tmadhatter7

Noise, fervor, excite

Entice and ensnare

Run, Jump, Scream

Scurry, scatter

Together now apart

Confusion, chaos, happiness

Nothingness, empty existence

Yet happy still

Joyful tears

Droplets of passion pain

Hurry, now here! There!

Rush, rush, where, where?

No, yes, no, there, yes

Electrons in flight

Surround, girdle, grow

The Taker, The Giver

Destroy and produce to destroy

Always in a hurry

More, less, faster!

Harder, better, more!

Adrenalin wings

Only two warriors did they use,
Only two was needed,
To devastate our grand fleet

One, a man of great strength
And frightening bravery,
Stood far above the ground,

The regains of a giant bird in one hand
In the other a thin and sharp blade,
The length of his rides wing

Used to lance and slice
Any who would dare
Assault his fantastic falcon.

Atop a massive, black, bellicose boar
The other, a man of a false face,
Rode, trampling any who would appose.

And with chain and hook
Would snare and lour prey
To those blood stained teeth

To be rend, ripped and eaten
Blood, Bones, and Armor

Everything that man dose can be simply summed up. Every scrap of existence can be measured to a greater thing. Fear. Everything man dose can be summed up as a catalyst towards the fare of his or her own death. Love, charity, hatred, war, sex, TV, these are all diversions the more we have the less we think. I think therefore I am. I think therefore I fear. I fear nonexistence therefore I am? Or is it because I am that I fear nonexistence? Not being would very easily eradicate the fear of it. But is it just because I exist that I fear? Dose anything else play into the equation...

Like children we played with life. So eagerly we tore it apart and probed every orifice until we knew its every machinations. Soon we began to mimic its movement, its ebb and flow, till we had timed the false perfectly with the original. At last we had done it; we had made a perfect replication of this machine. We had become alchemists, alchemists of flesh and life.
Finally the original wasn't enough for us, Gods perfect plan was insufficient for us, so we had to make it “better.” It was then that we transcended from alchemists to demons. We knew it was blasphemy, we knew it meant damnation, but my colleges and I agreed that we would rather burn in the lowest circle of Hell than let this technology go to waist. Maybe it was because of this blatant show of arrogance that we now suffer a fate worse than death. I have committed thousands of sins in my many years of life but the worst and the one I will most likely pay the most for is that I have no regrets for what I have done.

“Do you remember, Latulla, when you asked me what I saw when I died, maybe I was scared or unprepared but I neglected to answer.” I said gently pulled the large axe of its metal perch. With the insidious tool in hand I casually strolled back to Latulla, now stooped on her hands and knees coughing and gasping trying to regain the breath my fist had stolen form her lungs. “I saw the future Latulla,” I said kneeling down and whispered in her ear, “my future, my grand and glorious empire.” I stood up and raised the axe above my shoulder “In which I sat on a thrown of gold, adored with a crown of blood, AND YOUR HEAD AT MY FEET!”
The twang of the blade cut through the air followed quickly by silence, the silence of a life ending. Latulla lay on her stomach, her head separated from her body by a wall of metal. I reached down and grabbed a hand full of cores blond hair, lifting Latulla's head to where we were at a level and admired what I had done.
Blood dripped so sweetly from Latulla's neck as the muscles flexed desperately searching for the slenderer shoulders they had lost. Her jaw convulsed in noiseless gasps, sucking up the sweat air which could do nothing but passed through her severed esophagus. Beautiful blue eyes swiveled in their sockets until they lay on me.
And I looked into those blue eyes, and gorging on the sick tang of pride I smiled. To this day it is not Latulla's face I remember but my own. I remember the pain and pressure placed on the muscles as the sick smirk slid from one ear to the other.
Then it was as if the giant vulture, his claws of burning rage released my body to hopelessly plummet to Earth. The tang of pride now gritted the back of my throat and sickened my stomach. As soon as it had come the smirk left my face and I was swept by an overwhelming wave. I crumpled to my knees and tenderly cradled Latulla's face in my lap.
I looked deep into those beautiful sad eyes awaiting a response begging for her to say something, if not one word, but there was nothing, her eyes where empty, thoughtless, dead. I wanted to cry, but the tears would not form. I wanted to scream, but the words would not come.
“W-what have I done. What the hell have I done?” my mind screamed with questions, lashed out form answers, reasons, anything that might help, but it only found one.
“I murdered Latulla.” This answer came through without a sine of remorse or sadness, and it was my voice I heard. This thought sickened me, I wanted to block it out, burn it in my mind. I wanted to forget; I didn't want to feel this pain any more. Then, from the deepest part in the darkest region of my skull a thought popped into existence.
“Numb,” it whispered, “to be completely numb is true power,” and it was my voice I heard.
And then I felt neither angry nor sad. I just felt...

