And the poetry continues...

Untitled IV

In a world where beauty is coveted
And imperfection spurned,
Those of us with flaws
Are outcasted.
No matter how much effort,
How much strength and energy
Is put into life,
It will always hurt you
In the end of days.
The others are perfect,
With perfect bodies,
Perfect faces,
Perfect personalities,
Perfect in every way
Because they are different from me.
Perhaps that is the definition
Of perfection.
Perhaps it is just a mad
Twist of fate.
And perhaps it matters not,
For naught will come out of it
But pain and hurt,
Suffering,
And drawn blood.
When I look into the mirror
What do I see?
The face of one
Who you rejected
For not being good enough,
Never perfect enough
For your love,
Caring,
And warmth.
When I look into the mirror
Of my soul
What do I see?
A twisted black mass,
Writhing in agony,
Suffocating the grey and white beneath.
The light struggles,
Attempting to break free,
Yet the black overwhelms it.
But it continues to fight on,
Panicked and terrorized,
Losing air
And strength by the minute.
Its throes of agony grown weaker,
Weaker still,
And someday,
Someday soon,
It will cease completely
And let the darkness overcome it.

Untitled V

I am the eye of the storm,
The calm in the midst of chaos,
The last bit of sanity in a world
Where insanity reigns supreme.
Blowing, gusts of air ripping
The very earth apart at its crust,
Never slowing, only moving
Slowly, slowly
Closer and closer to its goal,
Devouring all in its path.
I am the centre of the whirlpool,
The stillness between the foaming waters,
The lone dry land in the swirling,
Terrifying hydrolic monstrosity,
Consuming and killing,
Destroying, annihilating
All that enters its domain,
Its watery maw.
I am the yellow line,
Keeping the giant steel monsters
Speeding in their path,
Never swerving,
Never weaving,
But continuing forever and forever
Down their black trails,
Eye burning with internal fire,
Bright, bright as the sun
Ready to explode in the heavens.
I am the belly of the metal bird,
Soaring swiftly through the sky,
Low rumbling sounding throughout the air
As it makes its steady path to and from,
From and to,
Belly filled with writhing hosts,
Entering, exiting, but always full,
Protected.
I am the solace from hardships,
The sweet nepenthe from pain,
The everlasting drug
That will always keep you high,
Blocking the hurt,
Convincing the mind
That all is right,
All is right.
I am the constant sweetness
In the bitterness around,
The eternality in mortality,
The persistence in succumbing,
The vital in the expendible,
That which is always needed,
Always craved,
But not received until the pain
Swamps you,
Overwhelms you
To the point of no return.
I am eternal,
Omnipotent,
Omniscient,
The last resort in some cases,
The final resort in all cases,
Sweetness tinged with the bitter,
Always present,
Ever searching
For a new soul to save.
I am eternity and beyond,
Death.

Untitled VI

Once upon a dream,
Life gave as much as it received.
Those dead were as they were for reasons,
And illness was never random;
Pain came to the deserving
And relief came to the worthy.
Death, where is thy sting
When it is needed and craved?
It is feared, reviled, and at times
Cursed and warned away.
But to some it spells solace
And escape.
The perfect world in which all live
Would be an unimaginable disaster.
That which we term 'evil'
Would instead become an obsession.
We would look to turn from the light
And instead walk in the dark valley.
The shadow would descend
And an end would come
To the longing for life of humankind.
So in a sense
The world of the dead
Is where lies ultimate perfection.
For a mortal perfect world
Would turn from God
For respite in Death's shadow.