SCHOLOMANCE - A Treatise On Love
Part I - The Liars And Those Who Would See Their Blood
...And I found a raven's feathers beneath melting snow
and I thought of you and how you fed upon me
in the manner of the most vile carrion
with lips painted glistening scarlet.
You were the heroin in my veins...
Oh, I bleed not well and not fluidly
yet you devour my poisoned crimson.
Deceit in elegant waves of euphoric pain
Treachery as only your kind may summon
Misery. More hatred in one short life
than the minions of Genocide ever unleashed.
Stagnation. Fault of mine? Or yours?
Stab me. Fuck me over and over.
You are why I am this and not a lamb,
all fluffy and white, like the rest
looking forward to their stupor.
Looking for their leaders
yet unwilling to seek their origins.
I have sought after what is mine.
Wasted time or essential to my lie?
Overtaken with plague, exposed to disaster,
Stellar blackness may await...
Part II - End
I will hand you your heart
which I will so gracelessly rip from your heaving chest.
I pondered in candlelit lethargy. I grieved as the wax melted,
"Tomorrow I must hurt you, who I hold dear
As an ancient myth held true to its people.
You, who I knew but a moment. But what a moment!
As though touching the darkening hue of the night sky
and forsaken stars for the first time.
Together and alone,
We came to swim in each other's minds.
Independent, still one.
Now I must be rid of you.
Forever is a choice made by both.
Father Time is dreaming of fog rising and moonsets.
These we cannot see again through a reflective cyclopean gaze.
Nothing is good. But for you?
One day there will be no one at all
with whom to talk, speak or boast.
By no fault, with no blame, but with one hundred points of pain.
Don't forget. Cannot forget. Nothing was good.
No future. Smile politely at the blind."
Have I known hate? Indifference in a skincloak of anger
or Love in purity. Goddess, the torment! The weak talk of strength.
The strong speak with sympathy. The wise thus said nothing.
For none know the real truth...the strong need and the wise know it.
When stabbed endless times all vessels are cut
and the heart will lumber with Death.
The mind becomes stricken with sickly pallor
and will usher in Hate.
Will the blade sayeth,
"Please, I wish not to dive into your flesh!"
when all are gone?
Infinite dirge, a life in Inferno's anguish.
My tears ever stream
and will they run separately from my blood?
Will it be this and Now?
Part III - The Psychology Of Demons And The Bitterness Of Winter
My Demons have fled
for they did not know that which I am.
My angel has arrived weeping
for she doesn't yet know who she is.
Her pale face now wet,
and smitten by Sorrow's jealousy.
As Frost blesses the Earth with a winter's kiss
The sun is forever lost to the wisdom of the stars.
The woodlands and the mountains whisper
their secrets to those who wander in their midst.
Evergreen branches struggle to embrace one another,
Save one that has shed its needles as bitter tears,
piercing the laughing cloak of snow underneath.
Perhaps some are destined to stand alone
in strength of cold solitude.
Sadness? It is a word too freely flung about
from the ignorant mouths of those who do not know
what it is like to be haunted by a freezing, torturous gale,
and to be forced to hold the withered hand of eternal pain.
Where Nothing symbolizes Anything...
My demons have fled for they did not know that which I am.
I am this and nothing more
I am Black Death, I am crimson hate
I am Mary and the wicked Whore
Enthroned on abyssic stormclouds in burning skies...
I am this and something more
I am the rape of winter, I am the crush of ice
I am fear incarnate, the stygian cold you abhor
Engraved on Olympian stone in kingly majesty...
I am this and so much more.
My angel has arrived and she will soon learn who she is.
Part IV - Toy: A Primirose Path To The Second Circle
The old game is afoot and I am hesitant to play because the outcome could be the bastardization of stabile regression.
Why toy with me?
To see if I can be broken into so many particles and questions? Or because you are as you are? As all of them are...
Giggly sweetling up until I am gutted by your pins and needles and tossed aside like a rag doll, soiled and lacerated by too many insidious hugs.
Harder to giggle with no teeth and a mouthful of blood, isn't it?
Harder to clutch at my heart when choking on blood, isn't it?
Try to play now Toymaker.
Make me your jolly marionette and I shall dance upon stages of dead roses and don your primordial crown of poison thorns.
Ah, a Jack in the box are you then? Hiding inside and astounding me with devotion accompanied by dissonant bells of betrayal.
My head on a pike like a little horsey on a pink stick with plastic tassels and you ride us into the raging sunset, or so I thought... until I discovered my flesh ablaze and the sick smell of perfume and kerosene.
A one legged ant under your magnifying glass, I became scorched by loving stupidity and individuality.
I had to choose the special one, the unique that stood boldly alone and winked a wicked wink of "Like".
I thought myself Midas and you would miraculously turn golden and be fixed but you remained distraught and ashen.
Someone for everyone... but none for the two of us.
We, the rulers of a cursed sea full of leeches and remoras, eating bits and pieces of our corrupt sanity.
Stability? Ha! Normality? Even a greater comedy!
