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A Distant Heart

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A Distant Heart
I do not know the callings of connection. Linking one heart to the next, only bruises. I know not the beauty that strings from the correlation of common affection; blood or not. I am strangely distant in my taking of such things.

Arms length is my comfort, it is the distance I allow my heart. Even then, I am cautious to contemplate the display of it. Even in the ideal of family I pose a gap between each member. Most would seem that I am reposed in my position of such a thing.

Friends, and dare I say family; see me as welcoming and open. But I steer between the fine lines of loving and caring. I skate the outer lines of it all, keeping my hands to my back and heart to my chest. No need, nor the want of my pulse to pump from sleeve.

For there, any can see its pattern and carefully concoct a scheme to poison. To place me beneath a spell and travel with little discretion. I fear I was born with an unpleasant amount of empathy, even my enemy I care deeply for.

Why? This I c…

Tragedy Holds A Key

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Tragedy Holds A Key 
Tragedy- a lamentable, dreadful, or fatal event or affair; calamity; disaster.

Tragedy, an unfortunate circumstance that is never punctual in its arrival. Always arriving when it suits its desire. Never in the perfect moment, where stability meets horror. It appeals to its own derivative of existence. Bearing no idealistic compassion for its unsightly contributions to those it harms.

But, beneath its unorthodox approach to its instruction of its self. It bears something no other event can bring. Though it brings much grief, misery, and entrails of suffering; there is a seed. A tiny seed, which can neither be touched nor seen, only felt.

A seed that brings opportunity, character, resistance and, wisdom. But these gifts are not without tribulation. Many may think tragedy is but a selfish creature; maybe so. But if greeted by heart and not of the mind, one can receive great abundance of spirit; life.

For what is lost, is never truly lost. It must go somewhere, like e…

Our Self-Loathing

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Our Self-Loathing 
Why do we do what we know will harm us?

What is the joy of placing ourselves in agony?

We so often play the victim of our heads. Stretching our days as far as we can; just to avoid the waking of the morning. To avoid the repercussions of our lousy ruling. But it is inevitable, that upon our waking, we shall regret last minute slumber.

Too afraid to sacrifice the ails of our own doings for the gratification of the instant; of things that only consume us to decay. To not let go of what brings us meager comfort. Bringing atrophy, not only to the body, but to the mind. Till we are but walking ruins of disgust, that not even ourselves find joy in company.

We elect food that rots our teeth over foods that bring us strength. We become sheep to our weakened ego and desire that which it favors. Feasting till our bowels become irritated with the digestion of the simplistic. As we watch our guts expand like the rapacious pig; ending each day in the misery of our reflection.

On…

The Flavor of War

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The Flavor of War

A roaring crowd of excitement and love. The return of fathers, sons, and brothers. Relief is the scent of the heart in this beating moment. At least, that is what it seems to be; but returning from the horrors of war, many are broken, but unaware.

Shadows drag behind closed eyes as they speak with loquacious tongues. Creating seamless memories to haunt with vivid realities. Tones of hell creep from the guilt that putrefies the soul. Rotting it with inflamed shame.

Coating the mind in endless darkness as pale eyes gaze with memory. Calling out the shadows that be the ghosts of battle. Flashes of heat engulf the body at rest; waking in an alert of anxious recollection of what one hopes to omit with the passing of time.

But hell knows of no such passing. It embodies itself in the pasture of mind and body. Entangling with depraved taste for madness. Boiling the mind in copious memoirs of terror; the actions of man. Blood curdling from lungs, limbs severed from force, and…

Babylon Thought

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Babylon Thought 
Build, build, let us touch the heavens where god seeks to hold us. Let us structure each brick to compose the steps to the heavens. Bear no mind to the agony at which it costs, life is part of the sacrifice.

Let us climb to the clouds and past the stars; where we shall see the eyes of it all. Do not be weary in the work, for this is our destiny. Our true reasoning of our manifestation, were are not of these soils. Nor do we wish to dwell upon them anymore more.

The beauty here has become tedious and shallow. Nothing new sprouts from these false accolades of nature. The trees bear no new fruits, the sky brings no new heights and the earth springs with no new mountains.

We are not meant to live in this haze of existence. Fending through meager flesh to keep our souls pulsating. We have grown bored of the frail design of our thoughts, we have ceased expansion in creation an idea.

This be our only hope, we must climb. Burden your body with stone so that it may be lifted t…

A Curiosity of Tragedy

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A Curiosity of Tragedy 
Young, and tragedy was is his bitter friend. Hand in hand they walk as they looked to the streets for vigor thoughts of death. Inspiration at the hands of the grotesque and the undesirable compositions of life. He found it strange no one desired to look deeper into what evoked fear and disgust.

But strangely he was, much like a doctor is drawn to the speculation of sickness. Even at a young he would find deceased insects and animals and examine them. He would strike poems from their monstrous poise. Those in the surrounding streets found him odd, many would cross the street if they saw him approaching.

But he paid them no mind for his thoughts were else where; dancing in the smog of sewers as he looked for new things of death. Scouring trees for rot or rats that had been feasted upon by their own kind. He found these things spectacular, they were something to be marveled.

For what brings such an outcome of the living?

Why must all come to an end?

What creates t…

The Flesh of A City

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The Flesh of A City 
The sun gleams against the busy horizon of the city heights. Thousands bustle between the individual goal of now. Gathering thoughts of conversation to the sinking whims of the mind. Flowing with the concrete streams and broken seams.

So many, yet so distant; a world pressed tightly in a plexus of man. Creating a pliant mind as flesh is the desire. Looking for that nepenthe escape; dull the sense of agony. Placing hearts on material and material on spirit.

A wafting stench of empty souls walk with jaws hung open. Exhaling with vaped response of its temple. Longing for the existential of more than late night smiles and tasteful drinks. But competition of the vain; grips with an ingenious web in the city lights and crowded streets.

Perplexing the eyes with the mesmerizing style of wealth. Capturing the young in the excitement of halogen strands of reds and pinks. Caressing the naive skin of youth in temptation of lust.

All things of man flood with irreverent need to…