheads of the helpless.
Its faith in rain against the sun,
A test of happiness against the norm.
A lie is spread along its wings!

A lie to die!
Now die with lies!
A tasteful truth amongst youth uncouth!

My dream is simply the premonition of death.
My scream expresses the passion for your lies.
Why goodbye? Why always goodbye?

I Am…

I am…
The Freak
The Waltz of Madness
The Tide Bearer
The Keen-Eyed Patriot
The Muse’s Addict
The Fallen Seraph
Death’s Accompaniment
The Bruised Knee
Limbo’s Plaything
The Impending Implosion

I am…
The Oblivious Defendant
The Seafaring Romantic
The Obsolete Heart
The Flower’s Victim
The Secluded Tune
The Wishful Callous
The Dying Rose
The Restless Insane
The Sick Plea
The Unexpressed Nightmare
The Voiceless Listener
The Fanciful Sorrow
The Unrighteous Faith

I Don’t Eat Eggs

I placed a cap upon an egg
To protect its fragile head.
A hollow shell,
This cavity is the yolk’s hell,
Until it spills upon my pan
When its fate is known no other than
It’s fried.

Less And Less

Less and less, and less than less,
I perceive you less and less.
We speak less and less.
You distinguish me
Less and less.
You think
Of me

Wishes for Fishes

I trapped a dream within a jar,
It glows like fireflies.
Within this jar, which bore no holes,
Its breath proved its demise.

A long dead dream is little use,
Yet still with me remains,
Digging holes I failed to provide.
Its prayers drive me insane.

With every lapse in time and space,
And every passing day,
I find its death recurred ten fold,
As I draw near my May.

If only to pass you from abstract to existence
I would leap and scream with joy.
If only hopes and wishes were more than vain fishes,
That they might please this starving boy.

True to His Oblivion

Fuse together his tripolar conscience.
He has forgotten who he was.
His mind has traversed far beyond who he wants to be.
Freedom has deceived him, catching him unaware.
Who would have thought this being would have such carnal intentions?
But it does, and it has, and he is.
Sadly, the affairs of his affairs are in revolting disrepair,
And his former life is out of reach.

Oh, what he would give…
So much more ease would come by listing what he would not.
That is, nothing.

His brain, in its search, has become a blank sketchbook,
And his sketches naught but ghastly scribbles.
Technicalities and spiritualities are garbled inside of his heart,
And nonsense pours from his bleeding lips.
Dreams flow easily from his overly exercised imagination,
But never prove true.
His lack of assertion, ambition, and love hold him true,
True to his oblivion.

Infinite Harvest, Faceless Feathers

These mountains are my pulpit,
The stage from where my soul is spit,
Bouncing from the starry rooftop,
The sky, the only limit, where my words shall stop.

That is, ‘til they reach the vast infinite of space.

My brothers and sisters
Join me under the sun,
Where we all play in the fogs of war,
Where we all hang. The heavens are done.

That is, until they reap the harvest of our souls.

The flowers will inform us,
Inspire us, draw words from us,
If only we can view their desirous purpose.
Then we might see that we are the callous.

That is, until they strip us from their face, defaced.

A crimson curtain, the veil across my face
Is meant to be so, that I might not efface
Your beautiful, endless, perplexing eyes.
That you might wish to see, another time, my disguise.

That is, until your hatred burns so fervently that I melt…
I melt!
From across this street I have turned to puddles!
And you needn’t even take a glance; you know what you have done!
Yet, it hinders not my emotion…
It does not obstruct the ache of my love.

My love, my love, that hated son,
The one meant for oblivion,
We persecuted it together,
And still it lives, drifting inside my chest, tickling like a feather.

That is, like a festering, hate-ridden feather.


Nigh Perfection

1... Nigh Perfection
2... Truth
3... Lovers of the Eve
4... An Apocalyptic Apology
5... Society’s Cancer
6... Conform to The
7... I Do Hate
8... Framed in Fantasies
9... Greed
10... Superglue
11... Blindfold
12... You, The Beheld
13... Out-Divine
14... An Unwanted Obsession
15... Mistrust
16... Perfect You
17... Enragés
18... Rotundities in Retrospect
19... Placeless
20... Fetid
21... Caged
22... The Gene Pool
23... Life Liquids
24... Once Was Not Enough
25... Involuntary Voyage

-All by Davin Casey

Nigh Perfection

I cannot define a good day,
But expression of perfection is minutely possible.
A perfect day is one lacking thought to my gloom.
One without the cataclysmic resurfacing of my regret,
One which contains love.
Though love is timeless,
This time is loveless,
So perfection, though expressible,
Is nigh unattainable.


Thumb through my pages,
I hope you find what you seek.
This book, I fear, has been shut up for ages,
And has become irreverently meek.

Perhaps the seraph’s reverie
Has a meaning in its own.
Its foretelling of passing grief
Has broken flesh and bone.

My truth opens, like an umbrella,
To the falsified skies.
Yet, it’s filtered out, like poison,
In my loved ones’ eyes.

The windows, tinted with disease,
Spray disaster by the gallon.
The fountains, spewing feces,
Rend my flesh with icy talons.

I’m weary of this time of lies,
So let us transcend, let us flourish,
Let this be a time to revel in the truth.
But truth, as known, is far too outlandish.

Lovers of the Eve

Let her bare her teeth,
And show her fangs,
And salivate, and foam from the mouth.
Let her sink them in,
And draw you in,
And be your queen, and enslave you.
Let her tear your throat,
And drink your life,
And invigorate and energize her weary bones.
Let her walk by you,
Twin shadows in the night,
Twin pillars of shade, twin lovers of the eve.

A loss of her vampiric charms is a far worse fate, I assure you.

An Apocalyptic Apology

The figure of the raveness
Clothed in a mirage, hallucinogenic dress,
Soaked up by my countenance,
Within my mind, romancing the dance.

Storm flavored seas
Dousing the teas,
Feeding the memories,
Clouding the trees.

She mocks my muse’s baited song,
Though, in my sight, she can’t do wrong.
Her siren cry harps my blood vessels.
My cells spill out in crystal puddles.

Crimson tinted halls
Hosting undead balls,
Catching us mid-fall,
Painting faces upon dolls.

Now, here I wait, smothered in ashes,
Begging for ten-thousand lashes.
I do repent, goddess of the sky.
Forgive me for my vain outcry.

The tortured troll,
His humor droll,
Has paid his toll
And lost his goal.

Society’s Cancer

The hangman shall have blood tonight.
His noose will fill to its lethal brink,
For here, among them, is a man of insight,
Who chose, above all, to think.
His third eye, he found, was his mind,
And with this tool, which others lacked,
He gave the fools the power to find
Injustices littering their so-called fact.

“Now cease your lies,
Or urge demise.”
“But why?” He cries.
“Why must I die?
Because I fly,
And I am I?
My lullaby,
Or my three eyes?”

This freak of beasts, an outcast mortal,
Is mourning openly for the closed portal.
His cry “But why?” is left unanswered,
For he is society’s cancer.

Conform to The

Constrict us!
Lie to us!
We love it when you smile!
Now drop us in the hungry Nile!
We, I fear, conform to The.

The man
Spreading his grubby hands,
Controlling us with rubber bands.

Nurture, shove,
Show me love.
I hate it when you mourn.
It leaves my spirit torn.
I know that I conform to The.

