Dark night hours,
I wrestle
with the fallen angels
in dreaming times,
he fights me
to make me bleed
and I am sweaty hot,
weary from the war.
I wept for you monster,
doomed to repeat
bad habits
as if fate liked
licking your ankles
and staying after
all the other shiny guests
had left,
she crawls into bed with
you and watches you sleep.
Death seemed to
keep me as
her servant,
bound and gagged,
screaming
with sadness
so loud
I assumed I awoke
the universe
who consequently didn't seem to
have a care
and fell back down
to soft beds,
fluffy down pillows,
with warm others,
snuggling her through
the cold night
as I lay sobbing sleep
every twilight
since I can seem
to recall.
Jordan and I
were the closest of
soul blood,
bonded together brethren,
and now
he's been taken from me
and I am left here
to fight these nasty growling,
gnashing teeth to my skin,
demons,
all alone.
Showing posts with label fallen angels. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fallen angels. Show all posts
Ophelia Thrill
I got a delicious thrill
in the mere act of
watching you
watch other people.
You seemed interested,
just as I,
in these strange
and exotic beings,
bumping up against
other flailing spirits,
little blushes and
brushes with
pleasure and mortality.
It was really the
body rhetoric that
drew me in,
feeling subtle energy cues,
creeping from my pulsing third eye
steadily down to my blistered feet
like an adrenaline rush
of pleasure in the nighttime.
I heard the whispers
of words that you never
dared to say,
pound in my ears
like three lines of a song
that sticks in my head,
on repeat.
And you didn’t have to explain
with tongues lashing out of holy mouths,
because I was always
well versed in the language
of tasty bones and blood,
pumping and betraying
your so-called secrets to me.
And though you feigned
apathy and callous cognition,
you and I both knew better,
just another scared and sacred boy,
craving to be heard
through the machine white noise
and speaker feedback.
I felt stuck though,
falling for other fallen angels
that I wanted to
embrace so softly,
long enough
to soothe and sex the pain out
of their broken astral bodies,
found instead
that they sucked me dry
of my healing powers,
black hole taming,
your addictions and afflictions
held on to my already clipped wings,
taking me straight down
to the rivers of hell
and high water,
drowning me slow,
submerging me
till most of the breath was
strangled out,
then to hoist me out of the water,
just for a splice of a moment,
to give me your
“you should be so lucky” glint,
and to show your pretty painted-on face,
smirking at my tortured lungs,
hear your soft sultry lies
that I let you get away with,
then plunging me down again
into the icy waters
that did not forgive
or forget without blood sacrifices
to the gods of sadism.
I woke screaming
from that dream
that repeated on
my writhing veins.
Oh honey,
you cant spend your hours
saving those
dark mystery creatures,
they crave the cycle
of the death drive,
licking up the spilled blood
of the innocent,
dangerous in their actions
and quick to pour
cruel words on
my already bled and raw flesh
that only moistened to
the thought of light
and a world where
heaven was enacted on earth
instead of that glorification of violence.
I deserved better
than this abuse,
and deep down,
you felt it too.
Please,
just let me go,
oh hungry monster,
to drift down
the gentle currents,
Ophelia left to
her own devices.
Filthy Angels, Monster Breathe.
You've got to give me
a break,
a sentence set apart
in time,
at least a ghost to
talk to in the night,
when I dance.
I don't understand every one
of my waking moments,
much less the nightmares.
I watch Kate tortured
in front of me,
French resistance,
so many burning bodies,
always throughout time,
the witch trials,
repeating,
like my attempts at sleeping,
just prolongs the nights
and the Court sits high above.
What medicine is there
for that prophetic knowledge
from the ethers
that comes banging on the door
each evening?
You would call me odd,
crazy even,
you must in some moments,
in your head,
over and over,
and I grow weary of the sound.
And I told you months ago,
in the old apartment,
I had a bad feeling about
this cancer,
only 2 years,
seems like it's own
lifetime,
fighting this thing
we can't win over.
