No way around it

submerged by anger
ready for action
 
plan act stay low
 
the other half will be waiting
 
his hand will struck and struck hard
no breathing allowed
 
agony is in the waiting
paranoia is in the hiding
 
let those hands suffocate what is under
let those fists bury deep what is in sight
 
fatality is ahead of us
let us act and then mourn our loss
 
a killer has been born
the ropes are in the waiting
hanging up above for those staying low
 
get lost and die
 
the birds will go on singing
till the earth stops spinning
 
wake up the angels are here
 
 
Self.
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The toll of being here

The toll of being here

A death sentence

My insides are of an alien nature

Looking like a dead and open squid

I have no fortress

All is out in the open

Fractured rib cage, open and fragile

No foundation No shell

Might fall at any moment or already is

I see and i see

And all i see is a coming of a rampage

May be my insides are rare, not the ones you will come across daily

Some sort of bad taste in design or may be the offspring of my own making

Easily bruised, and stepped on

By the slightliest touch of aliens

I reside here but my dreams are falling apart

Turning into a nightmare which will suck the air out of me

I am left but with a lethal loathing and self disgust

I despise my own echo which is flooding my whole presence

On these lands in between four walls

No escape, i am here counting my fast and weak heartbeats

Will i survive tonight i asked

Exposed and dying

Wake up the guards are here

Self.

Let’s wait for death together

You have met me in a very strange part of my life

Hidden firemen from the shadows have come and are far gone away

For they have done what they ought to

Extinguish the inner flame

All processes shut down but a watery fear

Cold, discrete and lethal

Mind and limb controlling

Only a corpse have been left

Rotten and crushed

Even the flies dont dear to come near

Th firemen have been gone long ago

For they have done what they ought to

To render the inner magic dull and idle

Sometimes and rarely something gets out from the corpse

An astral projection of a dead unborn

Hovering around and sometimes if one of the twelve houses are in a certain position

It travels years and years away

Looking for another distant star

Which might have been dead a long time ago

But still, the ghost keeps its journey unstoppable like a cold comet penetrating the darkest void through the very vast nothingness of the cosmos

may be one night something might happen

May be an encounter

May be a discovery

Yet the dead shall be risen again

Yet the resurrection shall cleanse the open wounds

Yet another far fetch… a long stretch into the meaninglessness of existence

Self.

My world is not real

are you capable of great evil
three men standing
a fucking loop
four cubes into one
these seem like her stuff, old it remained in a hidden room
hidden within, old and forgotten
i see more and more of my self
with each spoon of knowledge i but hate what i see
can’t stand the arrogance and the malevolence inside
Still, days eat each other
and i find myself in their guts
digested and digesting but still devoured
a puppet given to a higher will
this is supposed to be a joke
right?
an impasse without death
without a way out
captured in one’s own web
defeat and disgust
head over heels
shame and hatred
this corpse i dwell in is undead
there is no way out

Self.

The death of a star

May be i died
Hollow puppet devoid of meaning
Leaves falling

I once was
May be i never did

The image is a darkly vibrating self
Full of ink ready to spoil hundreds of pages
An aspiring self looking for a flare

I dont recognize what i have become
A silent doll
Devoid of passion
Devoid of vision

I used to see death in front
Now i see no thing, no cessation
It follows, a grey foggy void

I used to wish death upon my self
Now i dread such thought
Stuck between what might become and what it is

What if they have higher hopes
What if they see into the illusion
What if they are alive
What if i am a prisoner
An inmate trapped inside this existence
My compass has been and is broken

Self

Shortcut

Inside a circle

Which is closed

Rarely is the time when i feel a blocking of thoughts

May be there is nothing to write about

It is easy in these circumstances

To look for salvation in self destruction

Or destruction in general

Some kind of implosion of ill will

There is nothing

All these I

Make me wonder about life

But i guess i only have to keep this mind state

Till what stops me fades away

I understand the potential or the capacity to go on

I might tap into it

But may be i just want the easy way out

A shortcut, a cheat code for the weight i carry that is to breath

They say or it is written that hell is only what awaits a fate like mine

I am losing, or it has been lost

All what in the past represented a dream

That is any throw of hope or aspiration

Into what it did not happen yet

– What bind others to others or to life made no sense to me

Even if once in the past it did. All i see is as Abyr wrote, a forced pattern of existence.

So then, may be i want to dismiss it

Thus only death appears to be the path to take…

Self

Health the band

What can i say

Where could i start

It has been a long while i didnt write.

May be i am forcing myself now out of inspiration

Ok let s do this, random confessions

– what are you thinking about when you leave four walls and a ceiling?

I look to buildings and think, i would be like, this four floor high roof would be a bad idea for a jump. Listen to me we have to choose a tall one, may be twenty floor high. So once we hit the floor we would be done for good.

The problem here is the belief system i grew in. You can be smart and pretend that there is nothing after we pass out but for me it is very hard to act on it i would always be like i am so afraid of what God would put me through after but sometimes i tell myself i cant change it if i am gonna burn in hell for taking my own life i wouldnt have nothing to do about it. A fatality. A higher will… Sometimes i tell myself i should just wait till i have no other choice left. But the reality of it is a bit frightening especially for an edgy pain sensitive person like me who cannot even go through the smallest tortures…

Today someone wrote to me, why?

I was so surprised of the feeling i got. It felt like some light shed through black clouds, i felt like, may be things will be ok… a relief i would never have expected.

Because everything seems dark and dim of joy. The why bother thing. I was touching myself a lot lately thing i would do my best to do on rare occasion. But then i told myself it is ok since i am in an immense stress lately.

The other day my boss called me to an isolated cubical. She told me it is very possible that the contract would be terminated. I was happy inside. I was like please throw me away like a bag of trash. Please let go of me to the wild animals outside. Please make it easy for me and throw me away. I would …

Self