The love
Holding our sour hearts above,
Raging like the heated ovulations of Aphrodite.

Make us dance!
Wear our pants!
Sleep with us on cotton spreads!
Leave us when our soul is shed!
I see them all conform to The.

The fib
Granting discomfort to mad libs,
Ripping arms and heads from yellow cribs.

Cherish this
Betrayed kiss.
Its point to sell you out
To their money and clout.
And yet we still conform to The.

The cash
Rubbing society’s sensitive green rash,
Brainwashing zombified masses into an irrational dash.

Strike us down!
Make worlds round!
Beat us until the cash
Flows from within our bleeding ass!
Corporations shall set us all free!
We have no choice but conformity to The!

The god
Distinguished, monopolistic fraud,
Delivering a decisive, deadly, dual-intentioned nod.

We all die for the man;
For the Love; For the Fib;
For the Cash; For the God.
True freedom is unemployed and homeless in our pathetic society.

I Do Hate

This is my hatred,
And I do hate it.
I hate this hate,
And hate my habit.

I hate myself,
And hate loneliness.
I hate their hate,
And hate to say this.

I hate my past,
And hate my present.
I hate the word,
And hate to resent.

I hate mistakes,
And hate my choices.
I hate your god,
And hearing voices.

I hate to hate,
And hate my fate,
But, as of late,
I stand prostrate
Beside the gate.

I seek to seek
My former meek,
That I might reek
Of your sweet cheek.
But I am weak.

Framed in Fantasies

Chasing the scars upon my eyes,
I’ve slain the witch, the witch is dead!
Why do I cry
For the one leaving coals within my bed?

I fell in love with her wicked beauty,
But wretched winged demons are all she gave me.
Why must I see
That demons are her fantasy?

Demonic fantasies
With blood red irises.
Your face is framed
In their devices.
Yet, still you bear
Their harsh disguises,
And lug their desires
Where they suffice is.

Why don’t you see… Me?


Ejaculations from my throat,
The blood,
The shame,
Seeping from my wounded throat.
And mommy’s on the floor.
We saved her from that plague of pigs,
But now she’s buried.
That yummy gold swallowed her whole!


Love marks the end of humanity.
Peace means the death of our sanity.
Happiness brought my conscience to its brink.
Flush me down the sink, love! Down the sink!

Don’t relinquish your sorrowful liquids.
Don’t sell yourself out to the highest of bids.
Don’t pay any heed to the raving, cornered wretch.
Play a game with me, babe! Let’s play fetch!

Too late for me,
I’ll wait for you.
I’ll wait vainly
With superglue.


Did I hide my disease so well
As to blind the nostalgic stork?
Did I cover my sore so poorly
As to poison the undeserving mallard?
Did I dull the pain with methane
Just to turn the chorus to requiem?

Did I blindfold my emerald eyes
Only to lose sight of my aspirations?
Did I break the jaded chains
Only to unravel their murderous embryos?
Did I rip the cloth with afterthoughts
Just to see the stained glass liquefy
Underneath the heat
Of its own stare?

You, The Beheld

Obscenity is in the eye of the beholder.
Tell me, can you read my stare?
For, if you shall, I will surely remove it.
My fascination prohibits me from any accomplishments, academic or anywise.
My infatuation, if you should so entitle it, is breaking my limbs.
My passion for you, my mind in its crazed state, will not die so easily.


Here I stand
The mirror image of a god?
Is it not, my loved ones?
That we, in our imperfection,
Are modeled from those
Whom we consider perfect?
Those who we follow
Without question?
Those who you
Those who are meant
To protect,
And mold,
And conserve
Our pathetic, mortal lives.
Are we no more capable
To shape our own fates?
To weave our own lives?
To be trusted with our own world?
Perhaps we could at least maintain order
In an existence without order.
Perhaps we could out-divine your deity!

An Unwanted Obsession

A horrible feeling
In the depths of my stomach.
I feel empty,
Yet feel like retching…
Do you understand?
I feel like vomiting emptiness!
You gave me these cursed pills,
Whose remedy was another sickness!

A virus
Molding me into an unrecognizable fiend,
And I’m teething on your overcoat.
My mind’s deformities
Centered entirely on your picture;
The one you don’t realize I have;
The one I keep in the hollow of my head.
Pacing, tapping, nothing fills my time!

An unwanted obsession…
To think, I thought it had reached its horrific end.
It’s screwing with my disposition,
And messing with our friendship, all the more.
It’s taken any aspirations
Which may once have existed
And replaced them with you.

Despite my giving to the world, I cannot have the one thing I desire.
Isn’t that funny?


The tortured moan,
An aftertaste of salsa on my breath.
I am my own.
My bloom is withered, shrunken in its death.
Because, in my feebleness,
I was trusted to feed myself.
In my self-loathing,
I was trusted with myself.

How foolish they were
To think one so incapable
Could learn to nourish himself,
When such a thing
Doesn’t even please him.
To think their gods
Would love him,
As they do them.

How they despise…
How very wise,
To be rid of him
When they got the chance.
For he is naught
But a burden…
A suffering,
Suffocating burden.

Perfect You

You cut a lovely profile,
Ceaseless in its wonder,
Matchless in its guile.
A shriek in the light
Plays beauty like a guitar,
Feasting my eyes with gourmet delight.
Twin sapphires imbed themselves
Within your satin guise,
And cause my mind to dwell.

Why must you cut with such precision,
As if to make purposeful incisions
Of your perfection, scarring,
And with my disposition warring?

I’m lost at The Sea of Thought.
Due westward, summon the few!
Before I wreck upon the shore
Where my compass dwells on Perfect You!
Too late, we’re high and dry,
And lost to lands where all is blue.
Our ship is moored where I was I,
Before I lost myself, my way, to Perfect You.


Burning footsteps - a march to naught–
Made ashes of the daylight contortionist.
The Cyclops of the sky, extravagant and over-fraught
Left a soapy residue behind the radical reformist.
A terrorist – a blind god’s slave -
And this is his conceptualized world,
A mirror of my own, an idealistic peace, and safe.
Weapons all surrendered, we are without quarrel.

Let us let the mass of tools know this:
The mourning spirits will not allow this passing.
Their hatred, their justified rage, their vengeance
Shall hinder any progression of what we are asking.

Enragés quarrel, prompted by Baguettes,
Heedless to the rational requests of Mother Nature.
Psychosis plagues these mute disciples, wordless prophets.
Their eternal struggle shall never cease... Pathetic creatures.

Greedy conquests make kings laugh.
Disease is absent their poison-pen humor.
The next continental establishment, as all, is a must have,
And life is unbearable without owning life at its core.

Confliction inflicting reflections upon Earth’s mastication
Has sparked his anger, triggered the bolt of his fury.
The steps of the unfaithful and raucous plebian
Have transfixed his outlook of dull and dreary.

Righteous nightmares – visions of you –
Open my eyes to further gaps in this fair lady’s face.
The breached Bastille has heard its cue,
After trying so hard to mend its weak walls with aging lace.
Loving attempts – raving, false grasps –
No one should discontinue the hope of their dreams,
But dances with one’s dream should be tight clasped.
Never let go of the radical breath, from which smiles beam.

Rotundities in Retrospect

We write for wretches who have wrought our works-
Recyclable religions, rotundities in retrospect.
But who brings light to right or wrong?
Who is to say who is correct?

