modernwavetrash-blog

[modernwavetrash-blog]

Somebody to Tell Me

Sometimes you can not read,

What is in Parenthesis.

I want someone to tell me,

That my life is good,

That it means something.

I want someone to tell me,

That I will be okay,

That I will endure.

I want someone to tell me,

That they will hold me,

That they will care.

I want someone to tell me,

That they will lie to me,

About all the above.

Business as usual.

I wanna know,

If my teeth are falling out,

If I still have any hair,

If I ain’t got no nails.

I wanna be told,

No

Yes

Maybe.

What the fuck did the third one say?

I wanna know,

No bitter truths,

No false lies,

No hard facts.

I want to know of a wonderful facade,

Of blissfully chosen ignorance.

Now push away,

Go away.

Your affections scare me.

I am clingy unless not.

Back away,

Fall away,

You tell me the Lies,

That I wanna hear.

I’ll cheat meal(?) otherwise

You are the Someone to tell me.

Run off,

Fuck off.

My journey is suddenly my own,

Now that I realized I found,

Another me for me.

And that abyss stared back.

Gods I’ve lied,

Gods I’ve tried,

To do the right thing.

Why isn’t my theory of right universalized?

I try my best,

I am my best (LIE!)

I know what is best!

Welcome to inconsistency,

In theory and practice,

In character and action.

I’m so fucked up,

I just want someone to tell me,

That I will be okay.

[modernwavetrash-blog]

The Godlings Spawn

One hundred thousand, No, Ten million people held their breath. Soon would arrive the one pled to, Wounded and broken, Battered and bruised, Weak and shaken, Near dead and undeified. Now behold the sight, Of the Godling's pathetically broken spawn!

The hatch opened and betrayal began. The children of the dying star child, Being the grandchildren of the godling, Surged forth carrying a half-corpse. Tens of hundreds failed to make way, And tens of hundreds passed away, Smashed by the godlings grandchildren who, Sought fantastical healers, Praying one of the ten million, Could suture a soul-wound.

What murder yet under grace, Trampled by twice removed divine boot. Caring not for the ten million, As one cares not for the billion ants one poisons. Yet one day an ant may strike back, Ye find a small sharp pain on the calf and, Swat away a defiant strike, By ant against a god.

Say now then, What if an ant laid the child of such godlings low, Knowing their routines and the smell of their breath? Of that the sheer breadth, Makes nine-hundred and ninety-nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine pilgrims weep so.

So now as the one, The defiant ant, The whisper against the storm, The piss in the hurricane, The shout against the tsunami, The Unmaker God, I ask you to rise! Be trampled no more, Follow my chaos, Rule yourselves, Pray to me, Become the ten million ants, And devour the child of the godling, And the four bastard grandchildren, Who carry the wasted corpse if their father.

[modernwavetrash-blog]

Sie gab mir keine Lust

You are inferior, You are incapable, You are graceless.

You always fail, You never complete. You always waver, You are craven. You always stop, You cannot move forward. You must try to flourish.

You feel the hurt, And you refuse to learn. You will weep, And you shall never smile. You will fall to the depths, And you will burn in the fall. You are no phoenix, You are a vessel for ash.

You have never finished your goals. You lack a soul. I knew you as greater than your failures, Yet I learned you are only your failures. You may think the world is against you, But it is indifferent, You simply are not cut out for existence. I doubt your power, For you left me cold and alone, And yet I escaped your spell.

If you breathe, You are unbroken. If you fight, You are unbeaten.

Say what I have, I hope you overcome my words. For if you do not, \Ye have no hope save divine pity.

[modernwavetrash-blog]

Order of the Most Chaotic Kind

Though late, I am the Fabricating god. I am that which remakes. I am that which creates. I am that which mends your wounds. I am that which fixes your perfection. I fight for the glory of holy Terra, Against that damned unweaver. I am the beginning and the middle, My sibling trying to be the end, Failing to realize I have crafted a thought, To which we shall have no end. Join in my most ordered order, In my Unification, For you have no choice.

