entropicsuicide

God is above me, and I smile, at a cloud made from my own smoke.

ele phant lum bers down  the    slope. arrows fly, and ele phant lum bers down  the    slope. and arrows fly.

carried paths to Sunday Mass sinners sent to self-salvation bickered lies and stench-wrought inks. back on trail, trials on sale pamphlets coat court-step cigarettes scent soaked to earth. tar-stuck heels trail their filth sweat washes sins forgot forget the trodden. blood-brained bile spits the street faces open to non-truth soapbox scores for the masses. ignorance falls enlightenment faint come home, canonized.

pencil in hand, palm is black. there are words, they whisper, behind my back. mind calls out. tip's broken. fuck this. sharpen.

I saw a man without home. I saw a man all alone. I asked of him if life was dim "no," said he, his words to me: "a life alone, is a life my own."

A creature lost in listless hope, turns the pain to downward slope. Numbed in loss of all that's gained, casts down thoughts as all the same. A man defined by morals broke strove to shine but never spoke. Lost in he his need to be gun in hand, he fails to stand. A god made by thoughtless wills, fraught with all his self-made ills, made a world to call his own, fought to make the stars that shone. Then the Void, the cause of all, knows not that it the one at fault. Endless stir of dwindling force, begins again, this dreaded course.

We all are in the end nothing but the emptied shells of our former truths; for when the toll of death's bell rings in our once but never more virgin ears, forever raped in the grim clocktower of the tick-tock life-locked shambles of our perceived reality, our self-centered altruistic ego realizes its frugal generosity, and in this moment hopes that its ever-doubtful universe was in fact truer than its own false perception of self-evident existence, per cogito ergo sum.

Alright. You and your buddy, your partner-in-crime, as you will, have had some times. You both deem yourselves the king of all that is stoned. Nothing's been hallucinated that you haven't. No one's been closer to death than you have. No one's encounted more spirits, deities, phantoms, or shadows as you have. So you and your co-partner feel as if you have reached the end of your self-developmental strand. Suddenly! A flash of light! An inspiration to end all inspiration, and yet one to bring on fathomless more! You realize that there's no fun to being a Drug God without having worshippers, followers, sinners, grovelers, and the like. So just

They said the child was happy, knew not a drop of pain, the proud embodiment of a perfect suburban life. Everyone said how great he was, such a beautiful soul. The poster-child boy of joy, youth of the American Dream. He liked to splash and play, in the rain, and felt no guilt, when in his frenzy, underfoot he\'d stomp a worm. As he grew, he continued trampling worms. He\'d wonder if they knew woe or pain. But if it were okay to feel no guilt, was there any worth to life? And it came to him, came like a dream: There is no worth to life if the life is without Soul. He sat in his room, questioning the meaning of Soul, in his room,

They call me the Baltimore Griller, \'cause I cook the corpse with the filler. I like them with salt, along with some malt. A tasteful, and civilized killer.