I already miss parts
of you that haunt me
in their small deaths,
dear brother,
parts of me moving on too,
tis the result,
as down the rabbit hole
we go even further,
into dark and and certain
Hatter madness.
The candyman drinks
his choice nectar,
a living death,
the puppets in their corners,
stand ready to fight,
blood bathing and caging
those beauty filthy angels,
raping her and laughing,
Was this just a game to you?
Boredom reeks,
We the ever over-stimulated
by a culture
that pretends to care,
fake metal,
and a man in the middle honey,
just a lie,
wrapped in tinsel,
with lips, tits,
and now has learned
the magic art of winking.
Learn to crave better soon,
for I grow faint
due to the heat and construction.
Calm down monster,
and breathe,
breathe.
a break,
a sentence set apart
in time,
at least a ghost to
talk to in the night,
when I dance.
I don't understand every one
of my waking moments,
much less the nightmares.
I watch Kate tortured
in front of me,
French resistance,
so many burning bodies,
always throughout time,
the witch trials,
repeating,
like my attempts at sleeping,
just prolongs the nights
and the Court sits high above.
What medicine is there
for that prophetic knowledge
from the ethers
that comes banging on the door
each evening?
You would call me odd,
crazy even,
you must in some moments,
in your head,
over and over,
and I grow weary of the sound.
And I told you months ago,
in the old apartment,
I had a bad feeling about
this cancer,
only 2 years,
seems like it's own
lifetime,
fighting this thing
we can't win over.
I already miss parts
of you that haunt me
in their small deaths,
dear brother,
parts of me moving on too,
tis the result,
as down the rabbit hole
we go even further,
into dark and and certain
Hatter madness.
The candyman drinks
his choice nectar,
a living death,
the puppets in their corners,
stand ready to fight,
blood bathing and caging
those beauty filthy angels,
raping her and laughing,
Was this just a game to you?
Boredom reeks,
We the ever over-stimulated
by a culture
that pretends to care,
fake metal,
and a man in the middle honey,
just a lie,
wrapped in tinsel,
with lips, tits,
and now has learned
the magic art of winking.
Learn to crave better soon,
for I grow faint
due to the heat and construction.
Calm down monster,
and breathe,
breathe.
Somebody, Move.
Slave girl trade
kept me up last night,
the world is weeping,
and I listen best at nighttime,
when the shadows wander, and
the mirror haunts
with staggering,
breathless,
appeal.
I can't stop looking deep,
yearning for even deeper down the rabbit hole,
hard and wet and deep,
but what if I don't want to stop?
The Salem witches are awake
and on the move,
still sizzling from
their wounds,
they start to come alive,
burn again in the moonlight,
as you start to moan again in your sleep,
beautiful sounds of unconscious pleasure
awake within you.
Though we start
to notice the mass hysteria,
the twisted tea parties
that are starting to piss off the Mad Hatter,
the smell of pure upheaval
and revolt was
starting to course through again,
these tired old veins,
still always hear the calling.
Make no mistake,
this is a new level of inferno,
I'm watching the
fallen angels in my head
turn into machine drunk zombie dolls,
sadness turns to
self-loathing and despair,
stop this dark force at work
in the dungeons of our deficit,
and the puppet masters for
the Principal are laughing ever still.
Addicted to sex
and the rush of pleasure,
I hunger for spirits
not afraid to fuck deep waters,
expand our horizons,
we can travel and change,
become misfit gypsies
in quite the traveling
Freakshow,
masturbatory habits disclosed
and prescription pills
letting the mind wander
and weave,
out into oncoming traffic.
I will let you overcome me
just because it felt good
to be wanted a little,
I guess.
Vampires twisting in nightmares,
cancer hot flashes in the corners
of bathroom stalls,
heavy sighs and so on,
the sickle comes down
again on our prophets of the twilight hours.
We stand by and watch
the rite
played out over our bodies,
and say nothing.
enough noise.
Somebody, move.
kept me up last night,
the world is weeping,
and I listen best at nighttime,
when the shadows wander, and
the mirror haunts
with staggering,
breathless,
appeal.