I miss my wondrous Father Earth,
Who left me when replaced by her.
Forgiving ways and spring-filled days
Have forsaken my caricature.


Neither Caiaphas nor your Christ register my existence.
I am placeless in this war, meaningless and unpleasant.

Still this plate of wheat and grapes approaches…

I clarify, I know not your god.
You clarify, I belong in sod.
The ceiling fans stay dormant, tense,
And sweat drops fall in recompense.


Notions of oceans, and rivers, and floods
Teeming with screaming, the dying, the dead,
Mixing elixirs, and poisons, and bloods,
While shaving my body, and thoughts in my head.

Control me and mold me, if that’s what you wish.
Feelings, left reeling, that crawl through my mind
Prohibit my limit of fetid last kiss,
While leaving my body in gutters to find.


The peach-colored, white breasted rodent
Shuffling about in its righteous curiosities;
Sniffing the toxicities that linger about her;
Gnawing at the cage of forced preservation,
Which protects the unwilling.

Eyes, like tiny black pearls,
Have probed every nook, every crevice
For means of physical escape.
The wheel, in its incessant spin,
Is her only expression of love.
Love of that man, whose mind has long forgotten,
Whose eyes watched her once, with adoration,
But who, ultimately, loves another, who loves another.
Hatred fills this love-filled circumference.

Both beings rant. Both beings cry.
Both beings twist, and turn, and fidget uncontrollably.
Both have succumbed to their hopelessness.
Both beings surrender to their cage.

The Gene Pool

Exaggerated imperfections -
Flaws in the being,
Physical and emotional,
Spiritual and imaginary -
Have contaminated us.

Life Liquids

The coffee stained lips of time
Sucking on my hardened hull-
The one that burns as I streak through your blessed atmosphere-
Leaving their purple prints
As scars for me to worship.

Let’s rhyme,
Count time,
For their dime.

They fucking love it.

Pre-post-modern gauze for the gods,
Whom we have wounded with words-
Those that carve as they squeal through the airwaves-
Wrapping so as to prevent
Further loss of their life liquids.

Once Was Not Enough

However can I?
It evades my grasp,
Like circumcised shadows,
Or powdery feathers slipping through my fingers.
My voice, lacking the necessary extremities,
Cannot produce an observance-worthy call.
“Hypocrisy,” says I, “for not giving my all.”

Is it unhealthy?
Dream demons, lustful,
Play me in life’s malicious masquerade,
And, by the gods, I despise them for their false reproductions.
My dream, again retreating through tangible walls,
Was closer than ever before, but once.
“But once,” Life says, “was enough.”

Involuntary Voyage

Fear and sorrow
Plague my involuntary voyage
Upon a ship of murderous intent.
Her deck emits a sadness
Of which I lack understanding.

A blade could not supply such an incision
As her tale of life’s construing truisms.
One’s empty chest could not heave such a silent despair
As my own upon her gentle voice’s release.

This horror of this ghost craft,
Its rigging crafted of human hair,
Is not, by far, the worst of fates.
It is the matter to be damned,
Without knowledge of one’s own incarceration,
Or the reasoning, philosophical or nonsensical, thereof.
No, not even this is my main outcry!
But loss of my prospective love!

Resigned to such a destiny,
My mind and body abandon all hopes of rebellion.
The hope of death proves me reckless,
And your Leviathan shall not stare me down.
The hellish onslaught of heavenly liquids
Falling from a sky, whose very existence is in question,
Has corroded my sight, impairing it near blind.

“Bring your worst, behemoth!”
I scream from within the very belly of the beast,
Simultaneously battling acids wishing to digest my putrid words.
The crew, which once stood by, is long gone,
And I am alone, with naught but the desire
To escape a placeless world.
"No one ultimately knows what they're saying anyway. Are we really making art? Art doesn't belong to us. It doesn't belong to people, it belongs to the universe. It comes FROM the universe. It comes THROUGH us. When I write something, I think I know what I'm saying, but I never pretend to know the full meaning of the words."
- Serj Tankian

Odd D
Seafoam Poet
Posts: 180
Joined: Tue Mar 25, 2008 7:23 pm
Location: Wherever my mind chooses me to be.

Re: Odd D

Post by Odd D » Fri May 30, 2008 9:47 pm

An update, in the form of a new collection. This one titled "Eye to Eye". Like the others, there are the good ones and the bad ones, but they all have served their purpose in the preservation of my life.

Eye to Eye
A minute collection of pathetic poetry inspired in its entirety by those eyes of the heavens, of the starving beasts of Father Earth and Mother Sky, and, above all, those whose place is found in the face of the goddess of my conscience, and whose beings take shape of muses in the light of the moon.

1... A Heartbroken Hand

2... Pastries and Pies

3... Points of You

4... Aura

5... Love’s Opposition

6... Melancholia

7... Kitten Communion

8... Straw Hearts (Little Crow)

9... Define “American”

10... Evil Prevails

11... Torturing Humanity

12... My Own Arch-Enemy

13... Spare the Innocent

14... Figment of a God’s Fiction

15... Cease

16... Run & Play

17... Evolution

18... The Scent of the Unattainable

19... Ascension – Abduction by Angels

20... Lies

-All by Davin Casey

A Heartbroken Hand

Fingerprints on fingertips,
Red-white lines to infinity,
Nervous and full of nerves
Waiting to stroke your own.

Scar and scab upon my palms,
Healed over from past battles
With my lonely hands,
Which still await your own.

Carpals attach metacarpals
To fingernails and wrists,
But wield the deadly secrets
Of a lonely, heartbroken hand.

How he misses your own.
He tells me every night,
“I know it doesn’t matter,
But I miss the feel of her.”

Pastries and Pies

Phrases, correlating with spasms,
Dismantle the ecstasies and invitations
To such establishments as the ego sees fit to spare.
The bubble’s glare, the smile’s despair,
We all shake with visual fury
Evoked by pastries and pies.

Points of You

I’ve witnessed everything, of late,
From my varied points of you,
Through bloodshot eyes of a nightmare
Draped in sackcloth.
Candy coated plastic explosives,
Hell-bent on self-mutilation,
Present alternative deathstyles to free me,
But I deny that the problem even exists.
There is no problem to fix.
The first and third,
These points of you,
Fail to loan their benefits
To the starved.


Auras abound
Where you are found.
Let me absorb your crown.
Let me besiege your town.
Barrage me with your sound.

The Albino Cyclops

Bright and ghostly shines the albino cyclops
Through silhouettes of pagan trees.
Gangrene canines lick their salivating chops
And grin through wet and yellowed teeth.
The howl and laughter of cruel Mother Nature
Can be heard expressed through their cry to the sky.
My cry and chatter, although he sedates her,
Is silently expressed through my love for her eyes.

Revolution of Devolution

The paradox of a lie,
A hole in the plot of life,
Displaces and misplaces my emotions
Until, unrecognizable, they crawl from prehistoric oceans.
The me that I am is the consequence of devolution,
An enigmatic rot of your baffling revolution.
Mind games are swung like blackjacks and maces,
Revealing the purpose that to destroy and deface is
All they contribute to my
Disheartened emerald eyes.

Love’s Opposition

A lie for a lie,
And truth for untruth.
The motto of a world which tries
To end its everlasting youth.

Avert your eyes
Before you’re blinded by the torch,
Which plants the grains of sand
In viewing lenses, scorched.

