Jejune/Prolix...

On a day that feels like
one drawn-out pause
between sighing breaths
All clarity becomes hazy
and ambition's defeated
as we simply live out our deaths
Shall we wait for a savior
or cut out our losses
plunging out into the depths

We ask, but don't answer
and our questions are lost
with the hours that we throw away
As stagnation constricts us
and our dreams are all strangled
the night becomes dead as the day

Our zombie-like corpses
become numb to the world
as we just hunger for brains
When we sense someone living
we attack them on instinct
to siphon blood from their veins

In the life we abandoned
there'd be toil and hardship
with sweat, bloodshed, and tears
But perhaps there'd be laughter
or something less sinister
than existence constricted by fears


If stagnation is foolish
and dreaming is futile
there still must be some way to live
An Aristotelian mean
or some life unseen
where life doesn't merely survive
In dreams of this now
we'll imagine somehow
our delusions allow us to thrive

It's jejune or it's prolix
when only the dangers
make conquest or cowering the same
As battle-scars and boo-boos
bleed the same red-to-brown
and mutilation can make anyone lame
In defeat or deferral
comes the same end as triumph
as death will bring all of these shame

So to hell with the earth
and to hell with mere dreams
to hell with everything prolix and jejune
If we're all doomed to live
and all doomed to die
to hell with everything that's not opportune
Why stare at the sun
to be blinded with light
or in darkness just howl at the moon

If there's something of use
in a world full of refuse
it's for you to define on your own
Should you find it somehow
don't forget about how
in the end you'll be under a stone
If it's still worth a try
though you know it will die
leave these prolix/jejune things alone

In Times of Heroes...

When heroes are treated
like mere men and women
it reveals a society's indifference

When heroes are resented
by many men and women
it reveals a society's incompetence

When fools are seen as heroes
by many men and women
it reveals a society's ignorance

When no heroes are to be found
among the many men and women
it reveals a society's impotence

When heroes are seen as more
than mortal men and women
it reveals a society's weakness

Schadenfreude/Epicaricacy...

The horror is not in the red eyes glowing
or the clatter of hooves chasing after you
Even as your flesh is torn away from the bone
it isn't the floods of lost blood and found pain
that fills your mind with overwhelming trepidation
nor the reactions of demons as devils mutilate you

It's not the sight of your blood
bringing sinister smiles
as the sound of your screams
muse horn-flanked ears
When your trembling hands
are sliced by sharpened sickles
and the smell of your fear
wafts into sneering noses
it's not how your bitter tears
cause fanged mouths to salivate
that brings you pure terror

Nothing is as flagitously grievous
as the schadenfreude of men
and the endemic prevalence
of this epicaricacy they posses

But even this isn't the true extent of it
When you see your own eyes glowing
in some reflection as you thrash defensively
you witness something far more sinister
without seeing this terror for what it is

The true horror of this world
isn't that such epicaricacy
is more than universal,
more than powerful,
more than justifiable
It's that in every human heart
that can be honestly read
this schadenfreude is so elating

Survival reaffirms the desire to live
or condemns life to the death it creates
In treacherous beings the schadenfreude kills
not by way of the demise of victims it beholds
but by the capacity for greater joys
that it strangles dead behind eyes of epicaricacy

In the noblest of men
there is no lack of schadenfreude
but rather a greater capacity for things
that foster more virtuous exaltations of life
The venerable man's epicaricacy must not dwell
merely in the destruction of that which is rightly evil
but must become calibrated by delight in the glory it preserves
It is not wicked to delight in the victories over opposing forces
nor is it righteous to condemn the hearts of embattled soldiers
For in some manner all living things kill to preserve life
Even vegetarian practices prey on some vitality
By virtue of living souls epicaricacy is wielded
not as an appetite for mutilated carcasses
but as a tempered shield of reverence
that protects a nobleman's heart
from the swords of beasts
as desperate men

Life cannot me mourned by the dead
and death must not be glorified by the living
But life and death are never so removed
that they are not somehow entangled
For even those dead and buried
have previously known living
and all the fortunately alive
will one day be so dead
As life is ever fleeting
epicaricacy remains
however dead

All the Men of Exile...

All the men of exile
Considered quite the same
Condemned as being vile
Abandoned by a game

Considered in their ranks diverse
The members of each tribe converse
Debating as to whom they'll curse
and order them to then disperse

Of all the various kinds of men
The most diverse have always been
The ones opposed by all the rest
And never welcomed as a guest

All the men of exile
Treated quite the same
Banished from a returning smile
Demonized by name

The only truly common thread
Among the outcasts left for dead
Is deviation from the heard
In any variance, just one word

Though every exile is unique
It's rarely found in any critique
Instead the narratives just proclaim
That every variance is all the same

Without a trace of any semblance
The exiled truths defy resemblance
And with no words to speak or hear
The exile is derived from here

All the men of exile
In a world so far away
Condemned for varied style
And doomed to never stay

Of all the men cast out
Most all present a danger
The voice that causes doubt
Will breathe a tempest stranger

All the men of exile
Lost before they've gone
None will walk their mile
But in circles carry-on

Notes From An Underground Man...