I can't stop looking deep,
yearning for even deeper down the rabbit hole,
hard and wet and deep,
but what if I don't want to stop?
The Salem witches are awake
and on the move,
still sizzling from
their wounds,
they start to come alive,
burn again in the moonlight,
as you start to moan again in your sleep,
beautiful sounds of unconscious pleasure
awake within you.
Though we start
to notice the mass hysteria,
the twisted tea parties
that are starting to piss off the Mad Hatter,
the smell of pure upheaval
and revolt was
starting to course through again,
these tired old veins,
still always hear the calling.
Make no mistake,
this is a new level of inferno,
I'm watching the
fallen angels in my head
turn into machine drunk zombie dolls,
sadness turns to
self-loathing and despair,
stop this dark force at work
in the dungeons of our deficit,
and the puppet masters for
the Principal are laughing ever still.
Addicted to sex
and the rush of pleasure,
I hunger for spirits
not afraid to fuck deep waters,
expand our horizons,
we can travel and change,
become misfit gypsies
in quite the traveling
Freakshow,
masturbatory habits disclosed
and prescription pills
letting the mind wander
and weave,
out into oncoming traffic.
I will let you overcome me
just because it felt good
to be wanted a little,
I guess.
Vampires twisting in nightmares,
cancer hot flashes in the corners
of bathroom stalls,
heavy sighs and so on,
the sickle comes down
again on our prophets of the twilight hours.
We stand by and watch
the rite
played out over our bodies,
and say nothing.
enough noise.
Somebody, move.
Play.
Where's my fucking pen?
Struck by a hurricane tornado,
blood from the sky,
misfits become
Dante's suicide trees,
white cedar,
sharp blade to the skin
as the leaves fall in autumn
and the bark rips away
from the trunk
screaming,
begging for mercy.
I weep for you
rebel rolling drug dealers
with the mist in your eyes
that tries to hide your self-loathing
due to abuse over the years,
the Father hits her over and over,
you watch,
and it breaks your soul into pieces.
I hear those hounds
haunting you in the darkness.
It festers me so
to see the sorrow
drift in and out
of your eyes,
like sipping hot coffee,
it burns all the way down
your spine.
We can make each other better,
angels falling,
seraphim luring me
to the cross,
we land on the rocks,
and the lighthouse
dims with a wink and simple
twist of euphoria.
The torture of our women
in better homes and gardens,
we stay silent,
until all the light
is drained from their soft sad bodies,
sick humiliation
of half our generation.
Though in suddenly waking,
you realize that if one aches,
we all drip blood,
just a little even.
Connection is the door
to freedom and sexual divinity,
but,
you already know that,
deep down.
Struck by a hurricane tornado,
blood from the sky,
misfits become
Dante's suicide trees,
white cedar,
sharp blade to the skin
as the leaves fall in autumn
and the bark rips away
from the trunk
screaming,
begging for mercy.
I weep for you
rebel rolling drug dealers
with the mist in your eyes
that tries to hide your self-loathing
due to abuse over the years,
the Father hits her over and over,
you watch,
and it breaks your soul into pieces.
I hear those hounds
haunting you in the darkness.
It festers me so
to see the sorrow
drift in and out
of your eyes,
like sipping hot coffee,
it burns all the way down
your spine.
We can make each other better,
angels falling,
seraphim luring me
to the cross,
we land on the rocks,
and the lighthouse
dims with a wink and simple
twist of euphoria.
The torture of our women
in better homes and gardens,
we stay silent,
until all the light
is drained from their soft sad bodies,
sick humiliation
of half our generation.
Though in suddenly waking,
you realize that if one aches,
we all drip blood,
just a little even.
Connection is the door
to freedom and sexual divinity,
but,
you already know that,
deep down.
Black Swan Syndrome
Visions came in deep,
my body engulfed in lusting flame,
tasting the sky,
the moon in her glory days,
she sang songs with smirks
and winking eyes,
though now somewhat distraught-
the image of Heath Ledger's pills,
spread on the floor like the legs
of the red queen,
their government sanctified yellow bottles
with the white caps,
his poor blessed body
giving up on itself in mid breath.
