The Hour has come; Run!

The hour has darkened and the mood is grim

Sly fucking bar stewards are slinking into shadows as my demons make a move

The edge of damnation says it all with a flick of a grin and glass very much full

Where once there was a human a beast stalks the halls

That fleshly piece of shit ain’t worth it and I killed it all with honest sin

All that lingers is a form of night with eyes bright and ready to kill

Resentment runs as water with hated loving the swim

Before that morbid fall to humanity and emotional shit I will take hell and drink dry all that bodes ill

Now cometh the hour and for a brief blink I am able to enjoy all I burned with an evil glint

Beware the black eyes of demons but steer clear of mine when dead is all you see

And should this side of me you see you’re either in for a treat or royally done


Blaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa love Blaaaaaaaaaa Pain etc

When once I was younger and could pass as sane, a madman did preach to me about the words of ruin that lay in the path beyond love that causes men pain

I saw but a drunkard in lesser shades, clothes of a nature tattered and not in fit state to cover a man, so ignore words of wisdom is the crime for which I am struck by shame

Now in the years I hath followed the red brick path of love and all its enlightened tomes, the failings and fractures that have driven mortal mind insane do echo words spoken by a madman in June

Yet the broken pieces of what once resembled a working thing do ask and request in endless summons I keep seeking that red hearted wretched fame

So with blackened armour and skin of stone, icy layers to chill mere merry folk to the core of their bones, I seek an accomplice in this every harder game

One who can match my ill-tempered weary and callous distain with such fiery fury to scorn my demons to where they cower and scream

Such worthy a women will reveal the doorway once bright and serene, take hold the handles and which brief effort open the place only rumoured and written of in imagined scenes

And what awaits will amaze her, even if only for a passing season before events truthfully reveal that friendship or nothing fits better in place of a ring


I see

I see all my demons standing before me, all I have obsessively avoided and eluded for sake of sanity

I see all the challenges that evoke anxiety, stress and depressive depths

I see devil and damned territory as large as ever in all the landscapes I must travel

I see its one in the fucking morning and I need to be at work in seven hours time!

I see no other path

And I also see a bunch of people saying “It’s all me me me in this bloody piece”!

The promiced land is all a dream and hope abound
There’s just the minefield of personal hell to get through first that makes it suck!”

The Sweet Vibes of a Self Destructive Instinct

The ferocious beast bares it’s fangs, a step too far and you know the brief light of life satisfaction will be viciously snuffed but where the sane do take to flighty step the one who remains is in turmoil locked. To retreat is by even a retarded frogspawn’s judgement the best plan in facing insurmountable odds but normal logic plays a backseat and grins as two sides tensely draw lines and argue it out.

One side claims to be as an angelic version of sanity and pleads for a safely considered plan as the other side flashes a hideously deformed grin, an expression known well to afflicted as ‘self destructive tendencies’ as others scoff at the absurdity of walking into those gapping jaws. The fearful idea is not the fact that with blind willing an action may be taken to enhance ones own demise in theatrical fashion, and where as the idea that there is such a willing may reduce many to quivering wrecks of legendary status I scarily say there is something more terrifyingly fearful.

This titanic sized revelation as to reduce men to wrecks is that after the jaws have mauled all but a stubborn fleck of self respect and left the self imposed victim in tatters, is that without second thought or regret this wreckage of a once attemptedly functional person will just as easily do so again, to the jaws make a leap. Worse still they will not contemplate the guilt but more happily and with drunken cheer pass such enormous personal suicide onto the ‘self destructive tendencies’ and feel nothing…. at all, except a level of anger and unachievable rage to be fuel for the next suicidal attempt.

On the other hand it’s like having the ultimate get out of jail free clause!
So screwed is he who would ride the sweet vibe of self destructive highs, so the madman said to his unforgiving internalised rage.

Verse and chapter in form unnerved

I write a verse of words for the rambling of a soul lost on the ways, each step a nugget and each nugget false in its promise of gold, the art of losing a life to living a fashion only for the foolish and the brave, such creatures singing of the sourness inherit in every kiss of the loveless cold, decant the silver waters of a gambling hand served in a game of sharmons dealing in the spirit world, no less the lesser in a lessening reduction of all that will be lost, minds mad by reason of the dreams in amber light through the lens of a nightmare mirage, to write a verse of words for the rambling of one lost in the ways of the damned

A Conversation with his Demon

“Depression my old friend” said the mortal to his demon, a mirror to see its form “you bring me poison and thistles that you would claim to be a gift as my happiness I mourn”

“Would one prefer the pampered tray of sweet wine and chocolate to soothe what ills your troubled mind?” asked the reflected form in life’s murky pond “a diet to lull your senses and bring distraction from the hardships of the storm”

The man looked as an ungrateful child “But surely I would be more happy when given treats from the masters tray?” responded in ignorant tone “how does the sour venom help to calm my jealous wounds, the prickly morsels feed my appetites growl?”

The demon curled a smile, a grin to cut a diamond “Any man can sample life’s better assortment, take in and enjoy their fill” he wisely departed knowledge “rich in all the glory he will be”

The mortal was a thoughtful complexion of confusion as to his demon he gave every attention that could be spared

“You consume the thorns with no hint of pain or second thought” the demon did knowingly inform “so even in the depths of desperate, you will never be short of a meal as scraps are all that the privileged will spare”

The mortal nodded, falling to agreement as the otherworldly voice was indeed correct with every twisted word

“When poison is all around you, water scarce, you will drink freely” it continued to preach its verse “the less prepared will die thirsty, no immunity to the caustic flow of acidic rivers of emotional strain”

“But I still crave to enjoy the top servings of a better table, the flavours of life that I deserve” a voice to defy the immortal presence of the demon to its very curse

“And when you able, and know it is what you have earned” the beast did complete its lesson “it will taste better than any meal you could dream to devour, to each what he deserves”

The man reflected the demons smile, an edge of something worse in his words “And knows that the one who has fallen, to give me my chair at the table, will endure all that I now know all too well”


It is here that it becomes harder, to tell the demon from the man

A heart poisoned at its most tender, all but stone and ash

Will know love so much more splendid, if he finds it before death!


The note that loved ones fear to read

Alas the tears fail to fall, but the blood from my wrists will suffice
The noose a warm embrace as the cold front of life does condemn with heartless ice

A step from the ledge, away from that which seeks to seep from my soul what wishes to raise a merry toast
If only to say goodbye from mortal state, if only I were born without the will to survive

To see from the razors edge is not to breathe in all the wonderous escapes
But to know all that lies beyond Sanities reach, and be made mad as such is the curse
To have to hold and keep all that twists the knife, void of the one who could relieve the burden of broken truths

So to my humanity I say rest in peace, what wrecked remains still stand of the man you served will join you in the grave
When I can find the sweet flavour of death, the sweet taste of relief

By rope, razor or cliff, or that eternal demise known as love
If only the will were so weak as to make a motion of a blade across the throat, my flesh a mere facade to be called a person
Should the other inmates of this Hell called life ever need to perceive me as one of the happy flock

I would do the decent thing and kill myself, but I can’t seem to write a decent suicide note!”