Uhhhh

Despairing haunting horrors
Of spectacled menacing grins
Of tentacled worlds, caught or lost;
A negated named nameless sage
Belonging to others in real realities
Comes slickly crashing down in finality.

While discounting the possibilities,
Well in disinterested phases, slipping,
In farces of convoluted reasoning’s,
In symbols of an effigy.

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In That Time

Find solace in the evidential,
In the gains from love’s chase
From desperately trying to
Find metallic splinters to
Form those keys to
Unlock those doors where
Fragments of knowledge
Would be found in mystery,
Because that experience
In trying to even understand
A millimeter
On a seemingly endless ruler
Pushed you further
Than anything ever could.

Even it meant that
Every magical moment
Never happened.

What We Chose

Reflections of mangled confidences
In incandescent words
Of inevitable losses
Those who sought redemption
From repudiated horrors
Of untimely hours
In muted reveries;
Vaporized voices of intangibilities.

Airtight metal doors locked;
Unresponsive to patterned codes
Of likely misconstrued rhetorics;
Of queasily relinquished prides;
In quizzical encumbrances
In unrequited diminishing vortices.

Anthropomorphically weighed physics
Of bleakly styled truths
Or exquisitely chiseled fallacies.
Where comforted comorbidities
Of mythological redundancies
And existential deities,
Salve.

Spouting extrications of love’s yearnings
Hopelessly behind those locked doors
In layered inquiries of reality, prophecies
And connected scales of measured precisions
Of ethically disapproved pursuits;
Pierced valves of barely perceived incisions.

Here’s a secret,
Morality is whatever I wanted it to be.

Script

In excerpts of Baudelaire
And portions of Blake’s supposed prophesies
I witness the possible origins
Of words you once had beautifully sown
In lines of supposedly earnest cacophonies.
As daily berating recollections
Of fluted notes of black and white
Lines and curvatures of symbols
In faulty imprinted flashes
Denote the extricated data
In compressions of glossy words
That were lost in monitor screens.

Whorls of possible glances of the possible
Origination of verses act as caustic reminders
Of the beautiful mechanisms of what remains
As the undiscovered mind.
As the mental cogs of my own
Can only visualise
The script at
The end.