Man In The Radiator

  Useless Lament  Insomniac fit on a bed of dead insects  Fuzzy, interlocked alien bodies  Smashed and discolored  From the apex of my nightly fall, All curld up bugs resemble  Tear-stained, runny mascara blotches  You left on matted faux-fur  An abused stuffed animal held close to shattering ribs  Once my gift to you Now battered and stitched back up As a pitiful vessel for our radical, sudden division For punishing weeping  For cries out to neglecting mothers, I’ll never be able to forget.  Each fabric a volatile remainder Unnerving events of your frail grip on me  Wilfully waning  And the blackened avalanche of your words In the eternal process of burying my mind In a targeted collapse of my sense of self  And in my resulting frozen, directionless devotion  Undying  And painfully futile. You can never know, You simply wouldn’t allow yourself Anyway. You left me In that black-mold populated flat My corpse ...

  Art by @scorpioblxck Shattering Descent Air raid lullabies Peal through black concrete imprisonment  Bringing forth hanged body bags  Framed in barbed wire Swaying like dancing scarecrows  Above the exhumed husks Of the four pale horses Puddling in rising gray mud  Lumps of gyrating fleshy dreams Flooding inverted hourglass  Pulled in and chased  Naked and wounded Gallows-dangling feet bleeding down Titled, inverted, nonsensical streets of broken scissors And sticky, wet ribbons of used gauze  Unfolds forth the lonely descent Coloreless, pockmarked with suctioned voids Covering the lightless Earth The patterned lies weave in and out Blazing emptiness, Lost in annihilating catacombs  Populated with wingless, defiled angels Putrescent fluids flow down carrion hills  Translucent veiny deities Deliver crackling, rancid kisses Brittle and incinerating  To all flashing open sores  Connecting all of o...

 I can't write like I used to. It is not a case of returning writer's block. It is not a case of the unnecessary cruelty of my perpetually shifting moods. It is not the case of changing medication or a sudden uprooting of my life, yet again. No, it just is. I've used this quote before, but it rings through my head unendingly: "Everything changes and everything dies." And that's that. The cause of my inability to write successfully anymore. The reason behind my lack of inspiration, my lack of creative output, my lack of a will to put my voice out there in any way whatsoever. The following poem is evidence of all of this. It is uninspired, it is sloppy, it is tired. But I feel it all terribly strongly; this perpetual disdain for humanity and all that we've done and all that we will continue to do. It came about through refamiliarizing myself with Unit 731. If you know what that is, then I don't have to say more. And I won't.  I might not keep this si...