I cannot love. It’s in my blood."
— Deafheaven, ‘The Pecan Tree’
— Deafheaven, ‘The Pecan Tree’
We seek a secret to tell, and tell it well, we shall. Even if we tell it in hell.
We flee the unoriginal while marching in perfect sync and file.
Synonymous in profile while being as Juvenile as we can be.
Peter Pan, we aim to be, for all a blissful eternity.
But you come at me with a dagger, a jagged word named “reality”
And I do flee.
Until that is…
…I draw my guns…
and empty them in the angelic glow of a street light.
My weapons, two, are black and blue, and they are named
Shamelessness and Apathy.
They will forever go with me into the darkness of guessing at morality.
Why lie to yourself with childish words
Your innocence begged but still went unheard as you stabbed at it
Your tiny, blood-soaked hands trembled as you went rabid
They were filled with selfishness, demands,
and hollow plans formed by a man’s lusts
We are not enough and never have been.
Ignoring true love while flailing in sinner’s remorse.
Remorse laments at our cores, but slowly it asphixiates
and we don’t hear it screaming anymore.
We are nothing but fallen dreams of God
But we could be so much more, should we only ask
What He still holds in store.
But instead we sip our designer coffee in designer slacks
and say we never cared to begin with…
…when all the joys of life lay just outside of us and are glowing, bright,
— Psalm 143:8
So afraid to stain your frail and aching fingers
Fear lingers and rejection stings your graceful figure
They call you every name in the book, and it disgusts you
They tell you that they love you and that you’re truly beautiful
But what do they know of beauty. The eyes of the boys tell the story.
They look at the lovely ones in short skirts and tight shirts
Never at you, do they?
Never at you and you pray and pray to be wanted, not hated.
But sometimes Life just goes that way.
I promise, you’re being protected, not rejected. It might be hard to get.
It’s the other way around, lovely one.
You’ve just not met your “one” quite yet.
Ask your mother. She knows the weight of the wrong love, wrong time.
Curves like whirlwinds blowing me around the bedroom.
Lips so soft and sweet that a kiss could kill you.
Your milk-white skin and sweet brown eyes fill my vision.
I feel no fear and wish nothing be added to this.
It is perfect, now, just as it sits.
I am listless and can wait no longer, ripping cloth and
Tearing Fabric with my hungry fangs filled with rapture.
You submit to my strength and let yourself be taken over.
I felt you writhe within the torrents of our mutual pleasure.
You left me breathless. Gasping. Floating on clouds.
I left you weeping in joy, lost in the ceiling textures, wanting to be mine.
I want there to be a road like the one I’m walking now.
Every thought is sharp, clear, and blessed. Even when
Rest is needed, it’s superseded by the need to succeed.
I flee all weaknesses and run the race like I seek to be freed.
This cubicle will release me and to the roads I’ll be going.
To the skies I’ll be taking, living in the night with my imaginary name in
Bright, Blessed Lights. Keep the fame, the infamy, and their worship.
I just want to give Glory to the One who’s blessed me. Who deserves it.
I’m not worth it, but I am. I am a man made in the Image of His Love,
His majestic setting of this unbelievable stage.
We are just creations, yet we’re blessed enough to think we’re able
To do it ourselves.
Hell is for the well.
The sick know they need a Savior.
If only I could paint the world
with the vile words your sinister lips have unleashed
Your adoring masses would be past-tense
and passively walking away from your reach.
Here today, gone tomorrow, I suppose. Rows and rows
Rise to leave. They make their way to the door.
A calm breeze blows through a musty theater.
"Sorry Upbringing" is only an excuse for crimes like yours
It only works for so long, love.
Slightly-Stormy seas on a sunny day
Do not a maelstrom breed. And you do like to breed.
But not with me, thankfully, so I am freed.
And It can’t rain all the time, or so I’m constantly told,
So put up that umbrella and smile for a change.
Tumbling through a rainbow-colored Narnia
It tastes like Cotton Candy and a child’s lullabies
I wonder what the meaning of life is
But my wondering wanders aimlessly
The cityscape of my dreams floats listlessly
and the Horizon seems so very close at hand.
Splatter patterns show what truly mattered as she stumbled through her final moments of life.
Prone to pain, struggle, addictions, and strife…she finally found the end she was looking for without truly seeing where she was going.
Overflowing with love, but ashamed of her lusts, she became something other than one of us. She fell far, and hard, and into a deep and lonely darkness. She began coming apart at the scenes.
Her life was her art, painting the canvas of the world with blood, hate, lust, and love. She wore pain like a fashion statement and pulled away just in time to watch her fatal attractions unfold. Manifest and untold were her secrets. You could see them behind her eyes.