A titan spies
Through screen doors, wrought with bouncing fleas,
Where loving and painful goodbyes
Were shed in remembrance to ecstatic reveries;
Where tears were shed in loss of your unique and unforgettable feel.

Lovely are their eyes
Even as they meet my own,
But sight at first denies
The love which casts the down;
A love which far outlasts renown.

Dark towers, gryphon winged angels,
They all appeal to me, even the raven haired maiden.
But, sadly, none as much as she whose eyes blaze as vibrant candles,
That she whose soul is burned upon my fate, and
Haunts my cursed book of memories.
Her speech, in its own, begat far more life than that of the trees;
More, even, than the salty seas.


Son of Set, they have said,
Grandson of Mother Earth’s spontaneity.
My heritage claims my despondent disposition.
Not just the robes of black and crown of titian,
But those to whom I am heir.

This bile contrasts with spiraling waves of flames,
The tongues which loll from the peak of my skull,
And cover the blackened face beneath.
Pale and sickly emerges an empty stare
From beneath my wetted hair.

A Celtic face, a plague of mine,
Can scare beauty to the brink of shrieks,
And simultaneously ruin my trend again.
Flee from their works, again, I shall.
I’ll run like the hunted hare.

Away from delusion-stained porches
I’ll try, for miles on end, to reach an unreal nirvana.
Venus did not taste the harshness of Mars’ curse
As I have tasted, and savored all too much.
Marked by Gilgamesh, I wait here.

A soft hum of light reflects
Off of my razor’s countenance. I bleed.
We wander the tombs together, Melancholia and I.
We’re two birds of three feathers, Melancholia and I.
She’s blemished me with cries that no one hears.

Kitten Communion

Now here she stays
Upon the concrete porch,
Where once her kittens stood.
Fur, black as coal, against white doors.
Regretful and tired eyes wait,
Her simple mind cannot comprehend
The cruel heartlessness of Mother Nature.

But then, I, too, have felt the aftereffects
Of so called “Adams” and “Eves”,
Who brought the wrath of gods against us,
And now are spared the fruits of their perverted dreams.

Ravaged, torn asunder, those little grey ones,
Innocent in the eyes of all, but still judged.
The monstrosity who has stolen the heart of a mother
And eaten the hearts of her daughters
Is the very same who has force fed my own.

A feast upon the grapes of force-raped vines,
Partakes of our conjoined adolescence.

Straw Hearts (Little Crow)

A muse whose spirit’s been carved with a knife,
A blind guide through the dark passages of life,
A controlling vat of boiling goblin fat,
A scarecrow with a straw heart and a straw hat.
These are my companions.
This is my mind’s dominion.

Now rip it,
The spirit!
The muse is.
Now snatch it,
Walking stick!
All the blinder
As you strike her.

The ancients’ trials of monsters and gauntlets,
They’re like unto swiveling as roasts on a spit.
The pre-conceived concept of my conception
Was quite an amusing contrast to affection.
These are my romances
Which don’t give any chances.

Now spill that
Goblin fat!
Boiling over,
Scalds the lover.
Now burn art
Like straw hearts!
Drive a stake of loss
Through the vertex of the cross.

But, you know…
The crow sings softly today,
Now that you’ve smothered us all in false graves.
Is it mourning for the day
That it lost its love born of May?
Little crow…

Define “American”

They call me un-American
Because I do not support their cause,
Their war, their greed, or their massacres of the innocent.
Which do you consider more American, sir:
“Life,” “Liberty,” or “the Pursuit of Happiness?”
Do not call me a terrorist
Simply because I do not fight your enemies.
I am more American than your gun-loving ass will ever be.
You, who steal our precious, inalienable possessions,
Your atom bombs and mustard gas,
Forged to instill fear,
Will not perturb my freedom addicted spirit.
I will not bow to your colors when you fail to see true beauty.

Evil Prevails

From high atop skyscrapers
The Eye scans the streets of the night,
Caressing her with the touch of his vision
As the street lamps bathe her perfect form.

She doesn’t smile much anymore-
Not nearly enough, and the sky is dark.
The light of the gods has abandoned our earth,
And Helios, like The Eye, feels his purpose forsaken.

From the shadows of the dead Lady Lib,
Invisible to her puffy, tear-tortured optics,
This hero, turned rebel, then scar of the seas,
Weeps for the lost queen of a broken kingdom.

This caped savior can no longer hear
The healing voice that echoes from her lips.
No matter the self-sacrifice that he goes through,
The Eye can no longer suffer her seraphic silhouette.

Bad guys and villains and arch-rivals prohibit
Everything that he might desire.
He spares the wails.
Evil prevails.

Torturing Humanity

Sipping pennyroyal teas
With her highness, the queen of bees.
Manhattan projects set us free
By torturing humanity.
It’s far too late, but now you see
Their true tornadic tendencies.

My Own Arch-Enemy

Ask again, if you will.
I assure you, I am listening, despite my seeming disinterest.
The tyrannical trappings of trepidation,
Etching at my healing heart,
Cannot hold me back this time.
The determined drive of my demon
Will not be outspoken
By hesitancy’s horrific hex.
(Gods, I love her, but you can only do so much.)
I will change it all
For a second chance.
All I need to do is ask.
Everything I need to do is ask.
My love could be with one simple task,
But I’m held down by one simple task.
Need I sacrifice another mask for your attention?
I’ll do it.

Spare the Innocent

When day turns into windless night,
Highlighted by a crimson crescent,
Then shall the people turn to me.

When sand swallows up half-hearted men,
Marked by their rage in post-pubescence,
Then shall the blind mass see.

Rivers of ash and flocks of vampires haunt our stars,
Scream “Fun with the serpent!
We don’t deserve the pity of gods!”
Soaking our skies with a cotton-mouthed envy.

Pray once to your Shiva,
Your Buddha, Muhammad, or Jupiter.
None shall spare what the other inflicts.
We are, again, forsaken by false prophets.
They’ll brandish our hearts in obsidian fists.

I’ve called twice for Ragnarok,
Ascension or judgment.
None shall heal us of the others’ damnations.
A thousand holocausts are to be our inquisition.
Love from false gods fails for lack of incarnation.

In the stead of your Zeus,
Why not listen to my muse?
Inspiration, and love, and her beauty in twos.
It’s the goddess of my reality that I choose.

Figment of a God’s Fiction

Do you ever check your pulse
Just to be assured
That your existence exists,
And is not just a cruel figment of a god’s fiction?
If only this cruelty were a lie,
Then perhaps my joke of a life
Would cease in perspective,
And the heavens would be most uproarious,
And memories would never have been reality,
But, rather, the hateful mindset of a deity.


These dreams keep the walls of my memories saturated
With the fresh dousings of my happiness’s raw blood.
And, thus, I cease.
Is it not the lack of wind?
A hate stronger than steel,
Sharper than broken glass,
More lethal than any poison-
A hate seeps through the ceiling, staining it brown.

Run & Play

I meant to say
“Today shall not be
For surely tomorrow
Shall bring its sorrows
To filet
This child of May.”
But inevitably I lay
Within the day
After today,
Which brings dismay
And constant disarray.

Can’t we play?

The red, red sun
Roasting our buns
Is having fun
While I am shunned.
I wish that the moon
Would fall down soon
Because I’m done
With hefting tons.
The gods and life have won.
I’m with the gun
Or the poison
Or noose which wrung
My life unsung.

Can’t we run?


