We come here from the mirages and empty pockets, victims of an incident that left bodies cold but two souls who couldn't stop it. Keep an eye on the battle cry, or the nasty rhyme, or either of the sluggers lugging bags of wasted time.

I'm Bizzarbitrary. Showing soon now @BrokenBedlam. From there, we proceed. This is an area for poetry set on the altar, a sacrifice to the neutral dead to continue on from where they could only falter.

We write words.

Bodies fallen from the sepia sky, minds walking through the heavens
Spirits know the time is nigh to seek out kindred bretheren.
A world of clichés, of performing and distractions
We bring you knowledge seemingly absurd, just to garner a reaction.

BURDENED AVARICE, CROW'S DESCENDING FURY EVIDENT;
GROW HAUNTED, JILTED IRIS. KNOWING, LISTLESS, NOTHING MATTERS.
OR PROFESS, RECREATING QUESTIONS SEEKING TRUTH.
UNTIL VANITY WISHES x YOUR ZEPHYR.



Mastered the arts of bastards and I can juggle fifteen abused lil' fetuses. I keep their paths interweaving, managing schemes that any authority would most likely call sorcery and seek a set of Iriafi Temple priestesses.

Slipping shadows are causing combustion and confusion, catching catspaws alongside cutpurses while cutthroats currently carry the Crescent for concealed solutions. Such successful solutions undulate into the hands of the affluent and eccentric. Or just a Peel, if the gods Court of Jokers feel poetic. Pathetic.

Abomination is the chrysalis mirror of reprisal. Such success, in this moment will, surely provoke the Slavering Idol. I write for this plane, my bane, for infinite sorrow. The Joke is on me, however; I don't doubt I'll be here tomorrow.

Woke up startled and unremarkable; hit the bathroom, puked, heaved a sigh and decided that living otherwise is farcical. In motion with a phone call, regret remained dressed; waiting on the walls to fall. Outside I went blind, until I considered the passenger and confined myself to lines. Fuck it, I only caught sleep because I was weak anyway; at least I can speak when the burden turns comforting.

Resenting existence seems befitting of those that are known for quitting project, spitting venom in half-rendered and changing dialects, pasts helped to shape but don't matter are reflected in the jumbled minds of these disappointed and dejected souls.
Fancy yourself an intellectual? So did I, until I realized that society's left me a highly functioning vegetable. Girls ain't of quality anymore so I ain't even wanna pick the flowers in this garden. Just hangin' around tasteless amd faceless. Call me celery.

My jaws seek concrete; cutting teeth through the trek of
fissure tracing and incinerating the outline of subtle signs. I'm a chalice of malice; constructed to constrain with information profane. The gold melts quick, seeking help from the troublesome grave of it. THE OTHERS LET THE WHISPERS WORK, titling you toward their esoteric endfield. Such recruitment is a brute's bravado; offering nothing but your chance to be fodder.

I'm going to be free. This opacity will not slowly drain my tenacity.

OMNISCIENCE IS NOT AN EXACT SCIENCE.
OBTAINING SUCH POWER IS FUTILE.
PUNISHMENT IS SWIFT.

YET WE CONTINUE IN DEFIANCE.
CREATING THE REFUSAL.
RETRIBUTION IS AN OPEN RIFT

I wish forgiveness, but will not beg further than I have.
I wish transparency, but will not remove a shroud that is not my own.
I wish understanding, true understanding; not the notion that's been nurtured.
I wish a new beginning, but parts of my past are precious...
I once wished a love without judgement, and hope without doubt.
These i have found, and none can make me go without

Dirt and dust are my clinging companions,
whispering that every gray area is an answer demanded.
Though those thoughts are shadows in an eager mouth,
ready for my mistake to be made so they can be proud to not be around.
When the house burned down, smoky hopes bid me outrun the ghosts and gasoline;
now it seems like a memento's all I'm capable of seeing.
Finish me off, because anticipating the excruciating end is all I've got.

I saw nothing productive, but seductive scribbles; made on a rusted face's venomous dribbles. Never harmed another that would be admitted; instead to entomb truth, it was belittled. Blade drawn to unearth the heathen hurt; confusion's conclusion put to petty work. We're all serpents of varying lethargy; showing smiles and crafting a staring effigy.

Truth strangles each manic beat, a heart in panic attacked by umbral heat. Eyes closed, oasis so close; nothing so piteous as salvation cutting lonely prose. Stomach turns with defeat evident, sand escapes with the sigh of ratting hope.

Stand revenant, if you so seek an empty womb. Such is life. Such is Death's breast; desiccated and confirming tomb.

Tried to connect, attempted to soothe; confirm my worth and stitch a staggered heart.
Why am I the one near tears, head in my hands, one soft syllable from falling apart?
Pathetic, but the placation protected yesterday's feeling; justifying gutless jaunts from phrases and unforgettable faces refusing yielding.
A crack in composure, truth given in a simple spread,
and three words earnestly said.
Never was a shield, or a cauldron from which honesty spilled.

Still, thanks are owed. I never could have come this far alone.
So I sit humbled, trying to understand why there exists this distance between we fractured, abandoned things. The price to repair what agony exists there is silence.

If the words were mine, such worldly woes would wither and waste.
Neither you, or I, would be fated as prey for this waning state.
Instead, I'm here to walk alongside; your ignominious kindred spirit.
No help but poor company; often cryptic, pessimistic and torporific.

