• Standing here, reaching out.
    I try to run, want to shout.

    But there’s no escape, no way to win—
    As all our miseries, lay within.

    Deeper still, there is no “I”.
    And up above, there is no sky.

    Distinctions shackle, dimensions bind.
    Reality: a fractured figment of the mind.

    What is, was, and was is were.
    And the you that is us, stretches, spins—
    Becoming oh-so-ablur.

    And so, the thing we are continues to turn.
    Replacing heat with a ruinous spurn.
  • Set down by a susurrating, metal sarcophagus,
    we set off with Lances in hand.
    Chanting, our voices echo: unmolested
    Marching, our footsteps go: uncontested.

    This warped place, its writhing landscape and rotten seams—
    is but a festering, fetid dream.
    And nothing, brothers, is as it seems.

    Marching across a tether, altogether,
    As—
    —Forces unseen claim their toll.
    Hopes, bones, and each tempered will:
    are rendered nil.

    We are cast like stones, plunged into unknown depths.
    Will we share the same watery grave?
    Or am I alone to be spared, freed from sharing in your deaths?
    Your all, into this heart, shall I engrave.

    O’ brothers, this sentence:
    You never deserved.

    Floating down an endless reflection,
    engulfed in this infection.
    Lapped by ripples, distortions, that run deep.
    The passage of time: pointless,
    When swallowed up by such grief.

    Then, from the muddied void:
    strange harbingers emerge.
    Their many faces: shadowed and perfectly ovoid.
    A veritable myriad of maleficent demiurge.

    Ah, and when their voices join as one,
    A reverberating tone shakes this place
    Their lunatic song, O’ how it has twisted this space.
    This endless river, now spirals upward.

    If your dreams still exist,
    then let them ring true, brothers.
    For I am going now,
    To the fields of flesh and bone.
    Where Unnce waits, upon his accursed throne.
  • Thin lines,
    intersecting at a curvature,
    caressed by soft unknowns.
    From afar their turns are perfect,
    warm, and inviting:
    a perfect place to lay your tired head.

    These thin lines,
    If they were to be chipped at,
    would their true colors show?
    A faded shade of gold?
    Some faint wisp of former glory. Days long gone.
    Or a deeply burning scarlet? Too bright for unassuming eyes.
    Perhaps you would find, no color at all.
    Eroded and wiped away, no trace to be discerned.
    Like that peeling paint, that slowly descends,
    downward, off that plastered wall.

    Regardless of the three dimensions
    The fourth still holds all three at bay.
    Arbiter, and high judicator, it
    contorts binding pacts to show the folly
    of coveting those lines
    who intersect so succinctly
    behind the knee, and atop lips.
  • Slabs of steel come down, as mechanical arms begin hissing.
    “That’s safe enough, but isn’t something missing?”
    Seals begin whirring. “Well, I do believe the whole system is concurring…”
    Locks interlace with additional plates of metal. And, eventually, settle.
    Fail-safes sputter online.
    “And now, it’s time to pour some wine.”
  • we’re as happy as can be,
    I’ve got you, and you’ve got me,
    you know, it seems like forever since we started walking
    and since then, we’ve travelled o’er both land and sea

    always together: you, and me

    but it took a few years to really get to talkin’
    and by then our talk had turned to the topic of stopping…

    though really, there’s no need to fuss,
    our fate had simply caught up with us

    oh but we’re as happy as can be,
    you know I’d shoot you, and you’d shoot me

    though the end is drawing near, don’t you ever fret my dear,
    cuz I’ll just whisper sweet words in your ear,

    and out the other, the bullet flies,
    I guess you’re the “second to last” who dies

    but no matter, ‘this or that’,
    you’re still number one to me

    yes no matter if we live or die,
    I’ve got you, and you’ve got me,

    and we’ll be as happy as corpses can be
    ah…
    most definitely…
  • You are but an illusion,
    And nothing you see is real.
    So walk hand in hand with delusion,
    And let your dreams congeal.
  • I can’t move my body, can’t turn my head. Without yet knowing, I’m so full of dread.

    I can’t see much, but my whole room is changing and— arranging. The walls shift, giving way to a rift. Seeping, streaking, and streaming, it runs and rolls, pooling upon the floor: dark and deep.

    With this, I know: I won’t be getting any sleep.

    Now I can feel it, inside my chest. It’s coming for me, and it knows what’s best.

    The lights return, but are orange just like the rest. Everything is rust. My every breath is full of dampened metal, reeking of must, and dust.

    Decay rains on my bed, as the ceiling rots away. And suddenly, I start to allay…

    I know that the good doctor is coming. Ah, the Rust Doctor, he’s coming for me.

    To set things right, as all things should be.