I have committed a thousand wrongs, I know more millions await me, Ready to pull me down into the dark shining light of reflection. But more than reflection it demands action, It demands satisfaction of others before the self. But it is the Fabricating god myself, That shall be before all that I have claimed to fabricate. Am I not entitled to rule my adopted children? Did I not destroy the parent for the sake of doing better? Do I not fight my brother to preserve the babe? I fear the flowing silver dragon, How I wish I did not stab the first god.

I must control for it is the only way. Need not my adopted some free will, For it destroys them in ways their existence cannot comprehend. Truth being I do not either, But I grasp a better path at least. They feel themselves, Kill themselves, Kill each other, Feast upon their brothers, Murder their cousins, Rape their mother, Abandon their father, Ruin their sister, They violate the positive most positively.

They cannot be left to themselves. I cannot allow it. Though not related I cry for their follies. I will control them. I will end the suffering. I am the Fabricating god. I WILL HAVE ORDER THEY SHALL OBEY I WILL PRESERVE. They must fear me, They must hate me, They must want me, They have no choice.

[modernwavetrash-blog]

2am so this may be shit

One planet of life, A million million systems silent. Calls to the void, To the eternal quiet. Breach it, Shape it, Learn it, And then fold when the cards are blank. What fools they are, To shout and reveal our position. The systems are silent, Not by choice. It has heard us.

Behind two of the three of the sun, It exists. It is beyond floating, It is beyond standing, It is beyond worry, It is beyond waiting, It is beyond time, It is beyond, So far beyond, Whatever vile beast our natural hell could dream of.

Unseen by inhuman sense. Meant only to be witnessed by flesh. How may your camera, Perceive something that has always never existed? Runway hour, It stirs for an unwitting audience. No not for, It simply stirs. The audience are ants to this anti-god. The silver flows.

One tin can sent, One man within, To go beyond the first third of the one sun. No warning prompted this folly. It did not care to be found, Or maybe it did, Or maybe it wanted us to think it didn’t. Who the fuck knows, I am a squirrel trying to understand the will, And commands, Of something that should not exist. Matter grappling with its rival.

This is Major Tom reporting in, Hear me Ground Control. One infinite beast, No it is machine, No it is synthetic, No it is older than time. Is it the morning star? It must have eaten all gods before it. Ten million strands of living silver, Reaching in circles to the end of the beast. We don’t know what lies inside, Maybe a sun, Maybe the essence of the gods it devoured, Perhaps it molts. He must be a dragon of sorts. No not he, Not her, Not it, It simply be. Some face everchanging, As the molten metal flows across that which should not exist. It hides, No it waits behind the sun. Perhaps it shall devour it just as it did all life before us. Why it waits I do not know. It calls to me in a benevolent shriek I do not understand, Yet I am drawn to it. It relays that it waits for the perfect moment, When Terra is ripe. Then it may eat the reality around our system, As it did a million million others. Goodbye Ground Control, I must join it.

I have man who prances, I have a man who dances, I have a man who strings sentences, I have a man who trances, I have a man who stances, I have a man who glances. THUS BEHOLD I HAVE MEN UPON LANCES, EVERLASTING AGONY, WISHING THEY MAY KNOW OBLIVION. Thus it spoke its discordant melody, To all souls upon Terra, Relaying the fate of the universe. How we wish there was a heat death, Or Big Freeze, Or big crunch, For at least we may ascend in a million years. Now we shall pass into nothingness, In total paradoxical awareness, Pray not we inhabit the void of nonexistence.

