Sunday, April 13, 2014

Malefic Condescension: I Burn

After writing this and living this day, as with any other piece, if I should die...
I would be content with the last 24 hours of my life.

This is why I burn,

     My visions of forever have grown numb under the unpleasant Christ allowed history on apathetic repeat as my own chronicles are wasted unfocused gasps of a social educated critical mass poetic expulsion acid for breath of fire unqualified yet desperately, mother of all my fucking attention lost to the deficit of hope, for this place expounds with illicit intolerance that denies the consciousness as I bid to speak.

     Once I was bound by glory and splayed my holy guts before god mouthing 'thy kingdom come.' Now I am not that boy, not that man of any kind hood has anything to do with belief at all, nor faith, but only witness. To how you forsake every moment of ever present awareness in your life!

     Do you leave the moral trenches derelict, forfeit to the hate barrels of intolerance and greed? Waking to thrive as one of the comfortable self sedated masses, pride doesn't even exist anymore! Its corruption is unnecessary in an age where we cum so quick to easily for everything that keeps us apathetic to compassion, tugging at our God's salvation constantly pregnant ghostly cowl of  salvation and souls, gestating in angelic cocoons as the nameless die, their spirit's never to be reused.

     Can you see it, there is a hate picture resound inside my head, the perpetration of ill experience swell the conscience of my heart with memory ache, yet nothing is inadmissible for a plead the fifth generation requesting the accordance of God's will to atonement according to counter salvation measures algorithmically shot to the lethargic heart of our self tied noose; choking out our iron hind barrel sight that disavows our past, allowing its reoccurrence tomorrow.

     Everything is forgiveable, in the eyes of the eternal... Yet the mirror and thus the inner human eye, that once held us accountable has gone benign rogue, a stagnant mental void shift that allows the degeneration of thought, until we're willingly blind and there is no such thing as black and white, good or bad...

     Though there is a magnitude of grey, and Christ often performed within said realm, it was on behalf of peace between one another or over the earth, and that will has died. Grey is now the operating jade greed dragon's burnt offering breath table, a discontinued paper knee clip in half stair case of prayer where only that which keeps us sedated exists to be empowered by our monitored silence in protest to purification by any form of praiseworthy hypnotic marionette church attendance numbers auditorium projection raised amputated faith prosthetic glass broken finger on behalf of anyone you never knew...

     But as you look in the mirror, what fa├žade stands bereft of identity before you? A husk without melodic harmony for the future note to their name, unless protected by the false protagonist disguise of a consciously sedated facial contortion once entitled: 'smile.'

     Make-up to masculinity, it hides the riddle, but for how long...

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