VincentBaalberith

Every time I try to conjure something beautiful, the dutiful distrust kicks in and blurs about my views, and over-thinking the distraction, any inkling of attraction won't feel mutual. The same old pessimistic stance as usual.

Our encounters only leave me with hypothesis, and time to reminisce on the abyss and wring my consciousness through every subtle nudge and quiet hint that seemed so obvious. Blow me a kiss, and carelessly enable the antithesis.

~VB

Ampersand Apocalyptic Apathy. Indifferent to the tragedy, experiencing atrophy, excited by the entropy. I'm cynical. They've brought me to this pinnacle. I never wanted to be this black-flag broadcast, anti-biblical individual. Clinical blasphemy, un-blessed, vexed and stressed by such atypical regrets. A livid endurance test that left a mess of brutal and twisted scars on my chest.

Sociopathic flask, filter the pilfer-panic through the enigmatic static. I'm numb to the klaxons, the cries, the quakes. The fires in the sky won't break my concentration, but shake the foundation, startle the nation with pavlovian inspiration. They whisper amends, while blistering winds carry rain-storms of needles and pins, temptations and sins. Satan grins adjacent to where I remain stationed for the whole damned duration of the counter-creation.

I'm gathered and calm. I've challenged even God's gambling visage, and my poker face never faded. I've traded in dozens of hands I was dealt by the damn deities. I learned the designs, trumped the divine, even forced stars to forfeit their shine. I keep a thousand aces up my sleeve. I'll bring the devil to his knees, and trade him wasted space where I plant Apathy like apple-seeds.

Always numb to wrist on cryptic ampersand linguistic. Always run the risk I'll die a dazzling statistic.
Scarcely justify this constant war that I am waging. Battlefield I've commandeered, and it's forever changing.
Moral fiber, thick and tough. My knives are never sharp enough.
There's tally lines carved in the mirror, I feel the heavens growing nearer..

&& I trudgingly meander back to the Asylum.

-VB-

Ampersand Lunar puppeteer, figure a planet to keep near. Ethereal action on the senses, a disctraction from the endless drones of paper planes, scissor-scapes, and cornerstones.

Dangling angels prance an algorithmic dance.
Brilliant feathered flotsam seeds float past in the doldrom breeze and bleed color curiously as they knead the dandiluminescent crescent, candy drops of light in sight. Fractal Flashbulbs, celestial globes. It's raining ambient meaning in heavenly strobes, gleaming like a thousand eyes. streaming, Aurora borealistic, a discotheque in the skies.

&& a jazzy pep-walk back to the Asylum.

-VB

Day 404

&mpersand Chaotic Relapse. Train of thought, derailed. Vessel capsized and impaled. Lacking presence or preference, memories hailed. Vitriolic essence of body parts nailed to a wall. Spaces warm, fresh from flesh traffic. Faces torn and tattered, splattered in fantastic pattern. Contrarian Crowned. I'm spinning round and looking down, I see no ground, but stand atop an endless drop, too cloudy to see the Oblivion we'll soon be living in.

Picture perfect, never worth it. Bath of Blood, Milk and Honey. Hollow Extravagance. Silk and Money, Swoon. Your wildest dreams burning on a silver spoon.

...I'm going back to the Asylum.

but I'm most certainly hungry, broke, and losing a lot of weight as of late.

Something foul has happened to my mood, as the events of the day press on.

The red feather-vibes in the air only bleed through the canvas and coagulate in my eyelids.

It's most un-comfortable.

Happy Day to you all.

-VB-