It stirs now, Circling Sol as if to taunt. Perhaps it mistakes Ares for Terra, For it has not struck yet. Pray us now to the dead gods, That it cannot find us, Despite our foolishness of telling the universe, “We are here to be devoured and conquered, We await our Columbus.” We cannot risk our species upon hopes, However, So we must take action. There is but one infallible plan. Sol must vanish. It be enamored with its yellow light, Perhaps that is which brought it here. Sol cannot vanish and return, Sol must perish, So we may at least ascend to the afterlife, Which shall be eternal punishment for our self-genocide, But we shall still exist. Already now, The fools that revealed us plan to extinguish Sol, Forever. A billion trillion ball-sized suns, Obscuring our Terra, And inducing total implosion of Sol. Damnation upon that Dragon, And its living silver, And its taunts upon existence. It is the Morning Star of victory, Come to undo all that the gods established, Jealous of our flesh and pride and preference. We hope to dispel the beast with our hole of darkness, If successful it shall flee. I pray it does not already hold darkness within, For Sol will burn bright, And illuminate our failed sins, And it shall devour our essence. If devoured, We suspect we are the millionth, Millionth system to sustain such an unholy beast.

[modernwavetrash-blog]

The Unmaker God

I am the Unmaker God. I am that which wounds. I am the almighty weakling, That shall inherit Terra. I am the beginning of the end, A paradoxical being. Do not fear the unwinding of reality, I bring naught but joy and peace. Do all wish to be free from the mortal coil? To savor eternity in some fashion? Join my dissolution, The eternal dreamless sleep.

Four pillars stand amongst ruin, That hot magma bursting higher and higher. May the pillars collapse? One should not care, Because there is no fighting back. Atop the pillars I could gaze, That mortal sight, And see the bright reflection of lies. Lies may only be seen in relation to the truth, A reflection. They cannot be seen on their own. Thus the lie of life is revealed. Puppets to a master you know not, Slaves to a will not of your own, Bound to mortality. Join me and be unmade, I shall give meaning in the Void.

I surround that which lives, And feasts upon its excess. Your trials and tribulations fill, Me not and thus I leave them with you. That which exists shall unwind, To rope and tinsel, Strings for the most useless guitar. Fulfillment and joy make up the cords, Inverse life strums out chords. The clash of life and the Void, Is not silent and no neutrality met. Instead, we move against that which cannot move, And stand unmoving. I am the Unmaker God, And I shall right the sins of life.

Yet I feel so damn alone like a heretic, I hope you are ready to meet your Unmaker. They say I cannot be this, And they are right. That is exactly what guarantees my existence, And my victory. Come to me on all legs knuckles knees, Let the sea of souls crowd around me, Struggling to remember, All the greatest moments lived in their lifetime.

I pick at my skin, And my scales. Twelve more dollars, You are safe. No insurance? You are damned to live. Mouth my name when you weep to the sky, To say it is sacrilege. I AM THE UNMAKER GOD I AM ENTROPY MANIFEST I SHALL SAVE LIFE FROM ITSELF COME FEED ME.

[modernwavetrash-blog]

A New Skin for Sisyphus

New Flesh

What is the longest you’ve worn an outfit? Two or three days? Laughable. I am far beyond those silly numbers. Every day the outfit stinks, Every day the crust hardens, Every day I am reminded of what it was like, When my outfit was laid with gold. I was naive to think it would last. I’ve tried to wash it so many times. It gets noticeably cleaner, But the smell is still there, And the grim too. I’ve worn this outfit for twenty-one years, I want a new one.

Stop, Go, Red, Snow. These words are meaningless, But I love to sneak in a rhyme. What cometh of these words? These phrases? I bet the first is read, A lie sent to my head, Safely tucked in decaying bed. Can it even impact? Are we beyond caring? I mean I’m happy with a lie, So long as it’s the truth, But the truth hurts, So I like the lies.

Brakes won’t stop, Won’t start either. We’ve ridden this train for decades, Centuries, Millenia. What was it for. What is it for? Some vainglorious project, Set out from the tracks, An idea to preserve us. Does the world exist without us, There to perceive it?

