Ever wondered what a poet does when he disregards all sense of convetional poetry? Wonder no more. :'(
Inner Dystopia
It's not the nuclear blast from sweet Satan,
It's not the machine guns' burst of Hell,
It's not the unending sickening starvation,
It's not the foul yellow mustard gas,
It's not the explosive presents from Heaven,
These petty things matter not.
The World's in shambles again,
Pools of mud, pus and blood.
Just a lone survivor in the horizon,
His life sweeps before his eyes.
Goddamn it, it's me whom I fear.
I know I made it difficult for all,
But sometimes I can only cry and crawl.
To grasp at a sliver of kind human treatment,
A link to life amidst the bowels of disappointment.
I dance with my melancholy,
Where's the knife to cut me free?
A never-ending cycle of joy and hurt,
With the Devilâs daughter I flirt.
I'm sorry but the Elders' have an iron grip on me,
I'd suffocate 'fore I manage to flee.
I've made it hard for you,
But my life you have no clue.
Perhaps it's time to let go,
It just upsets you I know.
My mind a dry desolate land,
Where none will grow and none will tend.
It's a bomb-cratered road,
The grounds slippery it erodes.
I just want to GFTO,
But itâs no use for the blood to flow.
I'll give anything you say,
Just to escape for one bloody day.
I'm sorry for being an over-clinging bastard,
My heart's just flattened and flustered.
It's a brutal war in my brain,
Too complex to mention and explain.
Bitter January took him away,
My other real friend's encased in clay.
Shook me hard and slow,
Dealt me a shattering blow.
A Dystopia that won't end,
Those monsters I have to fend.
Screw those Gothic works of mine,
Nothing but depressed thoughts entwined.
No good comes of them all,
Just more anguish for us all.
Fuck this love feeling of mine,
All it does is to rub more brine.
I'd crush that vain crush,
Cause it makes you cringe and blush.
This irrational silly envy,
The clinging feeling of jealousy.
I never fail to try and make others happy,
But it seems I am the chief malady.
Lock me into a stony sepulcher,
And leave the mangy furred cur.
I'm sorry I'm acting like a jerk,
But I hate the jeers and smirks.
Fifteen years of pure hard work,
Fifteen years of working like a clerk.
Those tottering stacks crash like hailstones,
Onto my bleached skull and bones.
Only my works offer salvation,
Which I take without hesitation.
A plunge into the devouring fire,
Before my Universe expires.
Those controlling pairs of hands,
Steer me from making amends.
Surviving is hard without this spell,
Drown me in the deep blue well.
People I've known for long,
Would slay me for a song.
It's a dark Dystopia in me,
And I'm sure the Ghosts will agree.
When all my dreams come to halt,
I've already lain on the asphalt.
I'll just drift into eternal sleep,
What's more in my life to keep?
Chainsaws of death and despair,
Surround me in It's Lair.
Sorry for being an idiot ass,
To take my shit and swallow my sass.
Feed this life to the ghouls,
I'm the Chief of the Nazgul.
What's the use of living if you ain't free?
Dystopia soaked deep in me.
Now that even you're gone,
The empty black robes I will don.
I really don't have any real Comrade,
One who does not put up a façade.
Fifteen years of this unless fear,
And I only allow myself a single tear.
A ghetto of mistrust and hate,
Perhaps it's just my unlucky fate.
I write a rush of blackened feelings,
Oh God just stop my killing.
I know you feel sick reading my writings,
Just who do I think I'm I kidding?
I'm really really sorry for this Goddamn depression,
What it did to you, the repercussions.
A straightjacket's feels so much better,
And now I write my final senseless letter.