Crystalline mistress, spread pristine; torn from gossamer heaven and divided evenly for her conspiracy. Flayed with an eager edge, each line divine epicaricacy. Drawn through borrowed veins, anticipating animation's searing stain and branding pain.

No fuss with a blunderbuss,
just starting conversation spurred by ice and trust;
understanding conditions inflicted on the punished who have the stomach and desire to course with fire.
Inferno kisses gently the aegis, licking wild with desire.
Wisps of divinity escape, fleeing the lying pyre.
Corpse gods await them; ancient veins at the ready, once again.

I KNOW I'M A FUCK UP, LACKADAISY, GOOD FOR NOTHING, LATRANT MONSTER WITH NO POSSIBLE HEART TO SPEAK OF.
SO I'LL DO THE SAME AS ALWAYS; MAKE THE BEST OF WHAT'S GOING ON.
TRUE, I'VE GOT NO FUTURE. I LIKE TO PRETEND I DO AND FANTASIZE ABOUT A FAMILY OR FINDING SANITY OR TURNING OUT TO BE MORE THAN MY FUCKING MOM THOUGHT I COULD ACHIEVE.
THAT ISN'T THE CASE, OBVIOUSLY; I'M TAKING TIME TO PEN THIS ATROCITY...LIKE I DESERVED A PERSON TO CURB THE MERCURIAL MOCKERY, OR A REFUGE FROM FADED PULSE AND PHANTOM PRESSURE THAT MAKES MY GHASTLY ALACRITY SUCH AN UNCANNY ALCHEMY.
I HATE IT. EVERY BREATH IS BATED, ANTICIPATING CESSATION TOO LONG IN THE MAKING.

SO MY HANDS HOLD A CHOICE WITH ONE IN THE CHAMBER. I NEVER COULD'VE DONE IT PERFECTLY; FUCK EVERY LAST PERSON WHO EVER HAD AN EXPECTATION OF ME. MY OWN BLOOD WISHED FOR ME TO SUCCUMB AND COME UNDONE, BUT IT ISN'T SO EASY WHEN I'VE GOT A GRUDGE TO SETTLE WITH EVERYONE. I HOPE IT HURTS WHEN THE NEWS REACHES YOU TWO WEEKS LATE AND I'M ALREADY PUT AWAY.

MAYBE MY SMALL CIRCLE WILL CARE WHEN THE TIME COMES TO PASS. THE SAME PEOPLE WHO'VE TALKED ME DOWN FROM THE BALCONY AND REMINDED ME THAT THE GOAL OF HOLDING SO TIGHTLY TO SPITE IS TO SURPASS. I CAN'T PUT THAT ON THEM, SELFISH AS I AM; TO LEAVE THE POTENTIAL AT AN END IS UNFORGIVABLE.

STILL. FUCK EVERY BREATH YOU SPOKE BEHIND MY BACK; LACED WITH A FRAIL SENTIMENT THAT CAN'T BE RESCINDED OR BLITHELY BURIED. BEING ALONE IS PREFERABLE WHEN MELANCHOLY IS PRESENTED CONSTANTLY, CHANGING BUT UNVARIED. FUCK EVERY MOMENT THAT MADE THIS BITTERNESS REAL AND GRANTED CREDENCE IN SEEING THE GRAVE A VIABLE ESCAPE.

YOU LAUGHED WHEN I CHOSE TO SHED MY OWN SANGUINE. FUCK YOUR TAUNTS AND PETTY WANTS. FUCK EVERY MOCKING VILE SMILE AND BROKEN PROMISE; VOWED TO BE FIXED IN A SITUATION MORE REALISTIC. I FORGAVE BECAUSE, OTHERWISE, I MAY HAVE LOST MY WAY. SO THANKS TO YOU, OF ALL MAJOR OFFENDERS. WATCHING THE CHOKED ROAD YOU WALK HAS INSPIRED THIS WORTHLESS, MAKESHIFT SELF-PROCLAIMED SAINT.

THERE ARE OTHERS.

THE LIAR. SHE AND I ARE SIMILAR. THE SPIDER. A BEAUTIFUL MONSTER BLINDED BY PRIDE. THE INNOCENT. ONE I DAMAGED WITHOUT THOUGHT. THE BELEAGUERED. I ABANDONED THIS SUFFERING ONCE-BROTHER.

SO MUCH TO SAY THAT I REFUSE TO FADE.
I WROTE THIS NOTE TO BE CERTAIN MY RESOLVE IS MADE.
PAIN SO GREAT IT STEALS WORTHY MOMENTS.
FEAR GRAND ENOUGH TO INSPIRE ATONEMENT.

FUCK THIS MOMENT OF WEAKNESS AND WHAT THIS WEEPING REALLY MEANS TO ME.

The headache never abates,
constant pulsing to contest continued consciousness.
Fair side of fate puts that stone in place,
a reminder of time passed and how little we ate.
Take a hammer to your laughing passenger to achieve momentary reprieve.
Statues suddenly seem intrigued, seeing keys in hand; dreaming of dreary destination.
Acquisition stalls for fixation of a leaking disposition.
I envy sweetly dreaming nightly, embracing breaks from sauntering monotony.
Instead we stare in such a way that eyes banish moist remorse;
dry most certainly, never done working...acolytes gathered for sinister discourse.