As the buildings fall. I regret to inform you that I’ve told you so.

The subject matter in our destroying medium some how justifies the ends.
Leave the building crippled and barely standing with paint and glues.
Coated in a film of mess.
Making it beautiful when the dust finally rises as the bricks hit the ground.
Damaging the pavement that it once occupied.
Through the streets they run from the cloud, that engulfs the physical, and leaves its mark.
Being inhaled into lung, causing so many to choke.
Eyes watering and sinuses oozing with water and snot.
Watch it fall, as the cameras record.
Hit replay and cringe as the medium of our destruction hits.
Let the filler stand for the validity of my text.
And question my words.
Question them.
And let the leaders of our world know of how sharp words are.



I feel words being written upon my rib cage. As I deeply breathe, heaving my sunken chest.
Spear splitting the cage exposing my innards and cutting my flesh.  The blood and water pour
upon the ground giving the lowest a medium to paint with.  Letting them attempt to create
the face of the creator.  Leaving it up only to failure.

Write it in pen for soon it will fade.  The beginnings of the dirt know only how to forget.
Write it in ink, don’t pierce the skin for the ink might stay.  But dig deeply with the quill
drawing the blood.  Let it run down my sides, and don’t mop it up.  They’ve depleted their
mediums for creation.

It is in low supply.  Let them gather the pints that spill and splash to the ground.  Bottle it
and begin the collection of utensils to create with.

But I bid you understanding of exploitation and of your carelessness, that may manifest.
They will place labels on the bottles, place them in the hands of masses, and the false will
vomit out the ink on pages of disgust and deceit.  The golden gates will be penetrated and
used as their billboards.  But I encourage you, though your failure is the reason, to burn and
seer the flesh off the demons that possess the vessels.  For the bodies are empty and have no
spirit.  They will become rulers and leaders.  Using the angel of light as their beauty.

But don’t be discouraged.

Another one of those wake up things.

Let your blood soaked clothing rein evident to your failure. The animals who plot your demise will devour your flesh as the scent of the fallen quench their nostrils. They stalk you, watching your habits. As you pour the black liquid of your pleasure down the esophagus of the ruins.

Knowing your every step, they laugh at your stumblings and faults. The pure joy that is in the pits of their chest, as they contemplate every piercing of your flesh with their porceilin teeth.

Sweat drips into their eyes irritating the vessels in their whites, but none of them blink. Thinking that the slightiest loss of frame will cause them to lose the prey, you. Wake up,
wake up,
wake up.

Cut your losses and run, let the cold air cause your lungs to cough up the liquid you have devoured. Run. Wake up. Go.

You have time. You can’t hear it, but they scream at their potential failure. Muscle tension in their legs bulges their veins, pushing liquid, thick, through their synthetic arteries. Scratching of their claws on cement reminds you. That you, you are being followed.
Run, as the darkness consumes and turns the pavement to dust. They look for quenching of thirst with the blood on your shirt, but are left to suffice with the dust that is kicked up.

Knowing the finish, they run after their false hope. Lapping the dust like the water that once occupied their bowls.


Appears the flesh of the liar, the one who sicks his evil upon you. He smirks at your efforts, and your heaving chest.

You look into his blood filled eyes, and he devours you in his mind.

He begins to laugh.
This becomes contagious.
You too laugh.

Losing breath, you laugh harder. Knowing his lack of competency in the understanding of the divine.

His laughing dies, and you continue. For you know his Failure.

You no longer are blind.

The footsteps of the perfect number begin to echo through the landscape.
Laughing, this becomes comedy.

The liar knows not what he has unleashed.

As the steps grow closer, they consume the veins of the earth.

And you, stand behind Him.

Watch as their kingdom is left in ruins.


Your arrogance drips off your lips like the leftovers from the vomit you just emited from your esophagus.
Wipe your mouth on your sleeve and let the odor remind you of your fault.
Your voices sound so mellow yet the calmness causes others to hear your words carefully.
For if you faultier, He will be quick to stick your face in the dirt.
For rather He defy you than the snake who slithers through the earth.
Only giving you enough rope to hang yourself with, watching you die and putting you back on your feet.
He whispers His love into your ears.
Weeping your body convulses and the stench on your sleeve tells you your history.

