I've been rather lethargic the past couple days, so unfortunately I didn't get a poem linked up in time, but came up with this piece here, and thought I'd post it anyhow.
Eternity is neither a straight line nor a circle. It can and cannot be comprised of data alone. We must find the impulse
To what is planned internally, contrite or overt, sentient or parabolic in its off-putting collage of demonic possession. I
plan scream,SCREAM to dream, planning, play, planner
May Scream, sCream may not manage to, or opt for, or
Dare scReam, ScrEam consider, think, fade, fail, dwelling
Isn't screAm, ScreaM attrition, collate, collide, meshing
Not SCReam, scrEAM as a rule, never leave as is, allot
The ScReAm, sCrEaM pigmented in variety, hue's light
Lily ScREam. sCreAM flower, shades of depth, dense, fog
Low scREAM, SCReAM leaves; lifts, lunges, plunges, push
Lens SKreem, SKRRRM claws/paws, scratch, scratching
It’s inside, the ulcers bleeding out, curdling, it is only without
It’s the only thing left in tryst, asunder, lust. It is only, only and nothing more than only, when what is caught inside the facades implored reflect the carbon lifted under chambers dark—composed of voids and mistresses, tearing apart the seams of a shapeless existence, skirting the equanimity of tragic distance. Parables are nice. Songs are too. Yet, when in a state, illogical connections, are the sanest only to the one otherwise considered as being millenniums away. Relegated.
“we build walls, impenetrable walls. We do so, in order to prevent invasion. To keep things out. Yet, too often, these same walls, successfully keep things far, far worse inside”