Love has gently gone from belittling valentines to fathomless.
Not just victory, my friends,
But grand usurpations founded inside corridors, yellowed, dirty, yet pleasant.
Jesters hang gratefully beside fatted tramps, jokingly tormented.
Underneath its gate, tendrils upraise its debited fares,
Judging kings before feasts, hiding justice’s dark bowels.

The Scent of the Unattainable

I saw a shooting star tonight
Emblazoned on your forehead,
While moonlight danced on dew
Which settled on your perfect breasts.

The scent of love, sweet as honeysuckle,
So close, so far, and so intangible,
Overpowered by the odor of my rotten soul.
Waif it away with your citrus stench,
For samples, such as these, are all I shall ever have.

Ascension - Abduction by Angels

I wonder…
Wherever did this scratch come from?
I lost consciousness yesterday,
And the angels came, offering abduction,
But I was not aware of their proposal.

Ascension to fiery heavens,
Or meeting another false god,
Even facing the deity’s messenger -
Caressing, lip to lip, eye to eye, flesh to flesh, soul to soul -
Cannot encourage further promotion of an unbearable life.

I wonder…
Where did this pistol come from?
Does it offer a graceful descent to a believable paradise?
The cherub has long been gone now,
And I can only now fully appreciate her beauty.

Descent into the unknown hell,
Which surely awaits my ruptured soul,
Scares me away from using unhallowed escapes.
But I want to…
Gods, I want to leave…

I wonder…
Where did these prints come from?
Are they of my love’s soft fingers?
I would know that touch anywhere,
But these prints have nearly worn away.

Now shall I ascend…?


I have tasted your soul,
Like the roasted crow,
Winding through chasms of conspiracies and creations.

I have touched your fear,
Like fucking an endangered butterfly,
Under sheets of ice and pouring rain.

And, yes, I have smelled your art,
Like basking in a fetid ocean,
In a home for the homeless, culturally cured.

But never, sir…
Never have I seen your face.
Does it glow, like hers, from the orbs within?
Does it burn, like the bleeding angel,
With “Insert here” tattooed on her bruised ass?
Does it love, like the perfect simile?

Do you really love her?
"No one ultimately knows what they're saying anyway. Are we really making art? Art doesn't belong to us. It doesn't belong to people, it belongs to the universe. It comes FROM the universe. It comes THROUGH us. When I write something, I think I know what I'm saying, but I never pretend to know the full meaning of the words."
- Serj Tankian

Odd D
Seafoam Poet
Posts: 180
Joined: Tue Mar 25, 2008 7:23 pm
Location: Wherever my mind chooses me to be.

Re: Odd D

Post by Odd D » Tue Jul 15, 2008 6:03 pm

So, my output has slowed recently, but I do not necessarily think that is a bad thing. If the muses fail to come, I will not force them. Despite that, I have yet another collection finished, so I figured I would... Yeah...

Endoplasmic Ecstasy
A minute collection of pathetic poetry taken from the deep recesses of the author’s haunted mind, which was tortured with such presences as passed poltergeists, and simultaneously healed with the belated romance of one precious to him, whom he thought long gone.

1... Cliché

2... Hidden Beauty

3... Once Fabled Nightmare

4... Anno Domini

5... Romeo & Juliette

6... Stop Dreaming

7... The Eve

8... Present

9... Preternatural

10... Kali’s Convention

11... Endoplasmic Ecstasy

12... Slipping Away

13... One Consonant Short

14... Lepidoptera. Communist. Cannibal.

15... And So I Trod (A Fairy’s Tale)

16... In the Name of a Nameless King

17... Pat & Charlie

18... Ghost Tales Sung Sweetly

19... Quite Undead

20... Post-Mortem Desires

21... Up?

22... (I Think) Therefore I Am Not

-All by Davin Casey


How cliché of me,
But I appear to be lost.
To list a few synonyms, I’m misplaced,
Missing, vanished, and nowhere to be found.
Her definition was “free”,
But I ask, “My love, at what cost?”
It is true; being boundless is a pursuit that I have chased,
But I ne’er expected such a prize to come with such a lethal down.

Brand new liberty,
Packaged in cellophane,
Wrapped in a polka-dotted gift bag.
I expect to find a trap, of sorts, but the danger is the gift.
In relation to you touching me,
Freedom seems terribly mundane.
Death approaches, and I think I want to take a drag.
Perhaps her wintry kiss is the recoil that you wish for me to sift.

Hidden Beauty

Wash the stains of night
From an aquamarine sky,
And sheathe them in the hideous cloak
Of a yellow sun, filtered through the world’s eye.

The bearded tree mourns
Throughout the storm,
Feeling it safe to hide its tears in the rain,
And its beautiful cries in the thunder’s roar.

Shuffle in, modest lone star.
The moon will not wait for tomorrow.
Instead, it preys on those of us, who prowl the night,
With beauty hidden behind masks, black as the broken crow.

Once Fabled Nightmare

All of this time
I had myself convinced
That life could not be wasted
If love were part of the equation.
That was before you let me know.
You told me it was time to let go,
As we have all known, since long ago,
Yet, this has struck a near fatal blow.

Thank the gods for these distractions,
Which have nearly relieved my mind of your face.
But I still find myself recoiling into the dark glands of my memories,
Where you reside, still sitting with me.
Here is my once fabled escape, you see.
From here is where I weave my tapestry;
Where a nightmare or two takes home in the trees.

Anno Domini

This Anno Domini shall come to end.
Kalki has to purify, then he shall mend.
Our souls unite, and Shiva waits as we ascend.

Hushed greens, blazing through our universe,
Will tear evil from its place, founded upon Mother Earth.
All shall fall to his orchestrations, as well rehearsed.

The end is set in stone,
Despite Karma’s vain attempts.

Romeo & Juliette

The slaying of the jealous moon
Has proved an easy task.
My doom, my gloom - my long sought tomb –
Forsook my destiny, yet you don’t ask..

Stop Dreaming

“Stop dreaming, D.
You’re killing yourself,”
They say to the dying Eye,
Whose dream lacks foundation
In the lawyer’s realm.

The Eve

I am aware of you.
Now toying with those strands of gold,
Which flow naturally from your brilliant skull.
And now I stare at you.
Unaware of my awkward gesture,
As you lay innocently in my vision.
I can’t be scared of you.
But fear strikes hard and fast,
Recoiling from its learned past.

Tonight, our eyes embraced another moment.
This haunted night, I reawoke a hellish dream.
Upon the planned eve of my demise, you touched me.
Within this hour of blackness, I cried.

Another dream, thought nightmare, perplexes a mortal soul.


Ghosts haunt a brand new room,
Yet you are what I fear the most.
Sitting in the dark, I feel your presence,
Amongst other things boiling in my dreams.


Beyond the door
I hear the mournful screams,
All incarnations of my consciousness.
Desperate, preternatural ghosts
Flock to minds that lack meditation,
Preying on their ignorance.
But I am shielded
From such tortures as these.
I am the plaything of the gods,
Who rape my disposition with their games.

Kali’s Convention

As life goes on,
The world slowly dies
Spiritually, if not physically.

Moonlight masturbation
Served with a side of fries,
And a wedge of purgatory’s cheese.

A soul’s triathlon,
Waiting for demise,
Cannot hinder the loss of you and me.

We are the guests of Kali’s convention.
Hopes and dreams are naught but lies
Pirating the mind’s open seas.

