A Demon Inside

~Insanity comes from the heart, not the mind.~ A.P. Heart

Would you listen to your mind, whispering cruel words

As the devil does, sinking feelings down into your stomach,

As the heart, watches with tears, steaming down

Creating a puddle, where those feelings drown,

The heart, can do nothing else, but stay witness

To the repression, of what can keep the heart in flight,

That being said, even though the heart is the birth of insanity,

Then, it is the brain that originates what has driven

The heart absolutely insane, some more than those passed,

Be weary of those lost to the overbearing world

The heart seems to be caged in, a purgatory in hell.

Too Many Open Tabs


Late at night, as I peruse my thoughts
And jump, from idea to Wonderland
Escaping narrowly into another tab,
Finding myself in a distant picture,
Foreign steps, into a calm river
And out into the cold, with no blanket
Except for the falling sky, as I dart
To an already traveled road, reviewing
What I have learned, it is what I have forgotten,
Too many open sources, without any retention,
As I continue to sift my way out of swallow
And into another trap, flying to the bottom,
What was I thinking about?
Where has my mind drifted to?
A year in the sun, lost on an island
With the company of my own insomnia.


Watching it all Fall


Where are you while everything burns?
The disintegration of the visceral
And the annihilation of cognitive,
It’s all being blown away
While you’re caught, in the breast of the beast,
A transformation to wasteland
That has buried the sun in the fog
Of burning brimstone upon perception,
The ticking clock begs for your immersion
As chaos pervades
Beyond the gates that once,
Stood so tall,
It ticks, and ticks
Clawing at the mundane membrane
Concaving into itself,
While you gear no struggle
And flush no tear,
You swallow into filth
Watching yourself murder consciousness,
Still, is the tick
As it digests the pendulum
Breaking away into nothing,
You step out, unsure,
Blankly reaching to grasp
Coming up empty
For the gray, vanishes
And you find a sprocket
Bleeding in your hand,
You’re too late.