When the morning star rises, you cover you body with the same stained shirt.
The stench overwhelms the nostrils and your eyes begin to water.

Just remember who gave you the ability to put your shirt back on.

Welcome back.

As shadows flicker across the pavement, your mind tries to figure whether or not it’s day or night.
You contemplate starting the painting in your head of what it would look like if it was in day or night.
The tungsten lights cast an odd orange tint to the ground, Makes you know that it is definitely midnight.
Barely cold, but just enough to shiver, and yet again your mind begins to wonder whether or not its winter.
For your mind’s sake I will tell you, but only if you continue to paint this picture with the ink you have been given.

Down the stairs and to the right, light floods one spot on the floor.
Illuminating a man hanging by his arms, feet barely on the floor.

Welcome back.
Such warm words, before the cold battle.
Arms hung from the ceiling, downcast, shadows dance across his face.
Spit and blood drip from his lips, as he sucks his lip to stop the cut from expelling his life blood.
Arms stretched upwards seemingly reaching for something, but being held by the restraints, that cut so deeply into his wrists.
Looking down finding a blade and realizing where this could lead.
Using his big toe and one next to it, he holds it between the two.
Lifts his legs up towards the light that is above him.
Carefully sawing at the rope holding the weight of his body.
The rope began splitting.
The strands popped apart, soon letting go of each other.
His body slammed against the floor and he clenched in agony.
Rolling on the ground waiting for the pain to go away.
His flesh seared against the dirty concrete, from the split skin.
He began to run, sprinting, was pulled back and slammed to the floor, rolling in pain realizing the other restraints that held him.
They began laughing hysterically, so much it was infecting and he too laughed, lacking any emotion.
Glancing he saw His back.
What is this?
Adrenaline, the body’s drug, causing him to shake.
His life lines pulsing with this concentration.
Then a clink. A glint catching his eye. Using his now free appendages to grab what seemed to be the life and expectancy of freedom.
Seeing a smile with in the dark his hysterical laugh began forming in his rib cage.
He held it in, waiting for the right moment to release.
The tumbler ratcheted and clicked.
Releasing his arms from these chains.

Laughing he ran as they had their necks cut open letting out oxygen and black.
They looked on in horror as hands were placed on him, and he slaughtered the last of the filth.


Another dream.

The bird was being talked about.  I really don’t recall what we were conversing about though.  The birth of one of it’s offsprings was valued. As I took the bearer of the young bird, I carefully held it.  As I walked outside I knew I was careful enough to not crush it. Last time I killed one, but it was on accident.  I threw this one up in the air and watched it fly away, successfully without me hindering it.

With this could come and awakening within my mind, being able to see something that all should be able to see.  But are not able to due to the naturalism of culture, and desensitizing of  a humans mind.

Looking to see how deep the rabbit hole really does go, not even hitting clay yet.

Red bird.

I watched as the bird flew around the room. As I spun around to keep track of it, goosebumps began to form upon my skin in anticipation of catching it. I was wondering why it was in the house in the first place. It landed by the couch so I threw my sweatshirt over it, thinking I was careful, I picked it up and walked to the door. I opened it and my toes got cold from the winter gust, throwing it up in the air I noticed its feathers ascued. I though I was careful, as I watched it hit the snow on the ground, blood turned the snow to red. I knew it was dead but I didn’t know why.
it was a red bird, not a cardinal, but red and looked like a cardinal, but larger, with a proportional body to that of a sparrow.
Tell me cause I really don’t know what it is.

As it lay lifelessly in its own blood, I couldn’t help but think that this was my fault.  The desperation as the bird flew around the ceiling, looking for the escape, scared me.

Are we constantly looking for that escape like the bird?  And when finally we fail and are picked up by human hands we are just as easily broken?