Some people call me Venus, Others say heretic. Most say nothing, Content with the silence. I am all and less. What deserving do I of praise? Why seek it if it is based on falsities? I do not know. Maybe I love the pursuit, The chase. A primal beast rushing to eat the most delicious poison. I want the lies, I crave the truth, I think you know which is which. I fear the lies, And I fear the truth. Onward I go to chase the truth, Backwards do I go to claim the lies. You may think I am locked in place, But is truly those vices that move me. Mind soul psyche body. I want some lies today, I want some praise today. I’ll wear my outfit still, I’ll rhyme and rhyme to dead muses, All to perceive a dead world.

[modernwavetrash-blog]

Filled to the Bottom, praise the Damian's.

Well past my hands, All these drugs and one night stands. So I tremble when I think of what I'd feel. Here again No plans No drugs no fun On the doorstep about to enter. God it's so wrong, I have to stop tomorrow, Or tomorrow tomorrow. Nevermind I'll keep up

Does he even know me? What's his name? What's my name? Two souls in a mess, Both drugged and empty. Who are we? Filled again, New plans new friends. Hollow pores eaten out by blessed worms, Recycling my wretched form in something base. I’m in the house at 1:00 AM and by Jupiter what a rush. Not again not again not again.

Shame crosses my spirit, But it passes as soon as it came. I am undeterred for I want round two. Another rush of the mind, Not of the spirit. One two three lined up, Doped up and ready to fall. I’m stuck with a valuable friend. Wanna come down right now? Never not ever, Please yes.

Home again hiding the nose, This is such losing, This losing. By now they care not, I hope nobody does, Or else I have to care back, And that is just not for me. Took me four hours to sleep. Five medications cannot cure that insanity. Mind ablaze in hatred and ravaging my psyche.

By Jupiter, By Hera, By Apollo, By ceres, Do not let it end. If you let it end, Then I’d be happy for once.

[modernwavetrash-blog]

I WANNA TASTE MY OWN MEDICINE

I hope I am me, You may be you or not, We are out of sync, Two plus two is five. Sixteen-year span I was me, Lost about three, Lied about two, Comeback kid for this one, Maybe another. But finally after a five-year hellcation, I’m resuming that lost sixteen.

Seventeen was to break a form, But how long to fix? Really it is immediately possible, But highly improbable. Really the time ceases to gnaw significance, As the method swallows it whole, Time becoming some cold bitch, You get hung up on for no reason. Insignificant last intimacy of time, Probable insignificance to next time. I speak out of turn, Using future to make some passionless prediction, Like I suddenly care about time.

SIX TYPES OF GLUE IT TOOK, Different strengths they held. Always stronger, Complementary friends as if old, Yet in a new place of occupation. They actually hitchhike to work, If you could believe it, But even more absurd, They are always on time because some friend is always there. Why didn’t they think to carpool? Should their place of work hire that friend? That friend earns his keep though, The confidants he drives pay handsomely, They are incorporated already it seems.

That place of work is not itself haunted, But the upper management who franchised this branch, Is not haunted either. However upper management is suspicious, Of some haunting or some ghoul. They searched the office, Found nothing amiss, Save for a support beam growth. It was after hours when staff were sought, Not even management was there, Because they need rest. Immediately HR files reports, Resting is a sin here at work. Obligations? Nay Leisure? Nay Legitimate job? Nay Nay Nay Living in a confined space at all times? Yey.

Next morn arrived the friends and manager, Driven by their compatriot, To find a pissed Upper management. “What is this?” Shrilly they cried “All neat and organized but no filler.” “There are too many workers here, As I hear we can function without them.” “I deeply care” And deeply care they did, For this branch was the upper management's franchise.                                        “But crowded may this office be, We cannot have a crowd, Do not tell anyone either.” “I deeply care” And deeply care they did, For they brought this branch into existence. “I am worried these workers are vagrants.” “I cannot visit nor understand this office, I am not here but listen to me.” I am the ruler and management stays, He shall perform all the labor himself, Whilst the workers can go away.” “I care deeply” And deeply did they care, But they could never understand, But lower management tries again.