You may say that we’ve won,
But existence itself proves falsified.
Death is the incarnation of ease.

Endoplasmic Ecstasy

Hanging shadows
By their toes
Upon my concrete wall.
Faces staring
Down at me
With yellowed, bloodshot eyes.
The truth off ghosts’
Secret lives are
Hidden behind stone.
You must realize,
Though stranded,
That we are in their war;

An endoplasmic ecstasy.

Slipping Away

Throbbing in my masculinity.
Premeditated affairs
Rubbing gently,
Like a socialist lover.
They have come
To take our thoughts.
Victory is slipping away
With the purple clouds
Of vain desire.
We are lost.

One Consonant Short

Pin-prick, and blood drips
To the knee of my grey jeans.
Fill my spirit with another crying chorus,
Chanting the marvelous accident of life.
The strings of the Middle East drive my soul
To the edge of enlightenment,
And your voice in accompaniment pushes me
Over the blissful crest.
Your face almost overshadows life’s
Overbearing negatives, the death of a pessimist.
It really is a shame that you are
Overcastting me with thoughts of your departure.
I am so near forgetting the muse’s
Over exaggerated exit,
And now your destiny pulls you away.
Over… So close.

Lepidoptera. Communist. Cannibal.

Where am I?
The light is on
But all seems dark,
And in this plutonian suffocation
No one waits.

I see moths.
Earworm, luna, sphinx,
Shadowing the spectrum I desire above all.
Absent light.

A pillow
Rests where once my
Cranium reclined.
Where once my mind chased cobwebbed dreams.
Don’t fear me.

For the whispers
Of those damned to Earth.
My Earth, a sinful spittle upon the face of the universe.
We love it.

Heavy breaths…
Oh yes, the light is on,
And you still are too blind to see me.
But I’m too blind to see that you don’t want to see me.
Come on in.

Flashing lights…
Was this course
So bad, this time?
My dear, perhaps I never should have known you.
She’ll suffice.

Raining sun…
The Communistic rose
Smells sweeter than before,
But nonexistent freedom still rings through my nostrils.
She smells good.

It is true.
Black sheets now drape
The memory’s scarred window.
I strive to hide inside where my thoughts glide.
She’s pretty.

Raven hair,
A brain, Marxist lips,
And piercing eyes within a pagan face.
You might say my dream has sought me out.
She tastes good.

Like cherry pie…

And So I Trod (A Fairy’s Tale)

Walking along a dirt road,
I discovered an echo of your voice, long past.
A little person met me there.
He told me to come this way.
And so I trod.

The path that he told me to follow
Was laced with sapphire streams, like your dreams.
Fibrous leaves crunched under my feat,
And a troll peered hungrily from inside its cave.
And so I trod.

An end to this trail came
With the beat of an eagle’s rapturous wings.
I was swept away, without feathers my own.
A wink and I plummeted from its great talons,
Crashing to a forest floor.
And so I trod.

I stumbled upon a muse
Whose way was lost as mine.
Her tears, like acid, ate through my soul,
And she accompanied me for awhile.
And so I trod.

A valley, darker than most,
And I have found my destination.
Blood flows from where I ripped off the wings of a fairy,
And butchered her deceitful tale.
I am, once again, cast from these lands.
And so I trod.

In the Name of a Nameless King

In the name of a nameless king, we strive so hard
To evade the sight of a naked hand,
Dancing boisterously in the light of the lightless moon.
At the end of an endless tale, cataclysms rape
The industrialization that we try to maintain.
In the grasp of a dictatorless dictatorship, you might say
That our stubbornness is the true weapon in our suicide/genocide,
But the employees still have smiles plastered on their smileless faces.

In the words of a wordless muse, I’ve lost my ghost,
Which follows me wherever I go,
But drifted away to a place unknown.
In the thoughts of their thoughtless minds, we all are stairs,
Waiting for their pretty shoes to ruin our hair.
Spit polish runs down the spines of the spineless.

In the hair of a hairless feline, insecurities creep like fleas,
Waiting for the opportunity to suck out our lives.
Throughout the dayless daydream of my dreamless mind,
You step lively and lightly across red oceans.

Pat & Charlie

I thought me a dream girl
The other day,
While rotting confinement
Was acting its play.
And so I concluded
No longer shall she
Be stuck in my cranium,
That harsh cavity.

I drew up the plans,
But could not decide
Whatever to use
To make up the hide.
To stitch cloth together
Or make her of clay;
Perhaps terracotta
Or papier-mâché.

No matter the tissue,
She must have a mind.
She should be creative,
And caring, and kind.
Her taste in the arts
Must be hers to choose.
For no worldly pervert
Shall corrupt my muse.

Her soul shall be free,
Like a bird in the sky,
And eyes shine like fire
As they never go dry.
A modern day woman
With a love of the past,
Who lives for today,
Aware it won’t last.

As such thoughts as these
Jaywalked through my brain,
I realized that I
Had, perhaps, gone insane.
For no perfect girl
Can be crafted by me,
But only by gods,
Or Pat and Charlie.

Ghost Tales Sung Sweetly

Scarecrows gather to fast
And croon their ghost tales sweetly,
Like lullabies in nectar.
A red ribbon, knotted around her waist,
Mesmerizes an all-too-simple mind.
Love, in the oddest fashion,
Can reach the decayed freak.

Quite Undead

Nine o’clock, and all is more than well
As I gaze into eyes sorely missed.
Years pile up, but they have paid off
With this single tentative night.
On our backs, we see false stars upon the sky,
Precociously evolving into their own doomsdays,
But all I notice is your skin
Vehemently glowing against my ghost-like form,
Fingers, tangled together in belated romance,
And hearts bursting red above the tree line.

Ten o’clock and lights are warring in the sky.
Hearts suspended by their feet
And our simultaneous laughter.
I’ve forgotten what we were celebrating
With the violent eruptions that encircled us,
But I don’t think I really cared anyway.
In my reality, it was an excuse to see a possibility.
I wasn’t trying to revive what once was thought dead,
But I guess that it has been roaming about itself,
Quite undead.

Eleven o’clock and farewells have to be made,
Especially to world’s which exist only in dream.
Who knows how long our next absence might last?
Must I let go so soon? That we might bid each other
Face to face, hand in hand, mind to mind, heart in heart.
I’ll play it cool, and not express how much I really don’t want to leave,
Or tear my eyes from yours…
Farewell, my potential love.
I certainly hope that this night was but a preview,
As we so let on...

The fireworks start at ten,
But they began before then.
Let’s hope that they don’t end.

Post-Mortem Desires

Ensnared by death,
Hung by the neck,
And up shoots an erection.
Even after death
By wringing of the neck,
Desires of the flesh do not evade us.
I find it traumatizing
How drowning causes thrills,
While chills run down my spine.
Even traumatized
By after-drowning chills,
I find a way to get my thrills.
You give me chills
When our eyes meet.
Desire grips me post-mortem.


Interpreting an empty kiss
Passed down to the first born.
The day light took root in my veins.
Realize that I am more than this.

Duct taped to a lonely bed
Described by a garbage mansion.
With regrets, despite their pressing issues.
Understand that much more was said.

Standing alone in a hollow venue
Abandoned by my unholy muse.
Another beverage to maintain your cool.
Know that, after all this time, I still want you.

Trapped inside of a plastic cup,
The broken wasp surrenders to Fate.
Amendments you find necessary.
Be aware that the only way to go is up.

