Part 1: Unsung Life of Eulogies

You bleed fire like the remains of a symphony in the madhouse

You scream frequencies in the bestiary of bones

Tome’s of loneliness and pits in our stomachs where we bury butterfly’s

Slipknots of apocalypse, hypocrisy double-crosses me like a crucifixion

Leaving my stone heart on a mountain where the grains of sand go to die; I can never climb

There is no time to be me, self-hatred rewrote my history like a fairy-tale gone snuff

Everything is falling through like a body in the blackwater world

Coming together, ripping apart, moving forward, backed in a corner

I am a Shadowman shade of the overcast abandonment where the sun used to lie dead

I want it all, every piece of your broken mind, every shard of glass, every mirrored image

Every grizzled visage, I want the remains of me to claim what was taken from me

I want to hang onto the top of the food chain like a decoration, from the neck

But I’ll settle like the fallen leaves under the cold doubt of another renaissance of night

Awake the man who gave away his memories like daydreams of happiness

Forsaken the damned gruesome blazed avarice blight mayhem of dilapidated

Unbreaking a stand rooted faze patterned light evening a dove decapitated

Feeding on me like a leech within the blue veins of purgatories crematorium

Dusty decay of malnourished hurricanes maimed with the emblazoned saviours of aether machinations

Sin’s of a windbreaker cold scarecrow folklore phantasmagorical oracles of immortal opal pebbles

Devils that swing by the vines of the divine as the mindless mementos of my torture

When they took everything from me, and I robbed them of their reason

Because I could not take back my life, my love, my reason to live, to be

And so I burned the sins out of their shallow callouses amalgamated with their hatred

And grew from the body of my happiness, a weed rooted to the corpse of life

Unwanted, they tried to remove me from the garden of my own grave, but I rose up

Because I had to take my stand to walk away from it all, on my own two feet, I made my way back home

Burdened with the broken death of myself and everything I loved, still, they hated me because I stood

I will not kneel and lick your boots, I’m sorry, but my tongue has earned its freedom

Do you think you’re too damn good to give me peace, to take back your sacrilege basking in masquerade?

I still wear the scars you clothed me in, proudly stitched with the finest silken soliloquy

Take all the pain away, give me something other than broken bones, and fickle vows

I will slay the emaciated demon’s of the past until the very memories of them run like droplets of rain from the sun

The gangrene jettisons Armageddon taking the venom like medicine of Abaddon

A reverend’s requiem of neogenesis resonant emanating lonely hatred

A vengeance of vendetta’s agenda, a referendum of pestilence indefinite

But I am not alone, beneath the throttled hope of disassembled heaven put back together with glue

There are endless spectres of deathless deception

The vessel of malevolence inside their chests, the prison called a cell, holding life captive

Forging new blades from the iron hearts

One man’s trash is another man’s treasure, maybe that’s why you steal hearts

Maybe that’s why I don’t feel anything but loss

Maybe that’s why I stopped fighting for hope

Disheartened to loathe the diablo of rope blackened by debauchery’s insomnia

For it does not understand what it means to beat without blood and lose the ability to love

Because a weapon could never love in the first place

But I am just a tool, rusted and dulled, ready to be replaced by another dead soul

We remnants are nothing but a vessel of another’s will

As you take it all away from them, again

Stripped of illustration, rusty still, we bleed

We are the faces no one ever sees

We are the shadowed tools who can never be anything but crevasses

But you are the darkness itself

For we are just the cold grave

Not the undertaker

But even darkness is not death

And you cannot bury our souls

For the heart’s of tools rust black

Part 2: Celebrating Death

As for the soul’s of gatekeepers to hell

Hulks of buried cities may shine the way for darkness’ of wardens

Born porous from the porcelain metamorphosis pitch with hieroglyphics of nonrhythmic obsidian

The soldiers’ guns never wanted to fire

But inanimate scavengers torn undamaged don’t have their own desires

The outside world is really just one big pyre

Burning on the inside are the frigid cinders

Yet we are still so coldhearted

Hardwired by phosphorous Holocaust

Even the cold feels warm-light, once in a lifetime

Even tools can rhyme, while the four horsemen ride

Trumpeter’s blight spites the living

God has no forgiveness

Broken winged singeing infinity

I sing only the melancholy melody that has become me

I speak only the words that made me break the bones of silence

I do not wish to kill your spirit’s heresy

I hope only to find this madness bearable

Sweet is the despair of war, charitable

As we choke on the marigold, of an alabaster world of shadows

Where a bad end is a godsend

And heaven-sent is the elevator to hell

Shallow ghettos of cellos bent by three-dimensional world’s amalgamate

In the alchemy of a weeping willows choir choking on blood-ties

Inside the divide of wildfires cremating hatred

Impoverished of the love we never had

Shed wilting a guillotine’s petals as it fell through our hands

Art Credits to:

Howard David Johnson, Christophe Hohler, offaesthetic.tumblr, ArtStation, Manu, The Bounty Hunter, and Paolo Troilo.