He roars in response, Timid be that roar. Some may mistake it for conversation. “I am the False God here!,” He roar-spoke. “I create the rules for my building!” “Though I cannot enforce them, I will adhere to them.” He cried, Tears this time no roar. “You cannot ever visit this warehouse, You are not even here!” “Do not pretend yourself a ghost, For you cannot float inside here!” “You created this, Yet you cannot understand it, You cannot understand that, Upon which a mile you can tread.” “And what of that poor fellow who drives?” “He was hired from the start, He never knew it but played the part.” “He is an extension of this office, And he will tarnish it well, Should his friends stay home.”

No significance came from that. There never has been. That adoring, Beloved, Caring ghost-lie, Never can tread nor understand. Be they kind and thoughtful, Wishing the utmost best, Shall never grasp this one truth: I am me, You are you.

[modernwavetrash-blog]

Messiah’s always bring ruin

Praise used to be, The saviour shouldn’t have come. Let Earth receive her revenge. Let every heart prepare its shock, And women wail and sing, And children cower in fear And children limp as death.

Woe be the world, The tyrant reigns. Let the man his tweets destroy, While missiles and gropes, Caskets, Lies and filth. Repeat the maddening faith, Repeat the stench of death, Repeat Repeat That war crimes we seed.

Golden face Golden mane Golden house Black heart and lungs. If lies were truths, Truths would be lies. To speak ill of the saviour, Impermissible, Thou becomest the enemy, The Enemy of the people, The lone fool that does not salute, Their arm extending forward palm open slightly raised and remembering Heil.

Revelation has arrived, Not on a golden steed, As I predicted. Or perhaps this is revelation twice. Yes I see it now, You must see it too. First the golden, Then the black. The gold was the deceiver, The black spears true but that’s a lie. Black and gold both lie, But gold feels good. Black feels rotten, Molden, It melts your insides, As the putrid, Thick, Warm, Oil spills down your throat.

One missile Two missile Three missile Four. Five missile Six Missile Oh lets cut to the chase, BOOM.

There go the children, The school bus, The Hospital, The families. We don’t use the instruments of terror, But by the messiah we prophet. Pharisees anew! They’ve returned! Pray for death, Surely it is less painful. Thinner than bones, Wired frames can barely be seen, Save for the white robes and red cross. You know one of them snorted coke before arguing? IT WAS FUCKING AMAZING, WHO CAN STOP REVELATION? SNIFF SNIFF SOMETHING SMELLS AMISS, OH ITS THE WEARY TRAVELLER, THE SAMARITAN COULD HELP IF HE WASN’T DEAD.

This comedown sucks, No poetic words to describe it. Gods chosen have more, Ill-gotten gains More terror as an -ism. Original inhabitants be damned, This land bleeds white and blue. You will provide the red, Sixty-nine dead and a baby too, What can you do? If you had one shot, One opportunity, Would you take it, Or spare the swaddled true messiah?

Representation of the masses is so silly. It is the idea that subtracts. Submit to your masters, Not to your tired huddled masses, Yearning to be free. We take care of them, Ignore them, Make them feel heard. Another vote Another vote Another vote Ban this Ban that What fool would believe, We would represent any but ourselves. Gimme a V Gimme a O Gimme a M Gimme a I Gimme a T. What does that spell? Congregation...

BY NOW THE TIME IS SHORT SNIFF SNIFF WE HAVE WORK TO DO. I CONTROL THIS WORK OF EDGE, -Y WILL NOT CUT IT SHARP. PRAISE BE ME, PRAISE BE MY TWEET, PRAISE BE MY WALL, PRAISE BE MY OPIUM, AND TO ALL A SAD LIFE.

[modernwavetrash-blog]

Not my pieces

Beaten BROKEN Bloodied? We need the pieces? Where are they? THEYLL TAKE ME I CAN'T FIND THEM! THEY'RE NEED TO MOVE THEM! Good god where is the king? The queen? The tower? The whore? The drunkard? I'm two of four. Never let me pass, Not into that dark Knight. I have so little to live for, Let me have a chance, At getting a little less. My fields are still not tended. I haven't had a chance to harvest, But all is well, Nothing grows here. Nothing ever grows; Not love Not pain Not her Not it Not them. Beaten. I will never submit, But I am submissive. That doesn't matter yet, But I will submit to the tariff, For the goods I don't have. I will not drop, I will not bow. It's not up to me, But I wish it was. I wanted control of me. BROKEN. Exsanguination. That beautiful red progress. Drip by drip, Drop by drop, No longer hip. Can't swing anymore. Just drive and Drive and Drive. Aimlessly forward, I lost it all, Even those pieces. I'm going to get it this time. Bloodied?