The moon cries,
My god no more, I cannot bare the sorrow.
Some of our falling angels
are catching 'Black Swan' syndrome,
we scratch and twitch,
festering to madness under the
great pressure,
the strain bleeds out of our wrists,
razor's edge becomes the New Youth Religion,
my nightmares grow ever closer to waking up.
The mad hatter opens his one circus trained schizophrenic eye
to find that he's been,
ever so delicately,
placed in a vampire crypt
in voodootown-
The ground around him aches
to speak of blood
and rapture melodies,
syndicated sins
and the trademarks of paranoia.
We seers crave the dark,
its light touch on our skin,
soft voices in the night and
Edith Piaf on the radio.
my body engulfed in lusting flame,
tasting the sky,
the moon in her glory days,
she sang songs with smirks
and winking eyes,
though now somewhat distraught-
the image of Heath Ledger's pills,
spread on the floor like the legs
of the red queen,
their government sanctified yellow bottles
with the white caps,
his poor blessed body
giving up on itself in mid breath.
The moon cries,
My god no more, I cannot bare the sorrow.
Some of our falling angels
are catching 'Black Swan' syndrome,
we scratch and twitch,
festering to madness under the
great pressure,
the strain bleeds out of our wrists,
razor's edge becomes the New Youth Religion,
my nightmares grow ever closer to waking up.
The mad hatter opens his one circus trained schizophrenic eye
to find that he's been,
ever so delicately,
placed in a vampire crypt
in voodootown-
The ground around him aches
to speak of blood
and rapture melodies,
syndicated sins
and the trademarks of paranoia.
We seers crave the dark,
its light touch on our skin,
soft voices in the night and
Edith Piaf on the radio.
Muse Alice
Underneath the 12 glossy-eyed masks
of Judas,
I found out you were only
rainwater
with an Irish whiskey chaser.
So I tried to forget
and instead fell on my ass,
somewhere between
a tremoring hangover
and a trembling dance floor,
grinding ya right,
lifting you up towards
the sky.
So wet,
dig deep,
find me out
until I shift again,
and you won't
remember my name,
I will make sure of that,
serpent skin,
howl me back,
let me go,
thrust into me until you get off,
then I'll leave you,
quicksand and in the night.
Lingering fingertips,
kundalini magic rising,
I wake you up,
you shutter with pleasure,
again and again,
I see fire and ice-
red and blue vibrate,
unite together,
inside of you,
inside of me.
Move with the current,
energy electric,
some sacred sexual
tempest
funnels through me
into you,
jolting your mind open,
light shines
between us in the dark.
Angels awaken to the sound
with Cheshire grins,
and the moon gets pleasure
from the sight of it all.
of Judas,
I found out you were only
rainwater
with an Irish whiskey chaser.
So I tried to forget
and instead fell on my ass,
somewhere between
a tremoring hangover
and a trembling dance floor,
grinding ya right,
lifting you up towards
the sky.
So wet,
dig deep,
find me out
until I shift again,
and you won't
remember my name,
I will make sure of that,
serpent skin,
howl me back,
let me go,
thrust into me until you get off,
then I'll leave you,
quicksand and in the night.
Lingering fingertips,
kundalini magic rising,
I wake you up,
you shutter with pleasure,
again and again,
I see fire and ice-
red and blue vibrate,
unite together,
inside of you,
inside of me.
Move with the current,
energy electric,
some sacred sexual
tempest
funnels through me
into you,
jolting your mind open,
light shines
between us in the dark.
Angels awaken to the sound
with Cheshire grins,
and the moon gets pleasure
from the sight of it all.
Move
Tortured villages,
watch them burn.
The body bags line the streets
in my dreams,
turning into nightmares.
Keep it secret,
most of the time.
The drums keep beating.
We grind to the rythmn
out of instinct
and animal desire to survive.
