Archive for the ‘Death Poetry’ Category

Stream of Voices

I don’t exist
Or exist way too much to be in the way
When silence attacks violently
The voices of those who abused me start chattering.

So bring the guns forward
I’ve been meaning to die for awhile now
Oh, no I do not mean to be ungrateful
But fuck the way I feel about everything when I’m lonely.

Good for you if you don’t speak about these things up front
But for fuck’s sake I’m trying to exorcise my own demons
Can you lend me a hand of getting out of this hell?
Or are you gonna stay on that side, yelling “you can make it!”?

This feeling is fueled by the fact I am physically alone
I don’t want to hear the things I already know
That demonic voice of my own, my low self-esteem
How nobody ever wanted me. How low can I go?

To play the victim and feel sorry about myself
Be in my fucking skin and tell me that everything is ok
“If you’re gonna end it, you should’ve ended it by now”
What kind of fucked up thing is that to say to someone who’s hurting?

Advertisements

New pseudonym The Velvet Empress

Y.O.D.O. (You Only Die Once)

Down and broken
Down, down, down
And broken down
Watch your step, love
You’d leave me here
Out here in cold
Just to meet my fate
Just like your mother told you to.

You know, a funny thing about Karma
It always comes around
It always comes around to fuck you up
So dance in your silver platter, for the while
The devil likes his dishes best served cold
So you better hang onto your angel’s wings
I’ll be praying to the prince of the air
To pull you back down
Back down, where you should be.

Down and broken
Down, down, down
Where voices speak out loud
And the darkness becomes your friend
The walls go for the trade
In an alchemic exchange
But can you see the writing?
Do you understand what the words mean at all?

You know, the funny thing about the twist of the knife
It comes under as part of a sacrifice
The more blood you donate
The more you fill up its thirst
In comes a horror you’re too scared to realize
That what goes up must always come down
That not all angels come from the light
And this one, it fell from the sky.

To die once and then come back to life
It’s such an awkward experience
You can still hear those whispers calling you on
Cause on this side is not where you belong.

A Motion Cycle’s The Resolution. The order in which the poems should be read. These poems will appear in a poetry e-book I’m writing titled “Fishing for Sirens”.

The Fisherman
The Resolution
The Divine
The Antagonistic
The Needy
Fated for Catastrophe
The Veil
The Logical Sense of the Granted
The Pretender
The Wounded
Aphorismos
Finding Work in Idle Hands
The Executioner
Agean Chain
The Invisible
Elysium

New poem by ‘Ryan Lyandree’

Fated For Catastrophe

The king is at its castle
Another dumb puppet chosen by dynasty
Let’s crown this asshole
Let’s embrace our own empirical hypocrisy.

Here comes his majesty
The trumpets announce his entrance here
In with the “new” ministry
The surface of this place is flat in this sphere.

And so it’s time to choose sides
It’s time to stay closed, or open out wide
For larva are accumulating in our mouths
What about the dear old worms when everything goes south?

The lord is at its temple
Praise the pagan figures built by mortal men
Darkness is that simple
It enters though the gaping holes of human sin.

And so it’s time to choose gods
It’s time to stay close, or to let go
For dust has been gathering in our hearts
What about the dear agony that comes along with the scars?

And so it’s time to push open that third eye
‘Cause how obvious can it be to read between the lines?
It’s time to swallow the truth and savor the lies
How oblivious can we be about a balance that declines?

Choose now to live or to die
Choose now to give up or to stay alive
For our king has spewed “off with their heads”
And I think he’s speaking about the living rather than the dead.

Décollation et Ax
(Written on June 1, 2016)

Here you have come
To return me where I belong
To the fire and brim
And the odium that streams
As it was written before
For the sanction and lore
To the divine infinity
And any other impossibility.

Here we are now
We’ve survived this somehow
To the steel and the stone
The ridge of the flesh and the bone
As it was once foretold
For the stick in the mud of the mold
To the one opposable
And any other one immutable.

Saviors and angels
Any kind of Theo-co-existence
To any other angle
Anything that comes as persistent;
Necromancers of the past
Gather up to raise your glass
Obstructing all that resurfaces
Obscuring all that’s polymorphous.

I haven’t given before my opinion about today’s society’s status. This is my opinion about it all.

SeaSick

Nuke us, nuke us
This world deserves death
Apathy and nihilism
I’m a man with no faith.

I don’t hate you enough to pull the trigger
I don’t love you enough to extend my hand
Die in the corner, where nobody sees you
Die of starvation, the rich-from overdose.

This canvas is all painted over
There’s nothing else to put here
Just throw it to the trash and then
Bring a blank canvas and start again.

Your opinion, my opinion
The facts, the suffering
All of the notion that keeps moving on
We all born, we all die, we all cry!!!

So nuke us, nuke us
So we can truly fucking feel
How the goddamn end is like
Politicians and religious nuts
The politically correct and millennials
And those who don’t give a fuck
And for those who don’t believe in a God!
Die! For all of our sins
Or lack of
Perfect? Perfect is your bullshit
Thinking that we’re not on the same boat
One that is sinking!!!

The wave of so much nothingness
I’m getting seasick by all of the hollowness
The pitch black, nothing is essential
Everything is created, nothing is accidental.

Somber Song

She drowned her pain deeper than anyone could ever reach
Burned down her house with all her things, all of her precious memories
And now as she stumbles in the streets without a familiar face
To look at, to ask why, all these terrible things have to happen?

Children, they don’t know all the misery awaiting for them
Right next door, right by the curve, inside their heads and their own houses
And now that I’m old I’ve wasted all of my advices to give
To anyone, about anything, without sounding like a drunk vagabond mumbling.

The moon is far away and even if in our innocence we dreamt it to be made of cheese
Either we sleep in for too long, or we haven’t rested enough to face the harsh reality
Enjoying these guessing games, putting together these puzzling pieces
She took a drink that now will take her to the side of fence where the grass isn’t greener.