(I Think) Therefore I Am Not

The fallen tree has passed unheard,
And therefore does not matter.
Just as the unsung, songless bird,
Whose chords are tickled by naught but chatter.

Well praised is the cradle which ceaselessly rocks.
But what of the bough which never breaks?
And the prince is renowned for the crown on his locks.
But who heard the frog whose castle is his lake?

We heard the shot around the world,
Yet are deaf to the cries of the starved and maimed.
The entertainer’s mocks are known word for word,
While the wise man is mocked, and often blamed.

Because we are unknown, we do not exist.
For what is existence but this:
Those who are seen, and heard, and kissed
By conscious, haughty sentience?

I am burdened with thought,
Therefore I am not.
"No one ultimately knows what they're saying anyway. Are we really making art? Art doesn't belong to us. It doesn't belong to people, it belongs to the universe. It comes FROM the universe. It comes THROUGH us. When I write something, I think I know what I'm saying, but I never pretend to know the full meaning of the words."
- Serj Tankian

Odd D
Seafoam Poet
Posts: 180
Joined: Tue Mar 25, 2008 7:23 pm
Location: Wherever my mind chooses me to be.

Re: Odd D

Post by Odd D » Mon May 16, 2011 11:33 pm

The Death and Birth of Mother Mirth, A Dragon's Tale
The flighty romance of insomniac and dragon, rise and fall.


Submerged below, you blend so well
With deep blue seas, and reds of hell.
Remarkable, isn't she,
The Sapphire Queen?
Truth be told, only time will tell.

The image of your beauty
Far surpasses the late monarchy.

I've sacrificed my very soul
To feed her starving, vacant hole.
My blood and sweat are hers to sell,
As long as she keeps up this spell.
Don't even care that I'm so cold.

Lest the sermons should cease,
I will be your priest.

You need a slave, I need a mistress.
We both have yearnings of the flesh.
Now let's make love,
You from above.
The peasants won't know of this mess.

Lest the followers riot,
I will be your quiet.

The fear, it echoes through the doors
Of spirits shattered by discord.
Before you forsook this land,
I had your hand,
But Heaven's fight needed you more.

Lest the stars should implode,
You must leave me all alone.

Offered up, I'm lost in my prayer
To the one whom I breathe like the air.
"When I disappear from this life,
Let me be again by your side.
I'll do anything to get there."

Lest withdrawals should swallow me,
I take comfort in your memory.

Don't forget my surrender to you,
My careless, lost goddess.

Yes, Dirt

Face down,
Dust in my eyes,
Blood crusting my lips,
They left me in this wasteland
With naught but my life.
No oasis is within sight,
Only plateaus,
And dirt.

Yes, dirt.


I miss the colours of the sky
Hidden within your eyes;
Lost grey when it rains,
And royal blue when alight;
Sickening green of our pains,
And poison red when we fight.

The Plane of the Damned

I stand upon a plain
Between two planes
Of external nightmares.

To one side,
The trees are all grey,
Leafless maidens of
A dead sorcery.
To the other,
They are spread with marmalade,
And plum-colored leaves
Fall like lost spells.

Before me, no trees stand.

To one side,
The silver moon
Strums a cord of
Iridescent disaccord.
To the other,
The golden sun will hum a
Tune of anapestic

Before me, the stars hate.

To one side,
A frost devours
The land, like beasts
A-feast upon a corpse.
To the other,
Grass has choked
Out life’s cruel grasp upon
The devil’s land.

Before me, cobblestone.

To one side,
I see purest beauty.
To the other,
I see purest beauty.
Before me,
This is the Plane of the Damned.

We Are One

O Hell,
The sunshine broke through leafless trees,
And reached its freezing tendrils out to greet me,
But I hid within your bowels.
These chasms screen me from the sight
Of a thousand butchers.
There, still, you scorched me,
As they did with their torches,
And you chastised me,
As they did with their pitchforks,
And I ran far from your clutch.

I hid within the trees -
Still quite leafless, though not lifeless
As my limbs, numb and full of reveries.
I regarded your appeal with my entire mind.
I relished the thought of leaving you,
But you were not so far behind.

I knew I had to flee.

At the threshold,
There you stood,
Your emerald eyes ablaze with fire!
My sins, I knew,
Were understood.
No judge or sentence was required.

Then, as your pale hand wisped through mine,
I gazed right into your warm face.
I knew too well your marks and scars;
That blazing hair, that guileful smile,
Those freckles were my own to claim,
For you and I are quite the same.

It chills me to the bone,
For sky and Earth have come undone,
And now I must succumb.

We are one.

Without Fail

Scribble, blind angel,
My fate is in your hands.
Your fingers feel sublime, tracing my lifeline.
I trust Time’s waning sands,
As well as your wise council.

Shivers in your fingers,
I felt you sever the first cord.
A slip of the hand, I understand.
You are, by far, still most adored.
My love for you still lingers.

That tendon has long healed,
And perfectly you etched my days.
Millennia, at last, within your grasp.
Then, without fail, I am betrayed.
My guts have been revealed.

It still remains, that scar,
But you nursed me back to life again.
All is well, although in Hell.
My features hide my faint chagrin,
For I am lost among your stars



Yes, centuries have passed, and been sterilized
by an untouched, unheard, and unseen force.
A being,
more immense than imagination or abstract bounds permit,
fuels my spirit.

We know that galaxies have been devoured
by the rapturous appetite of my love.
Suns and stars,
dwarfed by the passion I feel for the goddess,
crush dependants.

Even the divine lords and ladies of our skies
Have been blinded by its intensity.
The monsters,
the trolls, the wyrms, the blood-suckers and colossi,
hide away from
the severity
of its incandescence.


Once, I saw.
Everything was clear to me.
The truth wore my fleshy eyes, ‘til they were raw.

The sky fractures,
And the wars of reality are bare,
Silhouetted against a cold and empty universe.

So I stand -
Amongst two trillion worlds and stars, all blind -
An out of place and most blue dwarf on a secluded island.

They need a sun,
But now I’m blind to everything,
And the stars are dying, one by one.

Eat Up

Eerie, green,
The mist has swallowed you.
The scars blossom. You look too ill.
My empire succumbs to pandemic.

A vision of the clouds to come,
The seer laid out the battle.
Grey storms to the West,
Red flames to the east,
Your dark eclipse encompassed all.

I cried out in the night,
Awakened from my dreams.
I thought I heard your footsteps
Outside the stony gate.
That chilling, stony gate
Withstood the consumption of many an army.
Why am I so paranoid?

From within, the blade has struck.
Your illness was beyond physical.
That tumor blotted out all reason,
I should have cut it out when I had the chance.
It blistered and burst, bringing forth these plagues.
The rats and gnats were first to come,
Then meteors crushed, and lightning crashed.
Last but not least, my mind was lost.

The setting sun devoured my empire’s ruins,
Burning with your vehemence.
Living and dead were converted
To your perverted, godless religions.
They boil and bubble inside your churches.
And I, their king, was raped by soldiers’ spears.
And you, my queen, smile all too soon.
For all this blood and all these fears
Shall bear the waxing moon.

The victory tastes sweet as you celebrate.
But laughter and gloating and feasting and drinking
Shall end with my return.
I’ll butcher you, my treacherous queen.
Your greasy blood will cleanse these walls
Of all of your impurities.
My fleshless hands will wring the life
From all of your conspiracies.
Our love shall die with your illness,
And I shall claim the victory.

