The Scent of Darkness

The room fills with laughter and echoes the sound of a thousand lost secrets; twisted by the scent of darkness. Blood coils on the outskirts of an otherwise naked horizon, formerly known as my mind.

I have come to this place seeking solitude. I have found my temple of void. A perfect space, for a perfect nothing; wearing a disguise of emotion. Time shares his winter like wind… A professor of madness. A host to the ageless universe.

I sit at the table of isolation sorting through the treasures of memory; reflecting in my eyes like nostalgia. Timeless yesterday, locked inside forever a changing ghost; voiceless and vague.

Around her neck she wears the key to herself.
Around my neck I wear the key to the universe.

The foundation slips, a bitter tongue lashing the words that feed me my illusion. Walls rise like a million masks; their mockery programs the faces… Faces with voices that cannot see... Slightly through the curtains, dressing the windows. The shades drop.

I have come to this place seeking solitude, an eruption, a violent dream... I shed the skin of a young boy. Her blood is the color of December. Her face like a million crushed eyes. She sings a lullaby to her father, disintegrating. Flesh... a mound like a broken vision... cut and stabbed, raped and abandoned; left to live the dream alone. She sings a lullaby to herself.

Dying flame, I am only broken. Nowhere do I longer spin, to hear the voice again that you once whispered. No longer does it wheel inside my head; for the presence lives even longer to die for myself. Only I kill myself, the charms for one invoked bleed inside.

Inside the life I feel.
Inside the life I feel inside and never whisper for you.

By the sound of some voice... Watch out for the nightmare. Who am I running to? Where am I running from? Where should I begin? Whose imagination am I in? A reality, which staggers more than love and a will stronger. If I could put your eyes to words I would capture your soul. Do the dead grieve the living? Nearer to you, something like a respiring orgasm. Dreams of the living haunted by the dead... Illustrate reality... Closer to your breath... panic like rapture.

Unlike the illusion beyond eyes. Drifting worlds; open embrace; the meaning of memory. That which holds me to you like an unforgiving star. I am liquid in eyes untainted by the spell of perfect dreams. I am darkness in the living... Haunted and shadowed. Someone’s eyes have killed me.

I am a reaching corpse –
Fed the universe and the eyes of a thousand darkened wishes. Someone sings, someone chokes on the innards of time. Someone drifts into times rage and feeds on the anger of humanity. When I feel like fucking time... I kill myself... a little everyday.

Time is a terrible lover; the flavor of pain. When the picture in my head hurts more than the blade in my belly. The gift of agony. I am the knife called hope... Illusion and the world. I am the knife called the hope... Twisted dreams and a dying fantasy. I am illusion.

Fingers rip open the mind, touching eyes; somewhere lost in the world is a piece of frozen time… Brutalized by a dagger called faith. What do I have to do? Voices... pay attention. When I listen I fall asleep.

I scribble endlessly... unending... Who stalks his own life and remembers only the voices? Getting to know the faces, brutalized by a dagger called faith. All you have to do is die...

It sleeps an hour more. I watch it from inside. I draw a face that laughs and hang it from my head... And dream with it... I dream with a dagger called faith. A dream from a frozen flame... Another shaky whisper. Getting to know the faces; the faces that dream inside my head... Somewhere lost in the world… I leave my soul behind.