Absolution

In plastered memories and daydreams,
I traveled into vast endlessness and the brink of sanity.
I saw light bend like mortals before power.
I witnessed the face of Hades in shadows darker than Erebus.

Moving my fingers ever so gently through the fragile ripples of time,
so pleased to be lost in the chaos which made others lose their mind.
With eyes shut, I could see everything so clearly.
I could see through bitter intentions, self-deceit, lies,
the absurdities and anomalies of being human.
Clearly enough to know where they stem from,
what they could do and how to sever them, effectively.

I knew that the parting of the sea was a cheap trick to murder.
I knew that freedom meant jumping from slavery to slavery,
thinking you had control when you are nothing but a subject to chemicals.
The daydreams ended. I woke up. After a million years, I woke up.

Slowly, I grazed the edge of tomorrow,
reveling in its naked beauty and all the petty marvels it held.
I shook hands with the future as it told me my time is near.
I waved at death who disguised itself as tomorrow.

I peeled the skin off my flesh and the flesh off my bones,
tearing all the masks one by one till there was nothing left.
Shedding skin, shedding fears, becoming one,
unlearning, learning and growing towards the end.

Nothing could faze me as I no longer belonged here.
I could sense vibrations as they crawled through my conscience,
resounding, echoing off and destroying every notion I held true.
My walls broke along with me. Absolution was near.

I could hear the songs of the dead,
breathe their memories like fresh air.
Their words made me colder,
their mistakes made me wiser.

Deeper and deeper delving into darkness,
hearing all the pleasures the world had to offer and more.
Surrendering to myself, accepting myself in all its unacceptable glory,
I achieved what most humans can’t even touch.

I am reason. I am logic. I am absolute.
I am life. I am death. I am nothing.
I am love. I am hate. I am passive.
I am time. I am space. I am antimatter.
I am a catalyst. I am change. I am revolution.
I am destruction. I am evolution. I am the end.
I am sound. I am silence. I am disturbance.
I am the third eye. I am beyond the sixth sense. I am God.

Within me I held the power to change,
seasons, time, place, thoughts and everything else that I could touch.
Within me lied infinity, the end of time and countless possibilities.
I embraced the end knowing that my mind is the universe.
The universe is me – ever growing, endless and absolute.

Conscience

The gun was in my hand and it was pointed at the culprit. He shivered and writhed like an earthworm that had been douched with salt, wriggling helplessly on the floor. He had made too many bad decisions. He was snide, boastful, self-centered and self righteous in all his bitter, misguided glory. There was no place in this world for a disgusting, maniacal cretin like him. I was about to pull the trigger when I stopped and thought for a moment. If I do this now, how different am I from him? By judging him and calling him names, how exactly does it separate me from him? What did he do wrong that makes me want to kill him? What did I do right that gives me the privilege of pulling the trigger?

I knew of him since we were 5. We were probably the same age but somehow he seemed much older and wiser, always giving advice, telling me what to do but it was only later I realized that when the time came to act, he was nowhere around. He would disappear like a pigeon in a magician’s cage, leaving me at a loss of words. We would rehearse together but when the time came to speak, he stood in silence, watching me make a fool of myself. He assured me that I was right when everyone around me thought I was wrong. He didn’t give me logic and yet what he said made so much sense. Despite his flaws and what he did to me, we became good friends once we grew older. He was calm, he was confident. He was nothing like me. We were binary opposites and maybe that’s the reason why we got along despite the nature of our friendship.

Now that I think of it, was it really friendship? Were we ever that close? He knew everything about me and I barely knew him at all. He just sprung up one day out of the darkness and his presence grew stronger every day. He became an inseparable entity in my life. He was there when my parents died. He was there with me during the riots when those men were killing each other. If he had not told me to say what I did, we both would have been dead by now. In the loneliness of the orphanage, it wasn’t really bad having him around. Despite the loathing, his presence was somewhat comforting. He became my best friend and my worst enemy. Was that even possible? Once we got out of the orphanage, his voice only seemed to get louder. The lashings were way more brutal than before. He would successful beat me down to a pile of nothing. At the end of the day, I was face down on my bed, bruised with my self-esteem and confidence lost somewhere underneath the scabs of my conscience.

Did I have to take that sort of abuse from anyone? Every time I took this train of thought, he would boastfully remind me of the times he has stood by me. The times he was there when no one else was around. He would talk about how he raised me and helped me. After hearing those words, my inclination to do anything would cease to exist and a moment later he would beat me around for thinking that way, making me feel like it was my fault and I deserved to be hammered like a nail that stuck out. Deep down, I knew I didn’t deserve this and yet I let it happen to me again and again. His words grew fierce, he grew stronger and I drifted further into the sea of helplessness. I couldn’t take it anymore and that’s when I retaliated.