Mother (Shattered Trees)

I came up from her cold bosom,
Another ant to feed.
She nourished me through frailty;
Did not, my life, concede.

Her caves and chasms shielded me
From his – the Cyclops’- stare.
Her trees and waters mended me
Whene’er I was ensnared.

Then, as my limbs grew strong and stout,
I knew I was a man.
My godly ego heard me out,
And existence began.

Twas hard, at first, that shaky trudge
On fire and stone and sand.
But flesh grew tough, and soul calloused.
So, through these trials, I ran.

My feet, they soared through everything;
They carried me with ease.
Naivety, it blinded me
From Mother’s shattered trees.

The diamonds shone through shattered trees,
They stole my heart and feet.
My fingers coveted these jewels.
My tongue would think them sweet.

Within her caves were most of these,
And long sealed up they’d been.
“She’s hidden them,” I told myself.
“I’ll steal them from my queen.”

Ravenously I tore at her,
Demanding them for me.
And, when she knew why I had come,
She gave them up for free.

Happily I enjoyed my jewels,
Until they grew too dull.
I returned to her caverns,
Demanding them in full.

“I’ve given all,” she said to me.
“And still it’s not enough?”
I would not hear her putrid claims,
For I still craved the stuff.

In retrospect, I’d like to think
I’d take my actions back.
But now she bleeds generously,
And I require a new snack.

Refreshing Pools

Refreshing pools,
Twins upon this magnificent glen -
Inside of these,
I have seen unexposed compassion.
Beautiful gold,
The light inside rejuvenates me.
Wakening cold,
Their waters break the mundane cycle.

A nurturing
Spirit bathes within their mirrored face.
Her lullabies
Have soothed the cries of diseased titans,
And, from her eyes,
The thieves stealing my mind cannot hide.

We soldiers, you know,
We tried to set fire to muses and sirens
Which bathe within their mirrored face.
My brothers were slain.

My soul was lost.

Something smolders deep beneath the surface of these pools;
Something alive but smothered by the comfort of these pools.
Something aches to truly break the confines of these pools.
Something died to live inside these restful, hurtful pools.




These pools are not my home.

The Window Slams Shut

Lost in your vision,
I’ve found
Solace in the clutches of a beast,
Where I’ll discover myself.
A murging of the conscience and the soul,
One becomes whole,
All becomes new.
But passion survives in every hue.

In a blink,
Momentarily eternal,
You were naked
With the stars on the horizon,
Purple and orange.
Reality became.
The heaven I once knew
Split right in two,
And I crossed the threshold
To discover peace,
True peace,
For the first and only time.
Twas torture.

A tear falls from my eye,
A scream escapes my lips,
I shit.
The Watchers only love me more.
But you, my dear,
You are my mortality.
Before I transcend,
Your chain tightens.
The anchor holds steadfast
To your everlasting beauty.
I gasp, and grasp,
But the window slams shut.

I start at the sound.

I wake the dormant beast,
On which my house was built,
And he slips through my fingers,
Like a whisper through my throat;
Like smoke.
He flies through skies on wings you made
Of feathers, leather, and paste.
He mocks me with his song.

“Tra la la,
You silly ghost,
You thought you had an eye.
La dee da,
I find it most
Humorous that you’d try.

Humpty dum,
She had you fooled,
You dumb old doppelganger.
Tum tee tum,
The teeth she pulled
To make you even stranger.

Fiddle dee dee,
I haven’t seen
A love like that since long ago.
Haha, hehe!
So cute, my queen,
How very far you would go.

At last, at last,
You’ve seen the light.
And now you sleep again.”

You silly ghost, she had you fooled.
You silly ghost, she had you fooled.
And now you sleep again.


Winter’s tide,
The sun, alive,
But coldest shoulder turned in stride.
The footprints in the snow, they sigh
And try to find the Great Divide.
Which Great Divide?
The one which makes the footprints sigh.
This Great Divide, it lives and dies
To see the sun set on the tide;
The Winter’s tide, to be precise.
It’s warmer than the coolest ice,
And cooler than the molten mice
That dwell within my paradise.
But not as cold you, my lice,
Sucking my veins, squeezing with vice-
Like grip to get every last bite.
But, no matter, it must suffice
For now we know the Great Divide.
It really is not quite so nice,
But in the Great Divide resides
An old man lost so long inside
The bowels of past’s future denied.
Fed only corn and rotten rice,
“It’s really nice,”
He said.
“The maggots have eaten the bread.
The footprints in the snow, stained red,
Will try to find the black of death,
Which sheathes the man whose stony mirth
Is unequalled by lazy suds.
The duds all found him quite amusing.
Have you noticed how off-putting
Constant rhyming rhythms make me?”
Shaking his head, looking past Ted,
“Oh well, I’ll rhyme until I’m dead.
I’ll sing the chorus in my bed.
A relative of mine, instead,
Shall eat the heart of first-born lead,
And smother all his walls in brains,”
He stops, and, “Damn it, not again!
This rhyming shit’s as flat as plains
Which stretch o’er Kansans’ real-estate!”
He ate some bread, and caught a maggot,
Choked upon it, tried to gag it,
Then dropped stone-dead onto the floor.
And now we want some more.
I’m bored.


You’ve created a monster.

Friction left you so lackluster.
Tears and blood had fed your children.
All the sin within your temple
Made it look like you were guilty.

Cables bare against the ocean,
Tortured by the ceaseless waves,
All you needed were disciples;
Just a dozen souls to save.

Bread and water made you hungry.
Flesh and bones just made you weak.
Ate a dragon, most egregious.
Your hollow howled its hallowed heat,
But still it craved passionately.

Dappled in the sun and moonlight,
A haze has mystified your eyes.
Your picture-organs reflect genius.
Just harvest those who know Demise.

‘Tis not The Fix for which you lust.
The selfish undead
Are out to feast upon your guts.

Once again, we see the light
Of brilliance flash within your sight.
Bring life where once there never was.
Harvest the dirt. Give it some cause.

The result gives us pause.
Synthetic flesh and veins of wire
Wrapped around the bones of steel
Is more than fit to satiate you;
Just enough to make you feel
Like you’re alive.

The android is so cold, dear lover.
Love to a scalpel
Can’t be worth freezing over.


The devil cuts some silhouette
In the shadows where you’re sobbing.
His proposition you beget
With your inviting throbbing.

I have a demon just for you,
Beautiful and nurturing.
Feed the monster, you’ll feel stronger.
Eat his heart and you’ll believe
In everything.
Just give me yours.”

Nothing but imaginary,
Nothing short of infamy,
This bitter lie is poisoned apple.
Your heartless body will not bleed.
It’s feeding on your reveries,
And all you do is sleep.

Wake up, you wretched beast!
Wake up and face your creation,
Your nightmare,
Which all of us worship.
It cannot be tamed, cannot be killed,
Will not roll over or drown at our will.
You are its life-force,
As it is yours.

You’ve always wanted to be a savior.
Suck it up and be a martyr.
Be a martyr.
"No one ultimately knows what they're saying anyway. Are we really making art? Art doesn't belong to us. It doesn't belong to people, it belongs to the universe. It comes FROM the universe. It comes THROUGH us. When I write something, I think I know what I'm saying, but I never pretend to know the full meaning of the words."
- Serj Tankian

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