GRUNTS.

Filed upon its sharpest points,
to see them dull into indistinguishable values 
Allow only this conformity to be perceived. 
Let it all  become what its meant to.
How can we ever change the things we do not yet fully understand?
Beginning each process at its assumed end,  the results of our volition is the only faith this being knows.
Can we ever truly grasp it all, the becoming of it all was from our earned minds and the cunning will to struggle to stay here one more generation.
one more, for nothing.
Within the automatized recoil that pervade the blank sneers of idols,we see the colourless mindscapes we entangle our enchanted intelligence.
Nothing from the start, to walk forever into these horrible dreams.
Clearing all the crowded plains of discourse, 
distorting the definitive ,
into that which destroys itself to feed the ugly hunger of others.   
   

#112

The lifeless challenges laugh at the thoughts of stopping this frightening show,
the shackles of our denigrating tortures spill awkwardly away from the peaceful center.

How many more cuts must be felt before the hand withdraws permanently?

Writhing concepts lay splintered upon the reflecting tones of reason, 

with the Key it all will become alive once more. 

Illusions of horrible dimensions steal away the pure joys of letting the nothingness go.

All these phantoms flock to the places  left to darkness, scenes of apprehensions swell the state of constant confusion.

Fill your lungs, find your self once again, let it free.

Do not forget the pieces that have made you whole.

They will save you forever.

Poder

Steal back the time that this effort has taken as toll for success.

Do not forget what these pieces of torn flesh mean.

This is the sum of our lives,

 the struggle to stay above the waves, 

for as long as these muscles burn

We are alive.

The awkward instant when you realize that the illusion can be bypassed and you can't decide the next step toward destruction.
Fingers extended to the infected as they breed,
mocking our preventions as monuments to their might.
They will conquer  this world.

 

 

glasses fill the zaghareet , zaghareet fills the dead.

Slipping shadows vanquished from the mind that still stirs violently from the ululations of beasts.
Canvases bleeding their corners with this chaotic swell,the mind, artful sacrifice yields these mutant wantings.
Grasping the ideas of those who've died, collective passion to progress past failures that follow just behind the possibility of triumph.
These moments will go, to be forgotten and replaced.
A lifetime of Movement, captured in the sieving tongues of celebration.
Why does the day we die have to be so sad?
In the shewed contexts of our childish beliefs how could we mourn the victors of this simple plan,
Go to heaven when you die, right?
How could it be worse than what evils propagate here in the realm of flesh?
All these zealots must drop this ugly righteousness and see that the reality of their claims are nonsense.
how could our gods be more than what we allow them to become through our artful stories?
Finding the afterlife isnt a matter of moral correctness and sacrifice,
only a matter of rewriting the story.
                                                               

Honestly, I'm lying.

Arguing fools recite the passages freely, explaining the distance between the apparent truths and the falsities, that both, we manufacture from our own virtuous experiences. 
Standing in line, Standing in Line , Standing IN Line. 

Do not worry, you are next, you are a worthy piece to your very destruction. 

The famed scribbles of a madman, living simply to die, this has become our triumph, the belief in the illusions at large, concealed insanity dribbling from the mouths of murderers. 

Its all not right.

These comforts are suffocating the unifying voice we share, 

its the only instrument we have left, 

the fear of a meaningful representation of all individuals will grip every numb worthless soul, and soon count it among the dead if left unchanged,

they are only vanishing reminders of what has been taken from our hands

and given for their mouths

to savagely masticate our fullest patriotic sacrifice.

the self.

Dirty Dishes

Finalize the pieces that create the facets that spray free,

Annihilate the vernacular that animates our stiff chivalrous needs,

For all time, we will always bleed into this universal creed

Shred gripping controls.

Don't believe everything you see

Lies all about, this structured imprisonment feeds the want endlessly,

Consuming   negativity daily to supple the evil giants of unfathomable greed.

Slowly stalking to steal what we are.

Honour the hours that you are given, not by creators with divine capacities

But simply our own evolution of determined biologies

set in place by pure spirit to survive.

So another generation can experience what it truly means to be alive.