I guess even the strongest of men can be brought down to their knees when a gun is pointed at them. I had taken out all my pent up frustration and now the only thing left to do was pull the trigger. Thinking of all those times we spent together, was it really his fault? He just did the talking and lashing but was it really his fault? It was me. I was responsible for it just as much as he was. I let it continue. I let him do and say those horrible things to me. In the end, it was my fault. So I pointed the gun at the only person who was responsible and pulled the trigger. We both died.

Wasteland II: Setting Sun

The land beyond was unknown,
my journey began when I walked.
New faces came before me,
each step I took was carefully stalked.

“You look so pale,” they said,
“Why are you always dressed in black?”
“Your words spell horror,
is it love that you lack?”

All their concern made me change,
the way I walk, the way I speak.
Once a strong and proud king,
I was reduced to being humble and meek.

I quickly learned their language,
my actions based on what their reaction would be.
Slowly I began to writhe and suffer,
for all my essence was sucked out of me.

I began dressing like them,
and tried to blend in with the crowd.
Silent whispers of wisdom lost,
my words became conceited, brash and loud.

Molded into their culture,
the lies of a lifestyle were too much to take.
Within these petty illusions,
piece by piece my heart would break.

Enough is enough!
I was trapped in this monotonous rat race.
In the bargain of being heard, loved and accepted,
I had forgotten my own face.

The world beyond is truly vicious,
this is where I must draw the line.
Free from the burden of feelings and society,
I must reclaim all that is mine.

I had resented isolation and solitude,
even though they let me be all I could be.
Being alone is better than being lonely and scared,
this truth my mind could clearly see.

With a smile I walked towards the setting sun,
to the deepest, darkest corner of Earth I would go,
and rebuild my kingdom of ice,
a cold, barren wasteland full of snow.

Wasteland I: Kingdom Of Ice

This winter wasteland is my kingdom,
the throne of ice belongs to me.
Sitting on it proud and strong,
I judge and govern all I see.

Nothing escapes my vision,
wide-eyed in all its glory.
Confined within crystalline walls,
tall and thick, they mark my territory.

The kingdom has no people,
my subjects are the rubble and snow.
Cold winds are my companions,
beyond these walls there’s nowhere I can go.

The world beyond is cruel,
vile humans stuck in their rat race.
Their filthy intentions must be severed,
memories of them I must erase.

Within these walls is safety,
shadows and darkness offer refuge.
The silence slowly helps me grow,
secure in the towers of solitude.

Nothing can touch me,
I do and say as I please.
Blizzards quickly come and go,
as I command them with ease.

Isolated in this vast wasteland,
my comfort slowly turns to dread.
What’s the purpose of expression and speech,
when no one’s heard a word I’ve said?

Light of wisdom pierces the crystalline walls,
the towers of solitude rumble and shake.
My throne quickly crumbles,
the kingdom begins to break.

The unexplored land beyond unfolds,
all my fears begin to fade.
Divine realizations dawns,
the kingdom was a prison I had made.

Pandora’s Box

Silence and comfort,
in the deepest part of chaos’ orifice.
I cut my veins with broken glass,
pour the blood on the altar of Erebus.

Drained I collapse like an old pillar,
Hypnos slowly takes my dreams.
Phantasos weaves his illusions,
Phobetor ensures I scream.

Some may call it torture,
but to build, something has to break.
Once the end is in sight,
one must do whatever it may take.

Even if the heavens roll and crumble,
from Atlas’ mighty shoulder.
These deep, dark thoughts must flow like Styx,
eternal and never to wither.

Voices inside my head must echo,
like violent thunder from the house of Zeus.
Lightning must fall from the tip of my tongue,
to either harm or amuse.

Dionysus may raise a cup,
and pour his bounties on this privileged land.
But what purpose does it serve,
when I am a victim of falling sand?

Time may take its toll,
but this cold-blooded quest must ensue.
Hades’ flames cry out,
the screams of the dead are long overdue.

Reality is a nightmare,
this world of horrors feels like home.
Eyes blinded from daylight,
tranquility within this ancient catacomb.

Within these thoughts I am free,
to do or say as I please.
This forbidden land is my Olympus,
I manipulate it with ease.

It may be foolish,
to discard the whole world and throw it aside.
But these illusions must be expressed,
to reveal all the demons I hide.

Façade

The void is always within me,
hidden behind this face.
Masked like a vigilante,
with a visage of disgrace.

This mask I must erase,
peel off all this borrowed skin.
Drown in deep, dark waters,
to wash away the scars of my kin.

There is so much sin,
coursing through these hollow veins.
I’ve sold my hopes and dreams,
in exchange for petty gains.

Emptiness aches and pains,
to break out of this lowly shell.
The keepers never listen,
confining it to this earthly hell.

Darkness is a never-ending well,
sacred, full of abundant knowledge.
The surface squanders it,
falling prey to sacrilege.

