Originally Posted by Nigma

"what was that you asked?

ah. yes. well,

night time is my time.
i start to see the target
eyes to the blind sky
hearkened to catharsis

i boarded in the doors, became a martyr in this darkness
sitting dormant and i'm pouring out my heart onto the parchment
when the chorus hits, i flourish. mixing marksmen with an artist
and i'm storing all the nourishment, you're sharp but i'm the smartest...
harboring the harvest while asleep to keep evolving rhythm, but
feelin blind today with the way my dreams have engulfed my vision
wheels of reeling splines the way it's blending in the fallen stitches
it's a feeling so refined that I pledged allegiance for all existence
it's my censor. shields me. i vent my feelings, absolved from living
all thats sick, demented, healed. suppressing fear for raw beginnings
on a mission and my logics endless, stencil in the scene for me
start my thesis, carve it to completion as the pieces meet
it's easy jotting images imprinted from a recent dream
trick is to contain them in your brain because they mean to leave
secrete into the sea of dreams as viscous masses of liquid matter
in time, i'll bring them back since the rings intact and it's a factor
the clouds arouse an inner passion as i sit within the blackness
these distant showers are timid actors reenacting the pitter-padder
i try to hide a smile but begin to laugh in mists of madness
you asked me what inspires me, consider this your answer"

-Edgar Allen Poe
March 3rd, 1833

Originally Posted by Razah

"That my days have been a dream"

A 9 to 5 is such a fight like I'm battling with wealth
If I'm in the dark seeking light am I a shadow of myself
If I'm a silhouette, explain to me why my pillow's wet
I guess life is but an appetizer- Is it dinner yet?
What is too serene? Been losing sleep; plus the mood it brings
Doesn't soothe the beast, it lets me view the brink of lunacy
Still I'm chasing what enslaves me, its become my passion
How can money make me free- When it turned me to a captive
Replacing my desire, this is life, please don't save me from the fire
For the joy that I pursue I sing the blues, get acquainted with the choir
Bought myself an orchestra- instead of joy, it's a spear through my side
What could be beautiful music, can also bring a tear to my eye
This standard of living is driving me insane
I find joy in what it brings- as a stripper smiles through the pain
Working harder than I've ever been, I know my soul's malnourished
I knew money was the root of evil- but I chose to let it flourish

Value's but a word, not a feeling or emotion
Our life & death is blurred- still I pray for our devotion
Forever it's a chase- Forever we will fight for it
Never ending yet we race, joy does not derive from it
I see your soul but just a glimpse, a part of it is dark
I wonder if you'll take the risk, search deep inside your heart
It's a path we haven't walked, but it's life that gives us hope
I need your consciousness to wake up, we've been sleeping since we woke..

Originally Posted by Bobby

"All The World's Stage"

Inside a box of glass and wires,
Sentimental words uttered from the mouth of the tired,
With forceful attempts to inspire,
Subtraction of comprehension to add the fuel to the fire,
These liars tether the gullible, Control over the next move,
Till a spark reveals the truth that the camera man shoots,
Their blinding light brews a fight or flight mood,
Influencing these impartial type of views,
Lonely souls yearning for an alternate release,
Peeking out from the darkness under their stained sheets,
One sentence away from the false sense of feeling complete,
Fading thoughts of eventually reaching that peaceful retreat,
But the back of the mind confines a deadly plan,
Drips of crimson red causing messy hands,
A heavy burden latched onto the belt in his pants,
Starting a journey back to the haunting memories of his past,
At last, the crumpled bills are forked over to a lost soul,
Recruiting another follower on the long road,
A thousand foot steps still the end doesn't show,
Frustration turns to loathing, Time fading and cutting close,
Withering hopes, The sight of a smile leads to panic,
The brain contains the rage but the hand does the damage,
Repremand it, At a disadvantage surrounded by badges,
Spot the precise holes that cant be covered with a bandage,
Block out the scene, Regrets of deciding on that fateful choice,
Deafening claps... The laid out fleece is getting moist,
The tired speaks again, Now scanning the voids on that damaged boy,
They may have taken his last breath but never could take his voice,
One click of a button; static noise.

