Nihilism For Fun And Profit

Watch it spill out of the self-inflicted wound

The ravages of time weigh heavily on me

And there's nothing that anyone can do

I want to fall into the black that threatens

To quell everything good that I've known

To embrace the quiet ease of giving up

He was the soul of the forest, full of the ancient magics that hide within the trees.

Wild hair and dark, piercing eyes belied a warmth that only the creatures closest to him would ever know.

He felt the call of the earth, some would say he was doomed to wander.

But the twisted paths of the wild were the only home he'd ever known.

-

He was the dreamer who lived in the clouds, above the triflings of the world below.

Tall and proud, with features that could cut glass - a museum piece he felt was best admired from afar.

He drifted upon the eddies of the winds, keeping loneliness at bay with his own company.

But he would never deign to descend for mere companionship, so he always sought more.

-

She was the ever-changing depths of the sea, both placid and destructive at a moment's notice.

Enchantingly beautiful, she was the reason sailors fell in love with the depths.

She was jealousy incarnate, and once in her thrall she would never let her playthings go.

But she couldn't help but view her collection of the drowned with profound melancholy even as she added souls.

-

She was the crackling, flickering flame, both force of nature and nurturing bosom to man.

Petite with smouldering eyes, she would grow and consume all in her path if not treated with care.

She longed for touch from the creatures she cared for, even as they crowded around her each winter night.

There's an image in his head, an enduring picture of desire. A path paved in neon he's not equipped to walk.

There's an image in his head, a lingering feeling that he could have it all. An opulent televangelist taking up permanent residence in the darkest part of his mind.

There's an image in his head, a realization that he has all the tools in hand. A burned out no-vacancy sign casts a shadow over a construction site next door.

There's an image in his head, a photo finish at the end of a race he didn't even realize he was running. A collapsing lung after a marathon, the long rehydration period after a 12 round fight.

There's an image in his head, the shattered remnants of a crystal cocoon. A reborn divine, or the darkest facsimile of what he thinks one would be.

There's an image in his head, looking out over the burning remnants of a once-resplendent city nightscape from atop his penthouse throne. A glass of whiskey in hand, and a forlorn, lonely peace.

There's an image in his head, what some would call delusions of grandeur. The anchors he wears around his neck would agree.

There's an image in his head, and it's nothing but endless, cold dark. The final journey all men must take, but he felt himself above it, always.

Nostalgic for a time I never lived in

Homesick for places I've never seen

A fog rolls in named Dissatisfaction

Disillusioned with who I've grown to be

I want to taste the mountain air

To feel the spray of every sea

I want to leave this life behind

Doing shots of holy water

To keep the dark at bay

A wall of hanging crucifixes

A space that I profane

Drunk on the unholy swagger

Of self-righteousness and blame

Taking swings at memories

He said his favorite color was black

But even that was too vibrant

He was grey, like the clouds of a summer thunderstorm

Grey, like the pallor of a corpse

Grey, like the highway stretching endless to the horizon

He was grey, like the ashes left where a forest once stood

His favorite color was black

I am the void

Warmth flickers and dies inside me

Echoes fade into the lonely dark

I worship at the altar of oblivion

Consuming the emotion of my flock

Woes and triumph alike swallowed like a shot

I gaze into forever

An endless reflection of nothingness stares back

It’s exhausting to work so hard

Just to attain an acceptable level of mediocrity

Just to survive

I’m starving for progress

Just to feel like I’m not wasting my life

Obscure the truth with misdirection

Hope from seeds of doubt

But drunken tongues remember

And now the truth will out

Perhaps it would be kinder

To delude myself in peace

But the darkest part of my mind

War walked into the bar wearing a blood red dress and ordered a bottle of whiskey. She refused a glass. Death watched her from the corner in his jet black suit, his fingers absently swirling vodka around in his glass. He watched as she drank and glared at any man who dared approach her - but really, who could blame them? She was beautiful, smouldering like a fire waiting for its chance to flare back to life. Death smirked as he finished his glass and stood up.

Their eyes met across the bar, her glare meeting his indifferent gaze. He strode up to her and held out his hand. "Death," he said simply. She took a long pull of whiskey without breaking eye contact and slowly, finally, held out her own. "War," she said, gaze softening slightly even as her hands turned the bottle of whiskey over. She held it by the neck, winked, and then smashed the bottle on the bar before brandishing the glass. "Let's go," she said, as every eye turned to her.

Death watched as War grabbed the bartender and buried the glass in his neck. He watched the light in his eyes flicker and wane as the crimson that matched War's dress spilled across the bar. War was a dervish, deadly and frantic, as she worked her way brutally and methodically through the bar. Death was a spectre amongst the chaos, following her path almost involuntarily. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

War stood outside a bar full of corpses, smoothing her dress dripping red. Death sauntered out, adjusting his tie. War simply nodded at him and held out her hand, and Death took it without a second thought. "We'll travel the world," War said softly, "and we'll kill them all."

Lost inside the moment

Til the constant call of void

Bathes long forgotten failures in the light

And all at once I realize

That the room was never clean at all

I just filled the closet with the mess

Like a defiant, lazy child

Resolve myself to be better

A brief refrain of hope

But the void always returns

And I wonder if it best

To hide that part of myself inside the closet

Leave the mess for someone else to clean

And let the belt lengthen my shortcomings

Gaze upwards into the abyss

The void inside you matches the one above

Not the sky, but god

The unknown has always been above us

We can't get our hands on it

Can't choke the life from it with our rage

All we can do is rail against the heavens

Because the echoing silence inside

Is reflected in the absence of our god

She's my little clockwork girl

I wear upon my wrist

All gears and teeth and shiny things

I love the way she ticks

She's my little wind up toy

I keep upon my shelf

But the greatest thing about her

She winds up by herself

She's my little devil girl

Whispers evil from my shoulder

But sometimes when alone at night

She even lets me hold her

She's my little matchmade girl

We're perfect for each other

No matter what may come for me

Bite tongue til it bleeds pitch black tar and sulfur fills throat

Swallow words even as acid drips from tongue and throat begins to blister

Accept abuse because mouth spits white hot fury that would burn the world to ash

Pull the leash of the evil thing that searches for prey from behind its cage of teeth

Bodies of loved ones and cinders left in wake

Salted earth and mass graves

Fog over a silent battlefield

One man stands alone and his mouth is a smoking gun