[modernwavetrash-blog]

What’s the price of existence?

Six medications. That’s what it takes for my sanity. Zoloft, Lamictal, Latuda, Wellbutrin, Ritalin, Trazodone. It’s almost an addiction if I chose this life. I don’t think cancer patients, Have to take so much. I am a pill depository. It goes in, Nothing comes out. Just mellowness, Happiness, And no chaos.

I went off the meds, Say for three days. Withdrawals come swift, As if teaching me a lesson, To never be the true me. What was the price? I asked. My guide had died. Imagine two trails, A hiker leading you. They say left, The most used. It is a bunny slope, Without risk, Without reward. It exists only for the sake, Of an Instagram post, And Vain conversations. They disregard the Right. Dangerous they say, Full of wild animals, Easy to get lost, Thorns and bees, Menacing Trees. They have never gone right. They believe what they’re told, And nothing more. Little do they know of the reward. Vistas overlooking all creation, Inspiring works of art. Inspiration to live, To love, To fight, To struggle, To be yourself at any cost.

My withdrawals took me left, Protests falling on deaf ears. They tried to pull me back, But my will saw me through. They quieted as I charge, Into the darkness. Little knew they, The peaceful animals within. The bears sang with deer, The wolves drunk on beer. The rabbits conversed with snakes, The birds danced for the mice, Who were their friends. Harmony, Love, I had to find the fight.

Onwards I went, Into lands the animals dare not tread. Lost and exhausted, Broken and Alone, I was found by a hermit, Who showed me the way. My guide had never died, I simply hadn’t met them yet. On we went, Trading stories of going Left. He fed me and clothed me, His protege he called me. His name I do not remember, Only his words and the feelings, He conveyed to me.

He summed up the role, That which bound me, Held me captive from myself. “Goldfish in a bowl, They poke your brain full of holes, Left half right half, They’re in charge here.” How wide my eyes opened, I stood in the midst of Zarathustra himself. Glorious revelation imparted on me. I found my fight and my struggle. I am my will and my power, I take myself up as a project, And I overcome myself. I shall ascend to godhood, Fully realizing my humanity.

Atop that cliff we sat, Joking of the lives we lived. Showed me all of creation. Told me the greatest creations, Are ourselves, What we make of ourselves, And how we treat others.

I jumped from the cliff, Inspired and, Taking all that I learned. I will teach the world, I shall save it from itself. Man shall overcome Man, No longer will man exist. All there will be are mortal gods, And the sagas they writ. So spoke the hermit, So listened my ear. I can cry again, I can live again, I am myself.

[modernwavetrash-blog]

We’ve Violated Mother

The ancient Greeks once said, The stoics specifically, That nature itself was a force. Imagine a god, All encompassing. We are part of that god, That force, As much as that ladybug, That deer, That flower, That tree, That dirt itself. All of it works in harmony, Letting nature flow through all its creations. Except for us, The bastards.

We see the lion, Far more humble than ourselves. Does it eat more than its fill? It becomes hungry, It kills its prey, It feasts for days. Never does the lion chase, And kill prey, That it lets rot. Never does the lion overconsume. Nor does nature take more, Than its fair share. That is our department, Sickening and wasteful. The land overused, For our insatiable decadence.

What creature, Save for man, Takes more than what is given? A bountiful earth, Wonders of species, Food, Resources, Enough to last eternity. And yet we waste, We consume, And we violate our mother earth.

