Le Poetry

For in cloaks of darkness and fabric of blacks;
A boy sees the world for all that it lacks.
Grinning to deceive the ones who glance quickly;
Never letting them see his mind so sickly.
He paces his words and he steadies his breath;
He prepares for his inevitable death.
False emotions and lies;
Everyone dies.
This is the story of the grinning darkness;
The one within his mind of starkness.
With his knees in hands and his eyes filled with tears;
He seemingly ages before your eyes, so many years.
For each soft breath you hear him make;
It's another smile so professionally faked.
Candid thoughts and a self-loathing soul;
His life was the very last toll.
So this is the story of the grinning shadow;
He ended his night on the Eve of Hallow.

Color of darkness and
all that lurks within.
Void of all light,
no visible kin.

The color of shadows,
death and the like.
Picture your pessimal creations that
are found in your psych.

Elegantly poised are
the statues of onyx.
The glassy silhouette of you
created within the tonic.

Your repressed memories
of the eons engulfed in sorrow.
When you would fear
the luminance of tomorrow.

Color as dark as ink,
brought forth by man.
The color of God,
when he abandoned his plan.

There is a ridge within my own mind;
It is the one that separates my sane form from insane - the dividing line.
A creature of undefinable darkness;
Dwells between the ridge and beholds the field's starkness.
It sits on its haunches and stares in defiance;
Dismissing those who wish for it to look to them in guidance.
This creature of darkness, the one of original light;
Has been through much, and is only there to help during plight.

Should the passers stand and stare;
They'll see the dark coat dissolve in the air.
Should they attempt to draw nearer and calmly approach;
It shall pay no heed, and instead onto its prey, encroach.
Should you beware, and to its warnings heed;
Expect it to be there in your time of need.
For this creature of darkness, the origin of light;
Is simply only dark to those who refuse to see its internal fight.

It ventures to the cliff above the ocean of death;
Staring down at the souls lost, and all the people he met.
It shakes its solemn head and its mane of shadows;
The one who watches from the high plateau.
Over your body while you sleep, it shall guard;
While you walk down the street, you it shall not harm.
Pay it no mind though, for it is a shadow;
A creature that you cannot touch, but will never let go.

That creature of shadow - the one within the ridge;
Is simply a beacon, the one that acts as my bridge.
It is the darkness of I;
The one you shall see within my eye.
Though not all darkness is bad;
Simply a dark place to be had.
You shall see me in the shadows, or as you gaze on your walls;
And I'll be there, to catch when one falls.

A string of wire and made of copper
Laughed at 'cause people think he's off his rocker.
Fuck the world and fuck the people;
Society is but a word to express inequality as equal.
I'm tired of shit and I'm tired of lies;
Today seems to be another day of demise.
Expressing doubts brought by the constant mockery.

Laid in worry and tasked with blame;
The anger is sparked then blazes like a wild flame.
Beyond your doubts, your misconceptions;
Let's see how you fare against his inventions.
Masks, Puppets, Dolls, Inanimate objects of all kinds;
Brought out and made to give him some form of lives.
I am strewn with the specks of dust called his insanity.

Ephemeral silences contended by the raucous banter of death;
What's more pleasing than a dying breath?
Questions and motives mean nothing to me;
I'm simply here for a new knife's gleam.
Murder, Homicide, whatever you call it;
That's my fiber, by being, tis' not a trick.
I'm done with lying and hiding my mask.

Watch the days once lived in peace;
See them end the nights and lives cease.
They call me mad and possibly insane;
They know not of the emotions in concrete lain.
I am a puppeteer, a master of many;
My own personas nothing more than some of plenty.
Let's see how the others can survive in a world derived from my mind.

Nothing more than an empty crown upon a shelf;
A king of 0f lies yet prisoner of himself.
What a better place for him than hell?
I hope you don't take this as personal;
But why the hell are you still here?
Are you caught up in some kind of fear?
Maybe the chains should be off for a little longer.

Soundless rooms of padded white
you never really saw the light.
Smile on face with darkened eyes,
you really are just full of lies.

Unleash your demons on others,
turn friend on friend, brother on brother.
This is what your calling is my boy,
this entire world is merely your toy.

Your invisible crown upon your head
you honestly think others are better off dead.
Step back with a smirk at the flames around,
see their bodies lying lifeless on the ground.

Laugh at the chaos, the panic, despair.
You are the harbinger of madness, as bright as a flare.
Cloaked in black for your darkest thoughts
with crimson accents for the bloodlust you brought.

Play the music box - the one that you found,
find your demons waiting for you on an onyx mound.
Bring forth the chaos! Madness!
Show the others your perpetual sadness.

Because we all know, deep down within;
you only longed to somewhat fit in.
But due to their arrogance, each of their hateful gazes,
this new town, shall soon be razed.

Although, poor boy in a jacket,
you're in a room where no one can hear your racket.
This was all merely an illusion inside your mind,
to placebo somewhat of a sanity you could never find.