I am a sick and I am a spiteful
My foolishness I find delightful
I feel pain with hate and laughter
In darkness as a shadow-caster

I'm no insect nor a hero
A vile/noble chosen zero
I'll not lie nor tell a truth
I learned no difference in my youth

I've no self-respect nor shame
I will accept most any blame
Then deny it all as one big game
For I am every contradiction
Full of empty non-conviction

By age forty I'll be dead
or an after-taste of words I'd said
Fools or scoundrels become old
Their time paid by the soul they sold
Or alive as only what they're told

I am sick and I am spiteful
I've found this all so damned delightful
As I laugh and cry in pain
I'm proud to say it's all in vain
But worth my every last disdain

Together Alone...

She can feel the bonds are slipping
despite the way shes gripping
and her heart feels like its ripping
with her tears now slowly dripping
She cries

Don't leave me alone
I can't face this world on my own
I'd rather my heart sink like a stone
than be adrift upon seas unknown

Despite all the pain inflicted
and how tightly she's restricted
to this noose she's now addicted
and it's just as fate predicted
She pleads

Don't leave me alone
banished to what I've never known
I'll say anything I must to atone
Just save me from this gallow's groan

Before he's out the door
knowing he can't do this anymore
and that she's no longer his amore
he thinks back to some before
fearing

He'll be all alone
in a world he could never condone
Perhaps the best he can do is postpone
the day when he'll die on his own

As he stops to think it through
he can't be sure what he should do
so he tries to see her view
in a way he'll misconstrue
thinking

All we've ever known
is the same white flag we've flown
In a world of one lonesome moan
We're better off confined than alone

So they're united by their tears
and protected from their fears
They go on this way for years
in the echoes of old cheers
they sing

We're together alone
in a way we can't be on our own
In the marrow of every bone
is the blood of our wounds unknown
though the scars are so visibly shown

Ligature Life...

Bound to try
in this ligature life
to capture some "why"
and tie it to some strife

Binding some place to me
I restrain some ecstasy
Then captivate some love
and tie to gawds above

In this ligature life I live
there's little slack to give
for to all I am entangled
by its departure I'd be strangled

Tied to every hope
till running out of rope
Trying to hold the lines
that turn to thorny vines
as the ligature life constricts
around the circulation it restricts


In this ligature life I'm tied
to every noose applied
I'll hang from all I hang on to
and be drawn & quartered too

And if I just let go
or cut the knots I've tied?
What connections would I know?
What lines would I confide?

I wonder what would be
if the holds were all set free
and there was nothing holding "we"
leaving only you and me

But the ligature life holds tight
constricting on my might
and bound to my despair
this is what I share

One Last Dance...

The iron curtain call of death
as little's left to fill a breath
The will won't last too long
but enough for one more song

No more chance
One last dance
One last elation
before damnation

The future walled away
The light confiscated from day
With darkness all that's left
to leave for those bereft

No more chance
One last dance
One more smiling face
before there is no trace

Drink the poisoned wine
It goes down just as fine
Forget about your starvation
and every contemplation

No more chance
One last dance
to die in some embrace
to die within your grace

From Underground...

Beneath the surface
Under the earth
Below the realm
where most will dwell
is a depth that
swallows the mind
and buries the soul

From underground
where the dead are abandoned
those wanting to be left alone
might find a living

On the surfaces
those underground
are all just dead
and have no place
in hearts or heads

Forgotten if accepting
or haunting if in relent
From underground
things must consent
to stay below
or first repent
for living at a depth
the surfaces resent

From underground
things seem so strange
as if the surfaces
must all derange
and insist below them
should feel estranged

From up above
the sounds come down
Such curses & laments abound
The sun shines as the many frown
Remarking nothing of renown
but slights against most every crown

From underground
the lights are blinding
and searching here
is its own true finding
Confined below
but free from binding
to all the dizzied gears
all grinding
that turn the records
perpetual rewinding

From underground
the night's eternal
and dreams are treated
more fraternal
instead of mourned
or deemed infernal
as everything here
is quite internal

The surfaces above
are lost in wander
while underground
is left to wonder
what realm the mind
weighs heaviest under
or if any realm
is at all asunder

See Them Vanish...

One person stands alone
Another walks over
The two begin to talk
Then others join them
One by one they arrive
And with each one added
You watch each changing
and see them vanish

Apparitions hold the place
Where individuals disappear
As the words they mean
Become things meant to say
And the whole world pretends
not to be in some decay

The truth is so very alone
And the more alone you are
The more you know it
And the more you'll admit to it
But that isn't loneliness
Loneliness is what happens
When you try to speak of it
And yearn to hear it echoed

When you find solitude
You see things fade away
Your masks fall down
Your distorted vision clears
The world becomes sincere
And you can see it all
for what it is, if only to yourself
If only while you're here

Then someone will come along
Or you'll look for someone else
And as your eyes begin to shift
You'll see them vanish
as your clarity and self will fade
and your own apparition is displayed
while nothing is conveyed

There are so many things
I'd love to see vanish
But so many more
I'd love to see appear
So if I see you
or if you see me
may we be bold
and not just disappear