I built a wall around the shimmer of God. 

Layer upon layer it was layed 

Cast in the blood, And the filth, and the Death. 

Built on foundations of rage. 

Forged from the darkness, the fortress was bound. 

As the molten tread flooded the bank. 

Plastered among the dark shadows of envy.

Built on foundations of pain. 

The tower was high, no crack to be seen

the bricks were...

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Captivate me.

Streak a bolt that crashes to the crust. Rage___ ever-flowing down.

Streamlined swiftly as you glide gleaming as you shed first light.

Will you share this eternal, nocturnal, aesthetic scene?

I pry. I prod. You quiver. 

Bolting through the brush I tail you

Cascading through your eyes. 

Glide           float            fall.

Flooded minds can’t pierce...

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On the precipice I ask myself: if I jump up and down, will the self that has eluded me for the past 29.6 years, flood right in? 

Will it flood from my tiptoes as the dust from my checkerboard slip-ons rolls to the tip of the sky?  Skylines are a welcome reprieve from lacquer-boxed street dwellings and tap-finger light pockets.

But:  

Can I stand on my tiptoes? 

Teetering, the tattered ...

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Blessed are those who seek the light, When the slipping past-time concurrent is Death-Throes. 

Kings and brigands, roam as whispers maliced carve through sleep-ridden eardrums. 

Flowing shimmers ignite, and pass over peer-views to shine a spark on tight-held secrets.

Glimpses touch you, embrace you, adorn you a glowing and seated lighthouse beacon. 

Blessed are those who breach and fli...

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Is there sound at the bottom of the wave?

When the crack of my split-fingers breaks silence, and the whip hits the air.

It vibrates. 

Is sound at the bottom of the vibration? 

The crest and the trough sweep the air in back-forthed opposition, so that my fingers: could knock on the door of existence.

When I snap my fingers, does the sound make reverb like a drop in the water? 

Whe...

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Walking without the floor is oh such bore, as if it’s not walking at all.

But standing on stage is not either the place, without you first seeing the wall. 

And the waves wash right in with such a great spin, but would’nt without crest or the trough.

If you look and see two, remember that’s you, and actually, it’s just one, as in all.

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The wolves will surround you. Flames will keep them at bay.

Burn bright, lest you be consumed. Teeth sink if light dims.

Shine on and bite back.

Sharp is being grounded in luminescence.

The wolves will surround you.

Burn.

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The Blind Idiot God.

You line your mind with Eyes, my friend, to see what is unseen.

An eldritch truth, the horror here, will breed insanity.

A formless void, the Great Control, will Be from here to there, its whispers seeps inside your flesh, as terror rears its head.

The breadth of All ,comes rushing in, you try to face the black. You can’t succeed, it’s all for naught, as Eyes are w...

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