Demons encircling a
crown of black.
All his failures
to a wall they tack.

Maniacal laughs
in a despairing mind.
The last shred of sanity
he attempts to find.

Smile of death
piercing his solemn mask.
You'd never notice his tears
while drowning sorrows with a flask.

Pacing the halls of
a solitary path.
It appears he's brought forth
the fake God's wrath.

Laugh with the king,
the one oh-so dead.
Let's see how he manages
to deal with his dread.

Will he drown it in more
addiction, or attempt to right the wrong.
No one will ever know,
it's near the end of the song.

A sewn on grin filled to
the brim with madness.
Only thing it's worth is
the fact it hides his sadness.

So tell me all you nobles,
you peasants and the bunch.
Have you ever been so angered,
a wall you just had to punch?

Have you ever seen your image,
and thought "pathetic trash."
Wishing, yet never able to end your life
because "it's far too rash."

You tell yourself all the
lies of the book.
Because you're a pawn,
far less than a rook.

You hide behind fake royalty,
to gain a visage akin to gods.
Evidently you know not,
how the story ends against all odds.

So listen little child,
pay attention to this tale.
Though watch out for the shadows
for they'll surely make you wail.

Elaborate little creatures
in a world filled with no light.
There's only bits and glimpses
of a future with no plight.

Though we all know the end,
of this world and all your lives.
Maybe these dull words,
will pierce your heart like knives.

Waterfall of vibrant colors
cascading down the marble sides.
The melodic orchestra of angels
playing ocean tides.

Golden threaded
robes of white.
Always aid in reminiscing
of times before my plight.

Sitting on the edge of eons,
forgetting mortal worries.
Lonely souls mingle in crowds,
seeking refuge from icy flurries.

Hearth of Hestia and a
Dionysos blessed chalice.
Allows me to repress
this world's malice.

What defines me?
That would probably be my empathy.
I try to relate to everyone who
is scared to show themselves to but a few.

Guiding others to the light
and helping them win this fight.
I take on a nurturing role
since I know this world takes quite a toll.

Thoughts of death and suicide?
Well let's just go and throw them aside.
The world may be dark and spiteful
but it can also be quite insightful.

Just watch your step along the way
to hopefully lessen, the price you pay.
I glance around at the silent crowd
and see many scars, once silent now loud.

I lend an ear to the fallen mass
and help them see past the broken glass.
Maybe they heed my words or not,
as long as they know this is not what they wrought.

In all honesty I am not really defined,
but when you asked me - a few things come to mind.
It may also be my analytical eyes,
since I'm known to see past lies.

I notice masks with many a crack,
and see others past what they 'lack'.
People think I'm quite shallow,
but I was once tainted - now hallow.

But who better to help you rise,
than the boy who decided to put on a guise.
This fallen angel with blackened wings,
is now the savior of the forgotten kings.

At three in the morning,
the phone sometimes rings.
A cheshire smile on the other end,
it's a man with black wings.
His caller ID says nothing,
except for a symbol that some cultures revel.
That's right my dear readers,
I had a 3 am call with the devil.

A rose as vibrant as fresh drawn blood
Lain out upon the harsh morning sun.
The mask that holds you slowly cracks;
To the point of forcing your own collapse.

You walk the halls rather silently;
Glancing at portraits of who you used to be.
Smiling eyes and blushing cheeks;
A loving smile and gentle touch.

Covered now by thorns and poison,
The brittle blossom now cold and frozen.
You watch on as others smile and hear their laughter;
Just to have your pieces crack and shatter.

You wander aimlessly through your own mind;
A facade and continuum laid in line.
You try to stay strong and try not to break;
Soon your gold throne, you will retake.

A melody as calm as water
is played upon the fields of god.
Angels sing and dance and play;
to start again another day.
A solitary person lazes about
they watch the other's dance and shout.
He lowers his head
and raises his cloak.
Never again to make a sound;
his head, once crowned, now upon the ground.
An abysmal maze of rot and decay
Many shan't see another day.
The harmonic tune of the
Addicting symphony.
Brings many to their feet with glee.
The ones filled with sobriety;
others drunken with lust and ecstasy.
Who are those who rule the world;
and who are those that wander.
An ephemeral silence,
to guide and cease violence.
The song is finally over.

Thin metal guarded
by a cardboard box.
Placed nearby
the fastened locks.

A door held fast,
that shall not budge.
Warm water to run
started by a gentle nudge.

The kings and queens
of Death's grand door.
Watch as one
falls upon the floor.

No such time
to pick it up.
Another is retrieved,
from the thin paper cup.

They lay upon
the cold white porcelain.
To begin the ritual
to call upon the horsemen.

The blade of metal
and blood of crimson.
Are mixed inside
water once crystalline.

The gash runs deep
the blood runs cold.
No one knew,
they'd be so bold.