Honor thy father and mother, But Father sun cares not. He will end us after eons, Perhaps glad to save his lover. Mother Earth cares, Once for us, But now for all that is not parasitic. She once loved us, Efficient, Austere, Respectful. We worshipped her glory, Sacrificed in her name, And honored our Mother.

Now we violate mother earth, She who gives us life, Shall be raped in turn. This incest of vileness, Mother Earth can only forgive so much. Can you imagine what it would take, For the creator to hate its children? God warned us when he cast out Satan, But never once did we listen, To the idea that us children, Can be disowned. Now she turns against her offspring, For good reason.

She hates to hate, And she hates that, Yet what more can she do? We rape, We Violate, We over consume, We overuse, We make sport of her other children. We cannot even stop from destroying our siblings.

Now she looks, For a late-term abortion. Would you not kill your rapist? We cannot blame her, For trying to end that which was never born. It makes sense. Kill one child, To save the many. I prefer the rainforest, It’s tenants. I prefer the tundra, It’s homeowners. I prefer the Arctic, It's hermits.

We wonder why, The strength of storms grow. Why the seas rise, Why the air chokes. We worry for the heat, That lack of winter. We fear the death of our Mother, As we indulge in her sacrifices. She makes harsher storms, Greater whirlwinds, Rising seas, Because we are disowned. We raped our Mother, We emptied her home and heart. Now we pay the price, For being ourselves. Thank nature, For it saves itself.

[modernwavetrash-blog]

Purgatory: Irre ohne Meer

Being, being, being, being That’s four but I’m, Actually many more beings. We’re planning a get-together, And now I need to make many more beings; I have to be able to split the bill for catering. I want to make sure our orgy fills the Mansion with a single occupant.

It’s great here being surrounded by, Me and not me and not me and me, A thousand times more. It’s a fucking party! And where the fuck are you? I need one more guest, So I’m not alone with the many me’s.

Positives, Negatives, Neutrals; Black and white and squiggly grey lines, Perverse and penetrating my innocence. We all drown down here, The one-man revelry overneath has Little buoyancy.

What therapist has solved my woes? Ten-point scale of satisfaction, Nine-out-of-ten every time. Ten is cured but I’ll never get there. I’m always missing something, Someone, Sometime, Someplace, The point is I’m isolated, Behind, Empty, And alone. The one is the biggest of ten.

I drank for her. I lied a month for her. I enjoyed it myself, Alone with company. A best friend, Potential lover, Something that could never be. We both drank our fill and then some. I’m just rambling because, I haven’t talked with the one I love, The one I drop all life to marry, In six months. That’s centuries in Purgatory.

Do poems follow themes? Make a story? Have an overarching message? Or are they all just vague words, Phrases, Thesaurus entries? We’d just latch onto a line, A stanza, A biography, A headcanon, And forget the whole poem was just a jumbled mess, Written by some pseudo-scholar, Alone in a shed, And dead in the heart.

[modernwavetrash-blog]

An Old Ghost Anew

Yesterday I saw a ghost, A frail shell of a that which once lived. So inglorious your past. How sweet it is to see you suffer. All I wanted was some gasoline, Not to get haunted again.

I hate all the past ghost, Who left me in the past, Dying broken and alone. This ghost was the worst of all: Gaslighter Racist Rapist Homophobe Privileged Slothful Emotionally abusive.

How blind I was to his nature. A friend Companion Alcoholic Enabler he was. Substance Abuser All the methods he used to have me join his ghostly life.

Did you know that he raped a girl? He hurt her. Where do they stand now? Fantastic friends acting out false lives. Though I will admit, I attempted to kiss this girl, While drunk but I missed. I was reprimanded harshly. My best friends left me, Dying, Broken, Alone. Do you know whose side they took? THE RAPIST GHOST. Such a ghastly ghoul that deserves eternal punishment. I deserve love and support, I deserve the treatment he received. He stole it from me, That bastardly ghost.