They sounded a lot like lies, but sadly enough, they were real. Real enough to feel as she told you the stories over stale coffee at Three AM in the morning in a Donut Shop in Dundee. She said she just wanted to be free, but I think we both knew that she had just told the biggest lie of all.
Real freedom, for her, would have been to leave, and she did. Sadly enough, it just wasn’t on a plane or a train or even in a trans-am or van.
Her life, for better or worse, ended as they drove her to her grave in that hearse. My heart broke with the rainfall. My tears were hidden by my hands clasped around my mouth.
The man that killed her stood there by me, unwilling to show one single ounce of simple dignity. I wanted to call the police but just stood there being pathetic and passive-aggressive. I feared more for the fact that he’d kill me, too. He’s six foot seven and I’m five foot two.
She might be lonely in that plot, sure, but I just wasn’t ready to go with her. Her life was a story written in red, and flashed by like a blur.
I never told her that I truly, deeply loved her and would have done anything to please her weary, tattered soul.
But she was too drunk to notice, anyway, I thought to myself. I threw my flowers on her casket and hoped she was smiling in hell.
When did the sinister become the heroic visage?
Heroines lined up like needles to pierce the sky
Became harlots and harlequins, wandering aimlessly
A bright red and glowing cherry shining on their faces
Cigarette dangling from poisonous lips coated with lies.
Lies our flesh would die for. Ones that make us cry tears of blood
And joy at the outpouring of our long-discarded innocence and intent
to make the world a better place.
The bullets shatter your false face
And take my pain away as my lifeless form hits the cold, unmoving floor.
You scream my name like profanity,
But I can’t hear your evil anymore.
I may be dying in my own blood, here,
but I am saved at the core.
My life was lived in fallen morals and dying dreams.
My wrists carry the scars of a self-slain martyr and I wasn’t perfect
But you, dear, were the devil. I was just a character in your play.
I was a puppet
who hung himself with the strings
I was never perfect, no
But you were never me.
Tasting sugar and artificial lights in my mouth. My heart leaps inside as I see you dancing, not a care in the world. Not a care in your splendid, lovely, innocent soul. The air in here is stale and cold, but you don’t care at all. You rise, flail, and fall, as if life itself is coming from your movements to music.
I hear your soul in the sounds. I feel your life in each beat of the drum. I hear your heart. And in your arctic eyes, so full of bright, young life…I see hope. I see joy. I see an ever-present knowledge that all will be as it should.
Your soft and comforting gaze draws me to you. Your outstretched arms are the proof. You mouth my name and it looks so very soft and warm to rest on your lovely lips. You slip your arms around my neck and I feel your breasts and hips…fit…into me.
Life was meant to be this. This moment, this joyous moment, is what many call “bliss” and so few ever feel it. You are warm in my arms and sweet in my flaring, awkward nostrils. You smell like candy and flowers. Like Heaven smells.
I never want to let you go.
And I don’t, even as the bullets shred our flesh. The commandant screams “Fire” and our universe is invaded by bullets, the haze of gun smoke, and the crackling cackle of rifle fire.
I dive into your eyes again as we crumble, together, one and the same. We hit the filthy floor and our blood rushes out to meet the dirt. This onrushing death, mingled with falling in love, is a glorious and horrific thing, I think to myself.
She whispers something to me, here eyes filling with tears and fears.
"Darling, if Hell is where we go, we go together. If we get to Heaven, I’ll make sure they let you in."
The clomping of combat boots and the shouts of the commandant are our only funeral dirge. Well, that and the radio that she danced along to. My life was lovely, and hard, and bitter. But it was like a young wine…
…it may not be worth much, but what it does have is a sweet taste and a vibrancy in every savor.
A helpless child is
Overtaken by a foaming Torrent.
Violent washing of cold waves and bitter waters;
Brutal, agonizing, seemingly-neverending.
The child screams, but only the roaring depths reply.
They scream into his skull
"Fight now or Die, child!"
The scene seen above
Like the dreams of a battered, aching man
Tasting blood, like rust between his teeth.
Forever barring the wounded soul
from that true, deep, quiet rest…the ever-needed solace…
That he so lusts for
But shall never truly have.
The grave called today, my friend.
They’re still booked solid.
Keep on swimming until you’re hollow.
Crack open the skylight
Taste the fresh air cascading
Feel it caress your blushing cheeks
and flowing down your sumptuous curves.
Twirl in the new air like a falling leaf, descending
Ever so splendidly mending a wounded soul, making whole
What was once a broken-hearted man who lacked a true soul.