What is friendship among lovers but clinging to fleeting memories of transitory emotions?
Now you've invited the demons in for afternoon tea and contractual renegotiations.
The one of duality makes its carnal bed in our house and schemes with Morpheus, the first son of Sleep.
I dreamed of the rape of your mother while you watched in terror and I clutched the breasts of youth and infirmity.
I ever so lightly touched you with two fingers as you clenched your thighs tight and said, "No, you I will not defile, though wanton and warm."
When it was time to dine, you were stolen away in reluctant abandon for protection from an idiot ordained with knowledge.
I Am That Which Is
What peril in this grievous
Fate, in its mischievous irony, cruelly toppled thine health
Why "creator", why deprive me of the most joyous of senses?
I, godlike among men, in both art & thought
Sensitivity drains upon this misunderstanding
Mine and theirs to view, Nature is truly to look upon the inevitable
All might be well tomorrow, that is the great wish
That it has or ever will be granted, blind illusion
Albeit, aloneness is the prize of genius
Passions attained cause songs to become silent
And so, I am heir to bereavement, and threnody my mistress alas
It must be, yet the muse embraces me
Her warm heart to stoke this inner flame
And drown out the mortals and petty theology
With heroic composition
Iíll not suffer the scars of kindred feelings
Allowing this lowly world to aggravate me momentarily
Only to escape to my melodic bliss, creativity thrives in bitterness
My veil is untouchable, talent unattainable
"I Am That Which Is"
Loveloss & scorn left to bleed through hammered counterpoint
Indulge my vast ambition, defy horrific fates
Banished from a poisoned life to shadows
A looming backdrop to the paintings of our lives
No tears shall fall from hushed eyes
Glints of slender lovelorn cries
Gather the drops that they may cease to sink
And deny the Earth of that addictive drink
With years adoration will simply grow
Iíll reach their worship from funereal woe
Never attained an equal release to my melancholic masterpiece
What Was Truth
My disgust commences at the end of what was truth
This doctrine of hollow promises that would cease mortality
Faith in vain rewards regret
Take to heart this crime of fraudulent documentation
To moralize mankind
The posthumous foresee an end to parasitic rule
We, though few, will wage the war to destroy this barbarism
Towering in such egoism as to reach beyond heavens
With brevity and fact as will
We will crush idols with philosophy's hammer
Contempt, our deity
Power-principled liars mute knowledge and culture
We prefer to question rather than accept
Forbidden yearning for absolute science
A god excused by nonexistence
Grants no pardon when we take reign
With just our presence, the silent masses roar
Audible with conviction's authority
A labyrinth of predestination
End of contagious suffering
No pity for those pitied
Reclaim our throne of nature
With this battle for order underway
We will leave morality defamed upon its cross
Need no christian charity, be superior in thought
Need no hope, conceptualize destiny as god
Follow now with Pilate
Reevaluate all values, strength restored through wounds
Pride Of The Serpent Winds
I scorch these plains, I yield the crown of the Apocalypse
Burning through what once was you to free my yearning soul
Yet with this seal, seventh past, my head is lowered still
Ashamed by waste you have left behind with careless indulgence
So draw the swords, four at once, hope is banished
Loose the cries on desert winds to wash this ash away
Serpents sway with glee, this final charming call, gain their trust
Then strike with vengeance and befriend them as they fall
The venom coursing through their bodies
Weak and frail, now gone
But spirits rise to scream once more
Afterlife has come
Failed decree to crush the free, wanderers of the barren dune
They will always stand, passion's strength may earn my empathy
Respect the valor, through foolish pride, to face my blade of plague
Bleeding honor stains the sands which scatter vanity
Desperation utters forth soft whimpers
Power has lost its meaning derived
I refuse to spare this selfish breed
With its indecency and hollowed remains
Visionary men and gods are proven false
Warriors are slaves, shed of bindings
Populace has freed us to reign
Mounting our steeds to continue on
To spread heavenly carnage
Across this rumoured holy land
Praise wasting dreamers cower on sight of Christ in retreat
To spare his second life
Kiss me... with your fear
I need us being
You and I have always been the unseen
Invisible to most until the bonding began
Weary, dreary, tearyface
Take me to the happy place
The christ figure beckons those who are fools
Those who will drink the sacred blood of his wounds
And wipe the dribble from their passive stinking mouths
With the soiled cloth worn by the divine falsity
In dreams we can die, In fantasies we can thrive
But here, only you and I in our nightmare
In an erotic embrace that burns Despair
The Swallowers and the Listeners are just outside
To enter our paradise of private splendor
So may they be eviscerated
We that are bonded shall be saved
Those of the light be shunned
Atop desolate plateaus of imagination
Centuries will fall, the sodomization of time
And still we will sleep on the edge of oblivion
Infliction of pleasurable delusions
Of erotica, this Exotica Sequence
Leaves dry and dead float on cooling Autumn winds
Snow gentle and silent drifts in sunless winter skies
Spring green and rebirth ignored
Summer warmth and joy unnoticed