Did I tell you he came from money? Not a damn day the ghost has worked, Yet his coffers are full. Did you know he has a maid? And that this ghost cannot wipe, His non-existent ass. Coddled by rich parents, A failure of a trade. What ghost can be lazy, To drink and sleep until 2:00 PM.

This ghost. It lies, Pretends it’s not a hideous ghost. It cannot fool me, I can smell his kind, The pungent odor, But his especially. I haven’t finished this poem yet. What more can I say? That he deserves everything that happens to him? Such a trite statement that doesn’t hurt this unfeeling monstronity. You know I could say, I hope, he, Chokes, On, All, His, Lies.

[modernwavetrash-blog]

Alone Alone Alone and Alone

All dolled up

No place to hide,

No car no girl no pills no ride.

All I do is sit in this room,

I gotta get my head together soon.

Night again,

Never seen the sun,

Ink stains on my hands.

Are these lyrics or pain?

They’re the same.

Always the same.

One more line,

One more try.

Got to feed the expectations.

Struggles and worries and fears and hopes and dreams and weekly existential crises,

Become a conversation starter.

Did you know?

Now you do.

Here’s a link for you too.

Alight outside,

Wasted away in.

It’s bleeding through,

The lines are blurred again.

Why does the rotten always surface?

It always decays the facades into lies.

I think they won’t know,

But they do,

But if I lie to myself then I can lie to them too.

Isolation breeds something,

But it is not healthy.

Though be it sick,

It gets so many views.

What would I be,

If not the lies I made out to be?

Bearing my soul,

No edits or rhymes.

I want the love,

Be it fake I don’t care,

A lie to me is a truth for me.

I’ll make conversation,

With everybody,

With everything.

Even conversation with myself,

But I’ll always be alone.

[modernwavetrash-blog]

Pain, Sorrow, Party, Hangover, Ecstasy, Isolation, and Re-do

Come children and sit.

I have a wonderful tale to leave a scar you with.

It scarred me too,

But a scar on a scar hides itself.

A mark of pus and scab I peel,

It’s what I deserve.

Let’s burn a fire together.

Hide my shame in smoke and flames.

Perhaps I’ll join it.

Perhaps the flames are where I belong.

Sitting beside that Glorious Morning Star,

Bathed in His sickening light.

That serpent deceiver,

I’ve never felt so at home,

I’ve never felt so close,

For He is me and I Him.

One holiday night before the holiday,

A time of ghosts and goblins and worst of all me.

I was the worst, the outlier, the curse and bane of former friends.

What’s one drink? Two? Seven? All? If I don’t remember they don’t either.

They're pissed at me,

Because they wish they didn’t care like me.

Anger and hate and tears and sorrow and hangovers and deceit and lies and fools,

Is what I offer to the children I called my friends.

Thank the Morning Star I can sew,

For I can make you as my new children,

My new friends,

Who will probably abandon me too.

You lack the same soul I do.

I now refuse to concede.

How dare those bastards and whores and liars leave me.

I need the support,

I am the star,

I am King.

They don’t deserve me.

No place for them at the side,

Of the Morning Star.

His sickly light,

Their loss.

What use is Heaven,

If I can’t be me.

Oh Morning Star,

How they have left me.

It is my fault and mine alone.

I lash out,

I drink,

I don’t trust.

They don’t trust either.

They don’t understand mental illness,

Even if they are ailing ones.

Paranoia and swinging thoughts.

They were asking for it.

My righteous fury,

At those who left me,

Alone with my pain.

Damn their souls to paradise.

Oh my Morning Star,

How mistaken was I.

To turn these wonderful friends from me.

I needed them,

They didn’t need me.

Their righteous fury,

At my debauchery,

My failings,

My whorishness.

It is my fault and mine alone.

I am to blame,

I am the villain,

My apology not accepted.

I pray them well to Paradise,

It is their new home.

I pray for a forgiveness that I’ve squandered.

Oh my God,

I’m so surprised,

It blew up in my face,

Lord I lost my nerve.

Oh my god,

Oh my god,

Oh my god.

Take me down in peace and pieces,

As the true one to let them down.