In the winter,
we dine with the angels,
drinking gin out of the bottle,
free of puppet strings,
we recount the endless streams
of conscious collective visions.
We walk circles,
priesthood and circus training,
we are here to entertain
and provoke you to move.
Dark clouds forever plague me.
The darkness thickens,
the sickness takes without delay,
forget it all,
and it just haunts us more.
Skin grows cold and the hunting begins.
I'm drowning in heavy,
sinking low in the harmony,
dancing and coughing up blood.
What is happening to me?
A tornado almost ripped my heart
out of my body.
I miss my dad enough...
can't finish.
What else was there to say?
I suppose that my jaw clenches,
I feel the tears fall indeed
down my cheeks again.
Opened the floods in me, it did.
I will make sure that the puzzle piece
of me you hold in your hand
will disappear as soon as you
pick up another dirty sliver off the pavement.
Forever melting,
I take the fire
back into my mouth,
breathing heavy,
tantric eyes.
Lift me up,
forgive me and move.
watch them burn.
The body bags line the streets
in my dreams,
turning into nightmares.
Keep it secret,
most of the time.
The drums keep beating.
We grind to the rythmn
out of instinct
and animal desire to survive.
In the winter,
we dine with the angels,
drinking gin out of the bottle,
free of puppet strings,
we recount the endless streams
of conscious collective visions.
We walk circles,
priesthood and circus training,
we are here to entertain
and provoke you to move.
Dark clouds forever plague me.
The darkness thickens,
the sickness takes without delay,
forget it all,
and it just haunts us more.
Skin grows cold and the hunting begins.
I'm drowning in heavy,
sinking low in the harmony,
dancing and coughing up blood.
What is happening to me?
A tornado almost ripped my heart
out of my body.
I miss my dad enough...
can't finish.
What else was there to say?
I suppose that my jaw clenches,
I feel the tears fall indeed
down my cheeks again.
Opened the floods in me, it did.
I will make sure that the puzzle piece
of me you hold in your hand
will disappear as soon as you
pick up another dirty sliver off the pavement.
Forever melting,
I take the fire
back into my mouth,
breathing heavy,
tantric eyes.
Lift me up,
forgive me and move.
The Cheshire Cat Takes The Stand
Injecting hormones into the variant brain structures that are profiting the already wealthy, I saw the stains, the tunnels of twists and turns- we writhe together in the sand pit that is burning ice cold. Pain can be breathed through in a fashion of wit and irony.
I gave the Cheshire cat his moment to purge, to lengthen, to stretch and gasp: I understand you, brothers and sisters of a coming of tirade miracles. We were warned, I suppose- wanted also,
I believe by many to harvest powers beyond our own control much less in control if the puppet master is the culture we stand in, waist deep and rising. Awake we find ourselves scarred and scared, one life can only be lived through others, maybe, I don’t know.
I strangle the riptides just like everyone else and indeed can for-see the violent shafts of light, liquid accommodation, haunting images of New Orleans figures- beautiful with passion to ignite the fires of hell itself, keep shining, I pray you. I miss you daily. Bayou is a loved and learned experience, a habit you can’t break honey. Got to get me back there soon to “re-vamp” as I suggest we all should. Oh yes, I think so.
Give us back the night, willing to dig and drive to metal what we lost thus to regain, in time, some of our divinity. Gathering together our tough instruments, distinct talents and forever fleeting backwards into a heron pond, we bite the thirst back to flex the feeble- misfortune had its mark, the hunted can be once again haunting.
Maybe I got on the ark as a virus, morphed and fizzed into this being, from time and time against the certain current, we got free all our windows and mirrors and now descend back onto the earth.
Was it worth it, this humanity, this language of congress, initiates of other religions and demises of all kinds, left stranded with the water rising a bit below your eyelids as you float and wait for some hand, candle, tapestry of wanting to be alive: rise above your awareness.
Alice standing in front of the looking glass again, watch her eyes fade in and out with the clock- hold on to yourself and plunge in again, as you do and we follow ahead.
