Empathizing with Evil... I Just... A Confessional Deluge of Post Sexual War

I just,

    Had to... Do it, you know... Don't you? Please, you can't hold me libel, not in the cobwebs of evidence found the occurrence was a rare form yearning that comes less than a requiem once in a life deficit of conscience time! It's not like I grievously wounded another inhuman being... At least not as yet untitled whole career of my heart was intoxicated with her purpose after all the intertwining sexual curse is wrapped up in nature's double lust sensitive under husk ground touch, it's in our D.N.A...!

     Across the room she was enflamed by the playing it masculinely cool glance, shy to the covert sexual tones of my inner hideous eye's grotesque attempt at undressing her, rape with my mind. Her insecurities were my aspirations, issuing strange gestures into her ears, malicious scythe forked lying tongue compliments, Falsified adages I'd climax unprotected inside if she believed, yet never guessed the raging artificial fires of my truthfully benign purpose.

     But you believe me, don't you...? Even as she sits across the board of this chess court match stick to your guns room, her eyes maintain the constant suicide wish ebb and oblivion hope flow, a tide of life malignantly streaming down her gaunt cheeks, No one needs to know rape culture's greatest dismay, that she is white jacket lead straight swayed cell away, a prison of sheep opaque pillow walls stained only with memory ache tears. Unallowed to commit her life to a budding new f(r)iendship, that of the knife to flesh, her wrists will be kept in debt to the pariah growing inside her, attached to the living realm yet again her consent and purpose, however deviant, have been stolen away.

     Not even the witnesses blamed me! It was beautiful, the helix communion of my ever exposed disarmed unguarded thrust, The reality is... I could never admit this allowed, I tore open her epidermis cocoon, penetrated the holy nest, made bloody a youth's heart of emotion terror gold, yet I am not stained at all... Because I'm detached, I don't feel remorse at all for the illicit seething lust touch I enforced upon her butterfly turned moth of a marionette to nightmares being.

     Tomorrow the jury will convict me vindicated and find her responsible for giving off the scent of a minx, any man's tangible memory desire to bank another savoury kiss lips would after her burial stain her coffin with a second cumming, a poisonous dare of immoral trench sexual holocaust nazi troops, looking down upon moths as less than rodents or a masculine contest of the last murder, committed by the perpetual black hearted crow. 

     The son of every mother is endangered to arise and become karma's divergent saint knighted by God is the predatory death of virginity figurine, persona non grata existing without the atonementless regret of angels, fallen in genocide league with grace to over hatred throw the seemingly immortal powers of pent sensual up rage, caged in the children formulating the future of this new rape intimately accepted culture man!

     For I am no man at all... Whether by nature's imbued poweress or nurtured by culture's heirloom traits into this misogynistic husk, my ghost will reincarnate to sexually hate seep my defilement upon the fuselage vessel of my imparted seed, for the trophies of sandcastle earth's history are rife with the memory ache shrapnel embed tears of my crimes.

In earnest anticipation of,
   

Malefic Condescension: Tearing Down Heaven III

Silence,

     Is the unguidable wilderness distant nature of the Mother of all Gods' bargain, Every sin confidence is a cold denial infinite bet confession labyrinth of words hoping She'll  awaken to faith gesture and play the secrecy threat of Her oft benign cross empathetic dead hand!

     Just another running card eternity drawn breath Sunday without god... gag, Her augmented li(f)e of the hour brink of glass shattering silence is the proving mime fields of war, Betraying clone bending the beautiful fear of hope in half, Just to die...

In earnest anticipation of,

Scottish Poetry Fanzine!

An Algorithymns' Post: 

Well Scotland,

     Your poets are on the vernacular war of peaceful resistance path yet again, The High Flight is a new Poetry & Short Story Fanzine made by four artists uniting to create something the rest of the UK might enjoy. How do you find out more, go to the source! First hand account by Sam Small  On Youtube The Indiegogo Campaign is on a march to creative ends! 

      So, maybe you know who scarlett johansson is, well she was recently quoted by a 3rd magazine convenient party as stating she'd move to Glasgow, For our poetry scene! Yes, that's right people the creative young persons masquerading as poets in this city have brought attention to it as more than just 'Scotland's Largest City.' 

     Not that we're pretending to be poets, only that... Well, a lot of us are humble word noobs that just adore creating and reciting words on behalf of something more than ourselves! I in particular would only call myself a poet on behalf of conviction's onset within, contriving the empathetic imagination engine to write for a cause beyond that which is merely the 'I' entitled me.

     So whether or not you're from Glasgow or Edinburgh, show some support for your peers and those who are creating on behalf of sharing, to inspire something more... In others, even if it is just a smile!

In earnest anticipation of,
Juton

Hive Minded: A Red Light Passes Rape III

Abusively offering,

    Lies in the wake of Red Siren lights sexually deviant illuminating a rape chalk district outline caste by pigs, Before the fail natural moral trench safe button exploded in mourning's crimson epidermis cocoon virginity lost dawn! The wails of vulture's spawned they're unapologetically hovering about the dangling skeletons of sexual noose throttled children, Waiting for a covert misogyny gendercide sign to awaken nature's honourable undone ideals of virtue template were unwoven by obsidian seething prejudice black and unjustified hatred on behalf of the contagion of greed's supposed injustice white!

In earnest anticipation of,

Malefic Condescension: Dose of Heaven... II

Over death,

      Achieving nectar dose of the god's karma never cared much at all lost dreams, The unfathomable infinite sandcastling cosmos, Realm of golden aptitude desire tests, Where the children of Buddha's eternal poverty war are forever subdued by avarice... Inside, Stagger as if cosmic winter recital blind, Waging every swollen consciousness sedated by snake apathy rolled eye no take ransom back bets on a god whose best answer is a theatre of silence, To lift a righteous single digit finger of faith to...

In earnest anticipation of,

Light in Reverse, I'd Like...

I'd like,

     To write about this sandcastle earth my brief life is trapped in, A better light than I do right now, But the darkness is everywhere and the poetry in reverse diction block flows out from the empathetic imagination engine within me, endlessly.

     Often there are times when I can subject my consciousness to fathomable strangely lit depths of the sky where hope resides, to write beautiful melodies of faith, hope and love... But who then would write of the darkness, who then would raise poetic awareness to the travesties the world over?

     Not that anyone reads these little adages of social observative commentary, but that's not why writing is important to me. Someday people will read it and they might be shocked at how my experiences, mind and imagination contrived to write such pieces, but that is for them to respond to, it is my just duty to those wounded by the haunting memory aches of injustice... To write!

In earnest anticipation of,

Ps. I guess that's why they call it art activism, because you believe it... To be the write thing to right, even if it is light in reverse.

Hive Minded: A Red Light Passes Rape II

Sexual lynching,

      Red Siren lights pass the rape caste district by, As children dangle like hives, A noose mind sandcastle earth citizens now share... Willingly covert participant hands in the cookie D.N.A jar of gendercide occurring theft of life before our comfortable phantom half placid awake eyes!

      Always dreaming but never lifting a faith's half conviction truth in defilement of action finger on behalf of derelict better days, Never to come as children lie screaming awake, As the paradigm of their hearts fades into karma's poverty caste vat systematically soul pooled well at the world's end, Against the vermilion ashen reincarnation undertow which there is every reason to run!

      No one wants to relive the haunting memory ache of rape in their next life, Only to realize they've been through this sexually hate seething violent familiar episode all before, As they lay dying...

In earnest anticipation of,