Nightfall Call

There's something inside you

a glance at mishaps,

made errors by

human senses

or

the force

of

chimera reins.

An elongated Beast

arises,

best to bet

He will not make

the same

mistakes.

It walks,

as everything unhinges,

a plethora of

pretty concepts

for all

to taste.

But nevermind

the ritual

it's all the same.

A part of me

welcomes

as all the others

seek to

Destroy.

And

Fire again,

five shadows,

turn to ashes

by the sand.

And the desert

pretends itself

blue

for

The Night

Now.

All bones

become

gapes,

as oppression

reshapes

into

tainted veins,

forcing an evermore

stapled smile

to persist.

For how many

decades more

to slay

fazed.

I'm awaken

yet only for pain,

and without question

I take off my face.

And the walk never ceases

to amaze me.

Blazes

as the pavement shifts

wobbly,

as I

descend.

But consistently

a steep.

Climbing up the stairs.

For that shock

that comes

always tumbling down

through the channels

of    3  AM

Nevermind,

the shook

as the rages and the

cancers,

hunger for more

outlines to take

with them to

a never-ending

summer,

they're always

another shadow

yet

to blame.

Nightfall.

Again.

Arose.

Through the tunnel

of a lonely

dusk.

The Man.

Climbs down

To Hell.

I s     y e t     a n o t h e r

c a l l

T O   R A I N

. . .

. .

.

Another Simple Example of Eyeballs

 

A presumptuous

haze

arises

as the purple veil

eclipses.

Multiple facets

of the

same paradigm,

juxtaposed,

as each face passes

from

the corner to the next

available

force

to come down

with The Stars.

A wild conglomerate

of dangerous concepts.

Are the message

 or are they just another

Curse, unprovoked,

it's always just the smoke

that slopes

a path toward

destruction

and remorse.

But now,

my wings feel

heavier than the

steel feathers,

flaring as they

shimmer up the snow

that melts between

The Righteous

and The Void.

A new promise,

yet awoken,

passing notes by the fire,

seated by stones.

We're the

shadows that remain

unspoken

as Humanity's

velvet

turns to bricks.

And layer after layer

my sins turn to priests

as they look

at the same Sun

turned to ashes,

by blazes

set their fate

in rocks that

have

already forgotten

their songs.

A piety growl

from the

bottom.

Of my soul,

as it glows.

The pit of forsaken heroes

comes crumbling down

allure.

Always

Assume.

The worst of me

and the best of you.

A dotted line that follows

the perpetuated glass

that breaths in

a new glance

of hope,

and just in case,

be ready with the bones

in case of broth.

A fulminating aroma

Of Death.

For which every Soul

turns Gold.

Now,

my emptied

Magazine

Becomes One

with The Goal.

Now my Renewed Persona

Burns.

As it becomes

Synthesized

By Love.

And processed

by yet another form

of The Same

False God.