Sledgehammer Subtlety

Sledgehammer subtlety a luxury to wish for as the metaphorical slam job condemns with the physical force of a runaway freight train; it’s been that kind of a week!

Holding hellion tight every lucidly horrendous tendril of my nervous state with but a jaded (to put to shame any depressive arsehole) sense of positivity, waving so carelessly into the face of the coming storm front akin to the scaled destruction to any heavy metal festival on acid.

That is the dose of prickly punctuating due I hath earned through the mortally damning sin of hard work, the thing so demanded but rarely rewarded in glittering ribbons and wrapped with human warmth for the lonely single man. All endured so I may wastefully pay the price in illness through the hallowed free time so given the name of ‘Weekend’, which even then I work!

And so where does the condemned turn; The arms of a good woman? The merrily greeting arms of friends? The warming hues of a functional family?.. NO

I see only a bar so hauntingly inhabited by the corrupting patrons of a demonic curse, as so prescribed in mournful jest by the unholy trilogy, a place so praised in everlasting screaming that beckons forth in attempts of resistance these three horsemen; Anxiety, Depression and Stress

The demons do drown a bottle or two as my glass overflows with outpourings of acidic hate towards those red horned bar stewards providing the drinks, alas the unforgiving state a man may find his fractured self drowning in when those demons are all which keep the fires burning at night. Even less forgiving the disdainfully tormenting embers of that fire; the result of purest rage rampantly consuming with reddened flames, each licking of these so elatedly heated daggers no longer drawing a scream of pain but in loud acclaim a royally coated ‘Fuck you’ in full literary regalia.

And surely all this should be so painlessly remunerated but by the hallowed knowledge that all this I will endure again such redemption murkily sinks to where despair reeks a fouler sense of ill intent, even less gratifying is the fact that should I turn to a razor that others will suffer, so in that self accusing knowledge I must live on.

I would consider myself rich in good values but each cursed tome of morality seems only a weight to drag me down to deepened levels of honest intentioned hell.

“If pain is a reminder that we are alive to live in elated merriness

So I should be dead by the overdosing of joy

Or in lack of feeling know that elated merriness is dead

And no longer a taunt in every suffering second of life I must remain”

 

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The Fatal Night

It begins oh so serenely on that star laden eve, a cover of light lacking darkness to hide this sinfully damned scene

All strolls along smoothly in a carefully choreographed cascade, till the dagger enters flesh swiftly in a manner that would make the word sabotage silently weep

To the fall a misstep carries the fated form to whence even demons do drunkly scream, a bar on your lonesome to mark as a gravestone happiness’s tomb

The damned do fit the fated bottle an awesome treat, as would a stream of blood from my fatally sliced wrist

To Brake

Pressure over time creates an eternally momentum building black hole of applied condensation of everything that constructs the very warped fibres of a facture ridden collapse of everything we know, have faith in and trust…. when once the release of these primal destructing forces is occurred, hell but beckons as a positive alternative to the reality that crumbles around the distorted windows, those through which every fatally fateful event since further fractures that fragile faith you had in your own ability.

How do you take weakly faltering step in front of potential stumbling step and know that once it was so much more solid before when you strode powerfully through doubts quagmire, little perception of the potentially crumbling reality around distorted windows that now only show the inherently under trodden footsteps of fated failure and despair.

Broken implies a repair to be implemented

Repair implies it is possible to remedy the problem

When considering the lowering tones of a mournful mood that every depressive, doubting and seemingly self-damned soul measures the mournfully lacking success of anything they have accomplished… broken, to brake, holds meaning so much more irreparable.

How does one then fabricate that seemingly easy thing to cognitively conjure when whole; an answer, solution, fix or resolution?

Till that mythical answer has proven worth, so broken will the afflicted remain.

 

All The World Burns

There upon the pinnacle of perfection lies a point of perception so much attuned to what our worlds are within the fractious chasms of flame, that only a singular person may see it within the obsessive focus two fold of what a madman may feel

To take apart with the methodical removal of brick by bloody brick the whole entirety of a person’s world, reason and rhyme a shadow of sanities fading form in the methodical removal of a person’s very foundation in the subversively torturous process required to go through with such a suicidal kill; a process by which all the upheaval achieves is merely to avoid the epically scaled monstrosity of what refuses to be deconstructed at the core of where his troubles began

The prison cell grows no bigger or sizes larger than what the mentality of a life lacking inmate has grown to know; the thankless bounds by which all a horde would enslave never offering the faintest ideal of freedom with each maliciously stinging blow

Endless steps out into the ashen fields with furies pace to evade that particular centre of what draggingly leaches the limping will to breathe, only to push the prison cell this a’ways to the right or left as the central villain of a man’s fate resides where the centre of that seemingly decreasing cell follows; following with as much furies pace as desperation compels him to put foot ahead of foot in endless step

To turn to see the reflective truth of that villains stare as eyes so damningly dark betray every repulsion drenched ideological dagger I hath cast upon my own flesh; all that remains when the very fated fragmented deception falls fatally to the flames and bare only the fractured and hollow form I wear

A wrist a paper thin contract with life

A razor a pen to break the terms of a life sentence

A mesh of loving fibres to sever

Should I ever stop running from the fatal truth

That the lies are less painful than facing the soul of this soulless creature

The soul a twisted representative debt to all the potential I have cast into the cause to stay blissfully numb

Perforated Personality, Humour?

A stable personality

Reason for concern; Did I leave the oven on?

Things not to worry about; Did I leave the casserole out?

Afterthought; I must get something else for diner if the casserole isn’t ok

A joke; At least the cat will have a nice meal!

 

A depressive personality

Reason for concern; Will I have a complete breakdown at this function?

Things not to worry about; Is it safe to use sharp objects whilst I’m mildly suicidal?

Afterthought; This knife is really blunt, must get a new one for next time

A joke; At least I won’t have to worry about making diner!

 

Reason for concern; You’re laughing right now!!

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Mirror shy, I beg you not….

​Mirror shy away, beg not to reflect this feeble excuse for human fail

I hath lacked the inclination to take the image shown darkly hued for an age into time

Show not the venom overflowing beneath that false gaze

Show not the frown locked into every stress line

Show not the form I fade to when ghosts haunt

I am all an image fractured to hide the inherit fright that has become of all that once shined

Mirror shy away and sample not the flesh corrupting around these bones

What deathly bleak features I see in reflected flash are too much a reminder of the hope I lost