3 posts
  • devilfish 15w

    Red Light At Twilight

    In the distance a sullenness seeps from sonorously sweet siren
    Making sound sort of sound like song
    But depleted the iris and turned my sight into a narrow and seemingly tight bright exit where I left myself that night into booming bass on a circular song ringing through sound
    Where solace is found and light when it’s only darkness that surrounds my life like vultures leaving me like meat to be in the ground
    Ground flesh is not sweet or sound
    I’ve walked on blackened paths where I can’t get and won’t take my indifference back where I lost it on the path trodden with perversity and a shimmering infection a new collection of cells coming together for my eyes to be dissecting it’s not my fault the light is deflecting my pain into my back beating me with bounds of pain struck with the sheer singing pangs that rearrange my organs as I change and waste away I must be doing something wrong or else I wouldn’t be shoved hurriedly down the sewer drain is my reality too scary for you to try and relate?
    Is your pride and ego so small you have to deflate the whole truth and inflate lies pollute your children’s plates with lies and subversion in the messages that lie inside plain sight on T.V
    Screens are shining in a dark room
    Fiends are trying to shark you and end you in doom as they do to you to them back to you to them to us to me back to you then it becomes us

  • devilfish 15w


    Daliesque petals softer than angel’s
    Imperfect vessels are our mother’s and father’s words that haunt what we have kept and what hasn’t parted in death kept but less is all we get we wept as the truth of all our interest is about to undress while they slept
    Crawling into the bed and now the stranger in the mirror wants me dead the same as the strange figure head who left me like a stain on my bed
    My bed was where I used to lay my head before I was snapped off like a thread and I’m not sure if I can dream
    And I’m not sure if I am awake
    Am I asleep?
    Am I alive?
    Will I have the leave quietly like the secret threatening to consume me
    So menacingly inside me

  • cercandolaverita 145w


    He writes your secrets on pieces of paper torn from the empty pages of his poetry book.
    But he never thought that one day, he will get to write his name on one of those secretive, blank spaces.