Monday, February 27, 2017


there is an island at the sea
floating, almost silently
except for a microscopic change
of sub-aquatic breathing

the city floats upside down
a smile turned into a frown
it drips with smoke of eons past
the buildings they were made to last

now fish and vines and octopi
have made their home in tombs of men
a city of souls, and skulls and bones
of brick, mortar, lonely stones

above surface, a boat does reach
men stumble on hallowed dry land
they dig their spades into the beach
as captain stands and gives a speech

for treasure, glory and rewards
we'll rip this island's sand apart
so dig your spades, lads, in these sands
and dig till you bleed from your hands

a portal opens in the sand
something the men don't understand
they fall and crawl down to their knees
forgive forgive, forgive us please

a skull floats up from that black hole
its grin a leaky, dreary pall
av-e satanas it whispers to them all
as sand crawls up under their skin

they cry and bleed and beg for death
till they're coughing sand with every breath
it grates and burns and stings their skin
sand turns their blood to mud within

the city now has a few more thralls
it sups their life in drowned halls
the sea strips the skin from bones
in the tombs of men, once more alone

I had a vision of an upside-down, satanic city, floating at some unknown point in the sea and killing sailors that reach there looking for booty.

Tuesday, February 14, 2017


blood lubes the gears
that spin, whirl, and twirl
in the brainpan of the man in red
the dude they know as gearhead

stuck in the desert of life
his struggle is never ending
when he's not hunted by his demons
he practices pretending

gearhead walks all day and night
skin burnished and blessed by blight
smoke runs from his ears and eyes
he glares at the settings suns in the skies

his quest takes him to deepest holes
gearhead can take on many roles
the gears spin, they help him think
so low is he, he can't help but drink

he drinks the blood of lost travelers
to keep the gears spinning nice
addicted to roaming, he keeps walking
perhaps, that is his only vice

an image, of a man with gears protruding from his bleeding skull under twin desert suns on a distant planet.

Monday, February 13, 2017

poison tongued messiah

his forked tongue
his words forced
litter up the skies
the venom strong
his words wrong
the DNA of lies
the messiah is here
his face is white
powdered by ashes of future
he chomps up
the bones of past
the meat garnished with fear
haunted, wanted
the mouth of hell
opens wide
it whispers, well
invites you
to the other side
they crawl together
the children of the dark
fingers linger
on the dead king's mark
if they were dead
they're now alive
animated by a spark
lit by the words
of a poison tongued messiah

Friday, February 10, 2017

violent agendas

I don't go to theaters anymore
The violence on the screen
Doesn't make me hard
But if I close my eyes
The reels start to play
Scenes on the screen of my mind
on bone trees, eyeballs dangle
Odin gave his eye for knowledge
I am stupid as fuck
And I see
As the real world vanishes
Blurrrrrrs right in front of my eyes
The screen in my head
Becomes my reality
I am the Alpha
the movies in my head
will give cancer to PETA
my violent agendas
black roses in my garden
i water them with my fears
while my word drowns in tears

Thursday, February 9, 2017


the void calls out to me
in my sleep
febrile dreams haunt me
sitting on my chest
malevolent bast
staring into my soul
stripping my sin from bones
i am surrounded by humanity
yet, so alone
if there ever was any hope for me
it's over
done for
no more
i've drowned that bag of puppies
in a swamp that i created
filled with my mistakes
and bad decisions
sins of my father
now i see in my reflection
i'd try and do better
if only i could take action
but the void has got my soul now
it chomps, bites, and swallows chunks
to regurgitate and rebuild me
keep me trapped in this funk
so why do i keep going
so why do i keep waking up
to dig my teeth in the neck of the void
but that's maybe
i've nothing better to do