Silence pushed over the edge,
the sewed mouth must open wide.
Spilling out all the anguish and sorrow,
for they can no longer hide.

No mercy for those who lied,
and built this iron mask of shame,
out of pleasure or ignorance,
even those who gave it a name.

There is no one left to blame,
more than the one who owns it.
Without his shaky, guilty consent,
the mask would have never fit.

Why do I commit,
to something so crude and fake?
Wearing it so proudly,
when it’s something I didn’t make.

So easily it can take,
any absurd illusion as its own.
While the truth slowly withers
along with the righteous voice I disown.

I’ll only reap what I’ve sown,
wearing a mask up to the end.
How long can I lie to myself?
How long can I pretend?

Nothing can mend,
this is the tragic, bitter truth.
I reached for the forbidden apple,
but I can barely digest the fruit.

Deep down to my root,
I know this mask will surely break
and free me from these worldly illusions,
that I so foolishly make.

Funeral

The house is on fire,
there’s nowhere left to run.
Everything is burning,
brighter than the sun.

The shadows can’t reach it,
wild and fierce, the flames are strong.
Clinging on to everything,
dancing to a violent song.

Its rhythm creates patterns,
engulfing everything with a touch.
The inhabitants cornered,
caught in the devil’s clutch.

There is no escape,
all who are trapped are bound to doom.
The mouth of hell opens,
brighter flames begin to bloom.

All must turn to ashes,
till the fire’s hunger has come to cease.
The inferno rises,
flames spread out like disease.

What instigated the fire?
Was it accident or ill intent?
Was it Lucifer’s doing,
or was it heaven sent?

The answer barely mattered,
the corpses were charred darker than night.
The fire’s hunger sated,
it ate everything in sight.

There was no one left to question,
but a lesson they all learned.
If you play with fire,
you’re bound to get burned.

Damage

A rogue disguised as an artist,
began shaping a piece of clay.
She rejoiced merrily,
although she was just his prey.

He broke her slowly,
calling violence his love and art.
She endured silently,
as better judgment would depart.

Viciously he sliced off pieces,
negating her painful scream.
Convincing her like a child,
telling her it was nothing but a dream.

His lack of skill was evident,
yet the clay did not object.
She became his puppet,
in whom his venom he’d inject.

The rogue did not deserve the clay,
for she was so soft, malleable and pure.
He’d lock her up every night,
only because he was insecure.

She couldn’t see through his malice,
her true beauty began to fade.
He’d hold her up high,
claiming she was what he made.

His fingers couldn’t please her,
endurance now turned to hate.
She saw through his falsities,
and the truth he tried to suffocate.

With nothing left in her,
she slipped through his wretched hand.
To reclaim, reconnect and grow,
she became one with the land.

There was no happy ending,
for the rogue in disguise was still amused.
While the piece of clay moved on,
with scars from being abused.

Detour

I stood on the edge of the city,
blinded by hoardings and light.
Walking through the empty streets,
like a silent guardian of the night.

There were screams behind closed doors,
where ‘Happily Married’ the signs read.
Claw marks on the doormat,
the windows were all painted red.

They sold morality on brazened roads,
with palms that had deep holes.
Twisted crosses and hollow idols,
seeking redemption through begging bowls.

Silence was a luxury,
the clubs pumped vibrations on the sidewalk.
The crowd swayed in sync,
late to listen and early to talk.

Their souls were lost in ideals,
of what should and should not be.
With blindfolds thicker than race horses,
the truth their hearts could never see.

Before their flat screen mirages,
the masses often mesmerized.
With hi-tech lies and illusions,
on their insecurities they were pried.

Such was the fate of this city,
bound to destruction and doom.
I turned around and walked away,
to the land where lilies bloom.

Bodhi

Vacant skies above,
reflect the darkness in your heart.
If the end is your goal,
where do you even start?

The winds bring no answer,
brushing against this empty shell.
Chaos thrives in the mind,
catacombs deeper than hell.

Do you dig deeper,
when knowledge only leads to pain?
Is there comfort in solitude,
when there is nothing to lose or gain?

Questions pile up quickly,
burying all the self-esteem.
In the realm of cognitive dissonance,
reality feels like a dream.

Confidence falls prey to doubt,
crawling on a razor is the only way.
Death is redemption,
from the clutches of another day.

Voices turn to echoes,
on a rusty ship good judgment departs.
Trying to control everything,
when everything only falls apart.

The bottom is merciless,
on such filth even the fish won’t feed.
Clawing and holding on to something,
when nothing is all you need.

Dawn breaks through dark clouds,
but there is no herald of angels with song.
The answer lies within,
it was within you all along.

Everything disappears with a smile,
a dusty path begins to show.
All your needs on the other side,
instead you feel content in letting go.