Evilhappy

Soft undisturbed soil weep o'er the toil simmer and boil sweet cauldron soup bones brought to boil mesmerized snakes around the void brought to coil release the many vipers let them strike with fangs open, dripping with drool a wave on the breeze, death and difference alike strings of spit which bridge cavernous maw because they sense dead things on the wind, and hunger in their world is law.

Little bit too much anger, eh? Making these folks uncomfortable, peeling layers back off the heart like an onion the air bends around the odorous waves putting the path in pathetic, putting the genie back in the bottle the eye back in the slippery animation frame the second hand back in the tick. Yet, the undeniable fact remains Norman Bates is just a hotel manager it's his mother who's the psycho if we all treat him like the killer all the time, who knows what he's supposed to do there's nothing right about disproportionate justice I validate your reaction, I own my mistakes I am guilty, and so are you for what I did, no assault, no murder, what has been done back is no longer an empowerment play I want nothing from you, little brother, you could not show remorse you could not know shame, you are half as much to blame in order to have your life, you took my right to live reality forgets me, your bubble forgets my name I left the window open for you to approach and

Scream into the void every home is destroyed all the pleasures you've enjoyed sing on, bring dawn all decoys deployed, mea culpability, the moral mathematics bookkeeping accountability blocked arteries, separate anxiety respond to responsibility utilize mental eyes to compartmentalize remove us and make you a part of me turn the epilogue into the start of me blood flowing from the heart and we said never, said never, said never how clever, how clever, how clever to make a weapon out of forever forever, forget her, forget her, and he won't let go of me they don't know what they see, I can't show them, nothing works to make it plain I can only foretell that there is nothing to gain how do I explain? This misery was thrust into my company I was given cancer by force; I try to die in vain life is as my mother always joked, nothing more than pain I question my sanity, know nothing of my own validity he's right isn't he, he's so much more than me, he's so much greater

The fact of the matter is this: Justice is a beauty queen she carries that sword and scale, kid, sure but it's all a ruse, see? She's just doing a costume catwalk, knocking these bums dead on their feet showing a little ass, getting the bucks she needs to pay rent she's not here for you and me, doesn't even know we exist; hell, you could pray all night and day for Justice but the closest you'll ever get is a statue in the park because you're just a sad sack of shit, a lonely, pathetic creep it'd be as easy as screaming foul to set you up, buddy look at ya, laying there in your hospital bed nowhere to go, starting to realize nothing's really real time's just an illusion, there's a special flavor to the existential dread of peeking behind the curtain though and now that you've started to see it, you can't put the rabbit back in the hat, no sir, there's no Justice backstage, she's out having a smoke with the stagehands who are too... Diverse and suave to hang around with all

Lucifer wanted people to be like you incapable of knowing harm the irony There is an undying fire in the pupils, father five preach! Deliver me your holy ire! This will never end while I am still alive, reverend, sincerely yours your dearest friend, Cast off the coiled snakes from your hypnotic vision see what you have become, bleating, blind and numb your womb birthed this worthlessness and rot, drunk off your kingdom cum, what priest? What nun? What permitted you to be so Christlike, that down to the falsehood of mutually assured destruction I am Roman and you are free to Spring from your cave one of us dead inside, the other one only lifelike, there is naught but disgust, inconsolable rage you should know the reality of blood put to page but you exist in the divine light of man playing God toying with lives, as you decide who lives and dies who comes and goes, who is protected, neglected accepted, rejected, when the story begins and ends whose moments are over

No one is crueler than the man who fortifies his apathy believing this is a necessary defense, malice is not born without interest; which can be exploited by the route to it seething frost decays the blood flowing back into an open heart cowardice serves no purpose but to betray instincts fight or flight fly away, into a new horizon, looping sun rising blinding, the landscape doesn't pass beneath but it changes, the moon falls, the stars crawl strong arms from all the flapping, enough to upheave Atlas, change the world see as seen fit, might doesn't make right but it helps build the walls so we can sleep at night conflict is meaningful- it's physics things change because they need to we don't just walk away from the snake who hangs, thrashing on the fence, we go back and tear off its head, grandson you don't just push someone to attempt suicide and then walk away.

Glowering moonlight in the blue sky uninvited, leeches to the blood letting the pale, naked eye observing the sun setting cowering insight, if it is truly applied then there is no scorched earth, Pangea can come together again witness the tremors of rebirth when rocks fold like paper, the world burns like the ropey nerves in a tired writer's hand all the scrutiny is answered, and what burns on the surface and shiver deep down sifting over fingertips, like hot, invisible sand as it stretches out to synergize with the ground services mutiny on demand shifting over lying lips, lingering like rot divisible loyalties, applause all canned everything the world was, it is not nothing that is was planned, believe in the weakness that sees this species through evolution- be quiet, retrieve reality from the depths of actual thought.

Poor Choice By Thomas Shields Lightning cracked over the sharp green spire piercing the smoggy midnight sky. It was a gothic vision looming against the landscape, this Victorian home. The moon was pinned, dimly glowing a dull candlelight orange. A shadow moved in the window at the front of the house. It had been almost a minute since the lightning, then the thunder. Inside, the lights flickered. A man with slicked back, black hair covering a bald spot in the middle of his head was standing with his back to the street. His expensive, custom Italian pinstripe suit was the only thing that fit better than the atmosphere. The den, velour, satin, hundred-year-old chairs and couches. A fireplace that crawled up the wall from the lazily open maw, stretched to the ground like a slack-jawed thing. There was a fire licking its chops. Black and gold etched marble stood out from the rest of the room around the fireplace, like a drainpipe that ran through a burning portal. To

At last the mystery hypothetical hypocrisy, ethics a dying breed of salesmen to make Arthur Miller proud blood that does its liquid ballet on the thin blade-ice of the edge of love and being the last one out of a burning building it's probably better to be ashes than inhale so much smoke to live with rubbery skin, scarred by the fire for life where a hand placed upon the leathery hide cannot be felt as gentle as it is for the surface is so damaged, and beneath there is endless churning strife, turmoil, upset, an ember infection keeps the fire burning how can an angel meet Saint Peter and face rejection? How can Narcissus loathe his own reflection? How can the world keep spinning, when it's not enough to achieve perfection? How can Alexander the Great keep winning, when he has reached this crucial intersection and owns all that is known, every seat beneath his ass is a throne how can you be so ignorant and insulated with so much power, how can you have it all and still

There's a calming effect to the dizziness that graces inner eyelids fallen over irises, a peaceful sort of Apep- darkness settling like ancient dust over the pyramids against the breach of treasure, glittering silver platinum and gold, where vastness meets greatness endless is nature and wonder is all there is to behold- where a traveler at the crossroads of raining frogs and resignation may find the marks in secret papyrus rolled to be a notion of rebellion that's more commonly shared suppressed voices nary dare to whisper of uprising, it seemed none cared it seemed the rain was going to go away from a light drizzle, it has been storming for many days, the voices like thunder one had to speak up, the others only need to be told.