is this all just a performance?

mechanically driven
by obsolete living
watching fleshy robots gather
in a cartoon circle
to celebrate
the culture of apocalypse
no heroes
just stagnant rituals
full of ones and zeroes

with nowhere to go
we are eaten alive
by evening walls
staring and waiting
to be reborn against a midnight sun

centered nowhere
with heads exploding
in the morning masterpiece
we are caught in a web
of alternate realities
choosing strands of silence
in opposition to infamy

tired and resting beside a purple goddess
lost in the sabbath of summer eyes
we walk roads of terror
and tactical ecstasy
seeking old signs and new energies
it’s tactile telemetry
as we solicit illicit fantasies
falling together
with fated fascination
so close yet so distant
is one touch too much?
dying, a little at a time
as green eyes reside outside time
and i just can’t see no love on the horizon

so i call out
to the poet gangster
fast and regal
foreshadowing mysteries
beyond a broken door
and broadcasting a violet truth,
please good sir
grant me one last discovery
to balance this melodramatic psychosis

the world is dishonest
and denial of fate
leads to such cruel ironies
are we searching for angels
or searching for devils
searching for purpose
or searching for peace
are we searching for each other?

what happened to the minute man?
i fear that the king has cried false glory
one too many times
sitting in a padded chair
trapped and captivated
by lonely a restraint
that breeds indefinite retribution
is this hell or transformation

life like a demo tape
the beat, the beat keeps changing
alternating with the color of emotion
it’s an epic, shifting with each movement
remember the night songs
visions in black harmony
laced with impulses of immortality
with each passing heartbeat
the rhythm recedes and resurfaces
igniting another dangerous flame

addiction and submission
give me that sweet darkness
and compose these lows
in a swarm of wide eyed crows
how long before desire renders me insane

passion divined
replenish, relinquish control
and follow that precarious tone
as style reaches like a poor man
struggling towards perfection

carbon chemicals conglomerate
stiff and unable to resist
yet capsized by callous memories
and then
another moment takes hold
soft and different
embraced by creeping consonance
tugging in unison
it’s a dance of duality and opposition
stripped of all ceremony
and marching me toward the legacy of your soul

334-is-this-all-just-a-performance

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