I listened carefully to the cries- we lament the dead, the dying, and the living. Strange times are these when everyone is afraid to stand still in a moving crowd and look around. Is this what we want? Do we like where we are headed?
Masses blinded by a shiny object in the sky that is unattainable, capitalism spat out like angels- pathologized, cyborged, and aching scream out to a darkened sky. We only live once, or so they tell me.
Mad hatter moshes... channeling of fallen angels
Ch. 30 The warfare starts in the jungle. The Mad Hatter Moshing This Out
Hazardous roads ahead, my friends. We may be fiery but we will hurt everyone if we go on like this. I can handle my own but all this other dissonance and melancholy has no place here in between weeping and an itch. My god, we are maniacs to let flawless fancy get in between blood that seems to be just about the thickness of a tear that drops down my head every night, scoffing at the jabberwocky. When the smoke clears, and you are not around, I myself will not say that I am that surprised. Heads will roll for this one.
Hear me out, marriage and Figaro- I gave up on innocence a long time ago, we all do the hunting and shoveling alone sometimes. Ignition raised in me like a fortune teller on her cigarette break, she sees the forest running from the machine lioness, furrow down inside the marsh lands and I will give you a story to tell later. Mosh it out on the table of the mad hatter, I don’t know- I could give us better scary visions and entertainment than this circle ring of foul shadows. I resurrect the traditional rules followed by the hierophant and his means to which enlightenment was not far away.
Alice can slay the jabberwocky as he has done before. He will come back to wonderland as he is always meant to, the mad hatter thinks so and that this time will be no different. There are more players than were expected. We all were there, watching this torrent affair, this twisted energy formed tides of violence and anarchy.
I shall rush to thump in the rain, make the noise for the fallen angels and the death of the innocent. I will reek mind riots and raves of any kind, vampires awake to the sound of my voice in the dark and we shall all dance together, ride this Theos apocalypse rain wave together. One and all must be invited and singled out for bravery or dimension of any kind, so many enemies and haunted dreams to fight.
I was sloppy and lousy with ideas, costumes and profanities made and assigned, personalities switched and catered, swapped and performed in days when nothing was certain and everyone came with passions to speak and yell out. Cursing the night sky and running wild may help some and may not help others, that is up to you.
Hot heat thunders down on an unexpecting audience, soothsayers and the nightingale call out for the reckoning that is to come, wrath and thieves are to hitchhike to their separate castles and vanities must be forgotten. It is time to get messy and speak out the truth in lords of reign and rains after.
I can create the de-program, the think tank switch is turned on and the eyes open, even in your sleep. Experience the otherness out in the decibel clapping of hands. Take a sip and pass it on in the presence of our new traitors, the disguise good but still noticeable in dark lighting.
I ask you to sweat out the summer with me, measuring my lengths and further-ness from the meltdown and my close proximity to the universe suffering: depths of incense and breath of the archetype-angels, I dive in as always into the whirlwind and catch my breath, soothe a touching monster, bite a favor and a lover.
Straighten my wings, if you are able, I have beaten the recipes of salvation avalanche during midterms, in between meals, and late nights of astral travel. I channel my meaning, kind sir, and the blood spilt is only mine. I don’t know where all this comes from, meat hook or not, I spill with effects and afters.
My challenge is to write it out regardless of needs and wants of others: have and have nots, forget-me-not flowers my mom plants in the summer. I tempted my last feature film a long time ago; I can’t hear you now. Your voice grows softer and faints in my ear.
I was awakened early, I feel, and this time I am angry at all the confusion and denial. I appeal to the highest serial number, please leave me be for a moment’s notice and I will explain to you the lack I feel, the muses are heavy in closer circles.
I give up the length of my death again to stay and fornicate you free. Perform even, to the best of my degree and the few experiences I share with you my art, my others and Adam’s ribs, Princes of far off isles in the north, Persian rugs left behind and forgotten in the attic. I keep your mirrors sacred in my body, unique persons brightly shine- as you do.
- Megan
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