EvnSuicideAgrees's profile

The Hidden Foothills The Mountains bloom with new life, inhaling its breath taking views, the mountain exhales a layer of smoke. Deep and dark is its reach, though the crisp clean air brings you in for a drink. Soft pink, purple, and magentas fill it's background with manifesto, buried in this landscape lives the paintbrush of God. As long summer days end, the trees spark a new beginning, the colors of fireworks dance in their branches, while the wind toils to take them to new heights. Soon t...

I. The Commencement: Contradictions and Deceits The Blood Splatter explodes new excitement into a lifeless corpse; as the junkie sits in his remorse, hiding from reality in which he conceals, not very well at all. My walls are full of child hood drawings, or have I just taken a crayon to my walls? Do not be afraid the Schizophrenic angel tells me, but I’m starting not to believe him at all; for when I begin down the hall the angel follows me, claws and all. A blaze of colors blinding me sendi...

Hung by the weeping willow my soul sets as the sun rises, burning my eyes from the socket, drifting into nothing, sifting through cotton like clouds they gently touch my face. Dreaming of old memories that have been forgotten, memories of past begotten, filthy priest souls burn rotten, death sprouts flowers of hope’s destruction. Pulled from the fire without end, tossed into the lake of desirable trend, beaten to death without benevolence, buried shallow in misery. Hung by the weeping willow ...

Sounds clashing the planes crashing, startling my slumbering eyes from sleep. The crowd thrashing the oppressor laughing as we are violently abused and beat. These are the times in which I live, where heaven’s fallen angles commit much sin, buried in the hills of Mount Zion, the creatures toil and fight without end. Merely, Merely I say unto you, thou that drinketh from this cup shall never again thirst, thirst for your own thoughts and free verse, for that shall be considered cursed. You wil...

Your open hands of grace shower me with poison, until I stop breathing. Starving for Life, the weight of these bones is all that is left of me. A rotting corpse that is still alive already decomposed from your lack of sympathy. We all breathe the same air, and drink the same cup, and eat the same bread. Why must I be tortured with these plagues? What have I done that you have not done? What makes me more of a savage then you? Nothing. Deep in the heart of every man lies either an angry beast ...