Originally Posted by Dead Man

they never understood. i only wanted to build,
knowledge fulfilled, often concealed, a philosopher's guild
inoperative villagers that cling to their pasts,
who pray for better days but never live for a chance
to experience a presence in a moment's retention
appearance and description never closer to essence
than a sense or a sound. stop breathing when it's better to drown
many quick to start their sentences non-sequiter bound
i tried to make them leave a life, objective as ground
silent solipsism. an exercise rejected aloud
i wanted to cry. knowing all my prophets will die
without an opportunity to conquer their pride
Gods also will die, yet their posters claim them wanted: alive
embracing tradition, claiming a vision consciously blind
tossed to the side. i taught for years my students in solitude
which facets of intelligence were crucial to constitute
not for truth, or honor. but liberation and choice
pray for a voice, scream and rip a lung for saints to anoint
it's unfortunate to see. i only wanted to teach
an apocryphal breach, til grasshoppers see their options increase
no deity or pacifist could promise them peace
i only promise a piece. ignorant and honest as priests
but limitation served to be the dominant beast
tempted by ineptitude and awkward retreat
to casualty. to ancestry. to a doctrinal leash
common deceits, grandparents and "i gotta" beliefs
banished from their village in 2003
walked Europa ever since, a wandering sheik
i told them there was life outside, a planet for apes
building shiny bullets lit aflame to hatch an escape
there's more than this. there has to be. don't panic, relate
i'm just another bastard child of passionate faith..
in something else. love and health. i wanted to know.
craved knowledge for roses concrete-laiden, blossoming growth
bounty on my head, i've since been walking this road
they never understood. just stood there watching me go.


i can't help you, if you won't let me

Originally Posted by Frank

Mary Jane tied the birthday balloon ribbon round her wormy wrist.
Her nerves twitched; pinched with pressing her luck - her dirty syringe.
Her eyes rolling back in her head with vertical, circular spins.
The merciless twin and the conservative twin.
A virgin being converted by her twin into flirting with sin.
Around the block - around the curve of the bend -
Up and down the street on the curbs in mini skirts with her friends.
Mary Jane wasn't into BOY; she wasn't a nurturing fem.
She grew up sturdy in dens with 10s of her brothers; all courteous men.
Her hair was curly and red; crystally colgate smile, permanent grin.
Heroine would compliment her on how purty she is.
How girly and thin -
how a curvy twig with scurvy hips could lure to bed any man she burned it with.
Heroine was jealous of Jane - her earthy scent; her worldly sense
She tied on the tourniquet for her sis in an earnest attempt to curse the bitch..
Artificially inseminate her with the birth of bliss.
Her sister put out a cigarette; a turkish blend; (blowing smoke into my murky lenses.)
She looked cured and trim.
Golden yellow sun rays kissed her with pursed lips of, a burning tinge.
Her eyes absorbed the Ultra Violet surge and then
She turned the thread around her wrist until, a purple print emerged on her railing thin arm like A surgeons pen.
She hurled her din; black venom churned her gibbs. She whirled a bit.
Hot and cold flashes; like a wind running through a furnace lit with bourbon wicks.
Mary inserted the syringe; introverting her extraverted sense;
blurry mix; absurd defense system notifying the body of unsecure events; Her Blood circulating, swirled and swished through out her body syrupy thick.
Deserted and stripped - Blood curdling, dripping pearly from malnourishment.
The needle makes her skin squirm and curl her fist.
Her cloudy red eyes luringly lit.
Her frosty skin color mellows into a amber flare - spurning a cyst.
The bedroom door shuts out the party; that splurged on gifts.
The ''don't disturb me'' sign is swirling - stiff -
"Happy Sweet 16th Sis..."
Her sis swigs a 5th of liquor; swerving from the sip.
Mary Jane reaches for a can of Coke and it bursts into fizz.
The birthday balloon ribbon slips on her lifeless wrist and swirls into her purses pit.
She slips into unconsciousness and spirals further out of her disturbed abyss.
Her pulse quits; her brain short circuits; her soul disperses; and lives.
Growing up in a small town in Middle America where the curfew is 6.
Suburban kids experiment with drugs; escaping from the currentness of reoccuringness.
Are we putting roofs over our childrens heads or circus tents?
..
Mary Jane lay lifeless under curtains. ripped! passed exertion - it doesn't take a brain surgeon to determine death.
You've got to find yourself first and then everything will follow like a herd in kept.
Steps heard admist the service mist. The urn is swept. With
The feathers from a nest atop a churches crest.
Backwards ways our winding roads have lead us to nowhere, but a hearse, a ditch,
The chime from heaven - the serpents hiss - the orchestra merged and split - the turbulence.
..
The only journey is the journey within.
In the candle smoke of burnt wishes -
The smell of teen spirit -
Heroine over did it; Mary Jane's body was rolled into a bag and burned to a crisp.
Once cremated; her friends all took turns to smoke her ashes -
..
"Who's turn is it??"
..
They're passing the pipe to you - take a preserving hit.
..
Mary Jane flourished once she got to the other side of the perfect ridge.
Where the grass grew unconcerned and lush - untouched by earths fist.
Mary stabbed the ground - stern with her stick - covered her eyes - to observe where she is.
Heroine appears in a murderous glitch.
The balloon on Mary Janes wrist drifts into the sky like a curious blimp.
Helium hisses from her lips as she blurts to her sis.
'Gate way drugs.. They get you no where.
But it's worth the trip.'
..
I know well what I am fleeing from but not what I am in search of -

yet.