the written word.

Just some writes, as of late.

-_-_-_-_-_

Antichristmas.

Crass consumerism
wrapped in the face of Christ.
Greed, lust, and selfish desires'
harmonies resound.

-_-_-_-_-_

His Cretan mind.


Trapped inside
twists and turns
of a mind that isn't mine.

Each left leading
right to a wall,
each right leaving me
left in the shadows.
Every supposed end
beginning yet another
trip down a road
longing to remain untraveled.

Lost searching for light
within the center
of your cryptic thoughts;
yet the more deeply I delve,
the darker it becomes.

-_-_-_-_-_

And the hypocrites shall inherit.


All hands raised
in praise and adoration
of the God of predictability,
of conformity.

Voices rise
presenting a concert
meant solely
for the glorification of self.

Prayers filled with
grandiose words,
tear filled eyes,
fight to be impressive.

Hands highest,
voices loudest,
prayers most verbose:
these will be saved.

This church is built
upon a foundation
of self-righteousness
and selfish-ambition.

And down to Hell it spirals.

-_-_-_-_-_

Knowing nothing.


Knowing that nobody
knows the real me
helped me realize
I know nobody.

The difference is
I have the desire to.

-_-_-_-_-_