I haven’t posted here in ages. What the hell though. Here’s a mix I made!
Paper Form
Inside blank vacuums, time slows.
Disguised banks and pools fill,
as the probing pigment flows,
giving substance to silent bodies.
“Paper face,
Speak to me through color-words.
Take the paint of my pen,
let its dark, your skin encase.”
“From my mind I’ll bleed to fill the drying ink-well,
Now let my substance give yours place.
Take the membrane from my cells,
and my corporeal form efface.”
“Let me deny my bleak dimension.
and hold you, being within white nullity.
I’ll fall within the ivory square.
and make its colored form my own there.”
-N.D.A.G
I haven’t written in a while.
I, Idea
Take my hollow words,
and make of me a frame,
and make of me a name,
and imagine-
I, Idea
yes, and condense me.
Shape my my face to fit in your mind,
and see in it what you need.
N.D.A.G.
Another dated one I haven’t posted. Yeah, the video’s unrelated.
The Dead I Tread On
The dead have crooked fingers,
and morphic smeared outlines.
The stench of their laughter lingers,
and drives disease into me.
Each of their fibers burns,
with black and cynic verve,
now to my eyes clouds return,
as hell’s smoke billows up.
And I walk with eyes turned down,
for the scenes at my feet pull.
I loathe the dead I tread on,
for to my feet, their hands hold.
-N.D.A.G.
This one’s a bit dated (and quite angsty)… I haven’t posted in ages though, so I’ll just dump it here, i guess.
Prism Throat
In my mouth lies a prism-
it melts shattered to my bowels.
Splint’ring into existance, a schism,
of kaleidoscopic always-never.
I see the spectrum’s parade,
As reality’s body’s flayed.
and blank-space’s mystr’ies surface on it’s skin.
Now under buoyed steps appears
Grass skewed to spirals pointed down.
And as möbius roads lean to crimson walls,
their broken eyes gape wilted, brown.
In my mouth lay a prism,
Now in it’s bowels I writhe.
Splint’ring-
Now curves in color-blood breathe brutal,
the stretched flesh canvas covers me.
And in its mouth, mind rattles-
and against its teeth, nerves grind.
Finally, from precipice’s lip my fingers grip
From the canvas-frame I crawl.
Out my tired eyes paint drips,
As my tightly curled form recalls
The beauty of the abyss’ walk.
-N.D.A.G.
I think I’ll make a couple of posts.
You speak to me of doubt-
as if he were a stranger.
But in my mind is a fortress,
And he tenant throughout.
And in my stone-walled soul,
I pace beside my fear.
Taking hellish precious counsel,
to keep a hollow crown near.
But doubt and fear need voice,
to keep our hearts intact.
But doubt and fear need censor,
to keep our hearts intact.
So though love’s prudent cold,
We’ll pass each molten thought.
To make gems out of brimstone,
And one day set them in gold.
-N.D.A,G.
Coming back from Annecy in two days. :D Guess who’s happy?
(me)
Distance tried to kill,
To with longing dam our blood.
And with every waking instant’s ills,
to torment as yearning’s flood.
But, by bodies tethered,
shutting eyes do mind’s chains sever.
And now in the light of a moon-made surge,
do our beings, eth’ral converge.
-N.D.A.G
Electricity? I wonder.