“Numb.”

And it was my voice I heard...

It is like the soul too small for its host
The arms so cold, the toes black and still
Who, what, where, when, and why become gibberish
Nimrod washes his fingers in gray mater
Letting sand pour thought minuscule cracks
Splashing cold acid on silver steal floors
Leather straps pull tight, bleeding through the skin
And horns drill through the yellow cap
An acquired moment for the turkey baster
A lifetime in eternity, spend twiddling and dateline
Dust gathering where Gods and Devils dare not treed.

Falling, falling never to come to an end
The monkeys of time play tick tock with gears
Their laughter can be heard through the cold friend
And it goes on repeating the old years

We piss and we moan but our breath is gone
There is no one to hear, no one to care
And so we don't care, not for the green lawn
Not for the falling snow, so fragile so fair

What of these creatures who live off this smoke
Their eyes unwittingly blind, so we hope
Do they feel our voice with hand tucked in coat?
When the Father takes them do they fight with soap?

So golden is our ways, gilded disgust
What is it we run form, the human dust

Who am I?
I am "intelligent"
I am "a slob"
I am "witty"
I am "cruel"
I am "funny"
I am "ignorant"
I am "creative"
I am "stupid"
"Anarchist Narcosis"
"Christian Nihilist"
"Agnostic Realist"
"Little Bastard"
"Son of a Bitch"
"Mother Fucker"
These are the labels attached to me
Stickers slapped on my chest
On my arms
On my legs
On my face
And on my ass
But these are irrelevant,
It is the tag on my big tow
That concerns me
For it tells me
I am Alfred Evan Moreno
Diseased.

My face is raped in burnt clay,

Painted brilliant whites and pretty yellows,

The tips of the lips pointed up in a hollow smile,

Which empty shells of eyes do overlook.

My ankles are twisted and torn,

Walking on eggshells has taken its toll.

Today my mask is cracked.

I tear it from me,

A mask of polished metal holds its shelf.

Look how its shines!

Look how it reflects

The smiles of those faces!

I don't remember my face.

Raging over things that belonged to none,
Warring over ideas that never existed,
All fighting for their piece of the cake,
None getting even a lick of icing.
But they keep on, marching on all fours.
Their hooves beating at the red clot dirt.
And as the moon and sky are scorched,
The beast belching gray smoke screeches
For fear has over loomed his eyes.

I tell you these things to help.
I pry your eyes open for you,
Awakening you to this horrid reality,
So you can indulge in my pain.
I'm not a nice person, I know

Drink it in now.
The putrid Ether,
The stagnate Ambrosia,
Everything that is mine,
I give to you now.
Smear it in your eyes.
I'm doing this to help.
I'm not a good person.

Some days its just not worth it
You sit and you wonder
"Why do I even get up?"
But you cant find any answer
Except, this is life
Life is shit, one big steaming pile of it,
But without it there is nothing
Life, the Dictator
Love, the Betrayer
Pain, the Teacher
God, the Orchestrator

And what of happiness?
Happiness is hope
That one little freedom
Dangling at the end of the line
The Tempter
Always at the edges of our fingertips
Seducing us to keep moving
You keep working and moving
But it never gets any closer
So you work harder and move further

But it isn't long before you reach the end
Death, the Liberator
Death, the release
But even that was dictated
We slip into the darkness
But even that is orchestrated
"Thank you Death for my freedom."

What?
Did you expect immortality?
On your knees, beg.
Immortality!
On all fours, crawl.
Immortality!
With your face in the dirt, cry!
Immortality!
No.