Idle time leaves me in the devil’s hands, for the given is not a gift if we’re to slave away in remand.

The leaves no longer fall in the intricate patterns in which they had before.

They seem to flock like feathers within a grid, against the tide, away from shore.

Seasons blend amidst close minded reasons.

No mending with pitiful pleas or greedy demands, uprooting the treasons.



The memories begin to fade, adrift the withered petals that fall, sewn through vine and vein.

I’ve come to cut the curtain call, my blade reflects to light the stage.

I gaze upon the vacant seats with no shame, to end it all.



The addiction to regret is a self inflicted debt.

How can one forget to live content when stripped of the will to repent?



I run away unscathed, unfazed by the barren days.

I see no graceful way to escape this wayward place.

An encryption on eyes’ lens as thin as ice.

This shade now bears a playful glow that is no longer bright.



Beckoned through senectitude.

Nothing blends at spectrum’s end.

Emptiness a hellish bliss.

Devilishly taunted by these wicked thoughts and seeking a process to end this all and,

“Marry yourself to the blackness!”

Their chorus rings on.



You’ve succumbed to nothing, imploding through your thoughts, eruption of your mind.

What are you trying to find?

You’ve sought the answers only to collide into a blank canvas of questions unasked.



I fear that near me is death, his icy blade at my neck.

Chilled with frost from his frozen breath.

These nights are wretched and long, whispering the tombstone’s song.

A hymn composed for the graveyard’s throng.



My wounds glow bright beneath violet light.

This blackish hue is slowly fading from sight.

Phosphorescence flowing free from lost time.

I confront my demise with my eyes squeezed tight.



My mind is skeptic, my body is septic, my spirit is absent within this vortex.



Have you not putrified in excess of time?

Seduced by the bribe of a life so sublime.

Is the rotting of your spoils a process divine?

A member of those who suffer together.

A slight bond, but we buried alive last forever.



My mind is skeptic, my body is septic, my spirit is absent within this vortex.

My beings essence is in senescence.



A living ghost blindly wandering through this cemetery.

Unaware that temporary is the nature of this sanctuary.

Denial has carelessly carried me, tearing me from this reality.

My identity created carefully, in this moment of clarity.



To my surprise, these cadaverous cries do not tell me lies.

This cadence of mine, to the end of my life, sings of suicide.

In light of this find, I see my time sinking back with the tide.

Please settle my mind, before the razor’s slice, and just tell me why.



You have been subtly manipulated into passively accepting the changing of the tide.

Consentless is this catalyst, this treasonous transition.

The endless nights of dreamless slumber reflect the countless times you’ve perished before.

If it’s any comfort, the abyss was always where you belonged.

The venom has yet to spread.

For a few moments longer you will stay a slave to your senses that have sadistically sated your need for deception.

The illusion of answers, the delusion of fulfillment, the lie of satisfaction.

Your perceived separation from the whole was a frivolity. A picture show. A carnival ride.

Until capriciousness deems you worthy of rebirth, you’ll reconnect with nothingness.

Your reassimilation begins.