It has been a while
I try to be consistent it just doesn’t work out that way, however, I am working on it.
Any who, this is from a character that I have been working with. I’m not completely sure of how I feel about it yet but..here it goes:
He stands on edge
with smoke excavating from his being.
He leans
into the lens of his very essence,
giving him the ability to see blindly through himself.
His heart explodes through his empty chest,
contradicting who he assembled himself to be.
As blood spews from the vacant cavity
it becomes translucent; clearly,
his mind is clear.
His knowledge bleeds unto the floor beneath him.
Seeping through the soles of his feet,
he marches to his error.
Hating his very being, despising
his manhood
fearing for
the hurt that he caused in slumber.
Blood stains
erase themselves. He stands on the edge
living in the end,
dying in his beginning,
sizzling in the heat of his torture.
His body, his soul,
it sinks
as he rises.
Standing on the end
of his life, he waits
eons.
As an ion, he gleams. Crying out in hate
in spite of no voice,
he makes a way.
Creating a pitch less sound,
he cries until his lungs deflate;
collapsing
unto himself, squeezing out his reality
his soul seeps through his rectum.
It expunges itself from his core. Clearly,
naked in blatant pain
his grip of realism is lost
with his disguise.
It is buried with his past
and embellished in his future.
Exposed in the present, and confused through
his time, he waits
in jaded shades,
forgetful of the hand he composed.
Rhythmically
he rocks, slipping out of his skin.
Falling limp, his muscles deflate in the
garden, he has no shame.
jericmasters 