Tag: death

Deadening a Simple Way of Existing

ggkalfas

It is in those tiny pieces of time; those tiny pieces in between each long and dragged out second, those long and tedious seconds, which create the moments within living through a lie. They are just as painful, as they are life consuming. Too much of life has been consumed by these tiny pieces of time, which have dragged life out for far too long. It was not supposed to end this way, but it seems to be the only way I have ever known. It was never supposed to end this way; it was never supposed to end on me. There is a fist within me; clenching my insides tightly. I have been within the grip of this clenching for all of my existence, it seems to have been born within me, when I was birthed into this vibration. The clenching has been with me for so long I forget it is there, hiding within me; holding, tugging, gripping, tearing, molding me into what I have become. There is a special kind of safety, I have found within this special type of torture; a commonality, a familiarity, a deadening, a simply way of existing. I wound not necessarily call it a way of living, as much as I would call it an emotional and mental mummification of the spirit. This clenching has not allowed me to evolve beyond a certain point within my life; holding me back, pulling me down to the point of submersion. I drown within my inner thoughts, my speech, and my life within this deep, unbearable clenching submersion. I have learned over and over again to breathe without breathing. This is a life consuming task, which I have grown accustomed to dealing with. It will move on me, more and more each day, as this is how I have learned to overcome the clenching’s hold over me. Over the course of my lifetime, I have learned how to master the submersion. This is the true difference between you and I; the true difference between life and death. This is the life of the internal, as this is the death of the external. I have now mastered both life and death. I have now mastered the illusory material, and the non-cognitive external. I no longer allow the clenching to defeat me within my life, as I now swim within the black waters of its clenching darkness. Now, I am the clenching’s master; I own her darkness.

This is the Game the Humans Created

ggkalfas

You hear it and see it all the time; in movies, books, television commercials, radio, online, everywhere: the world is not a safe place. The world is not a safe place, simply because people are not safe to be around. The world is fucked up, simply because people are fucked up. Everyone is trying to kill everyone, in some form or fashion; through any means available. Where is all of this coming from, or has it been here the whole time? It has been here the whole time, only now it is socially acceptable to be socially unacceptable. Fucking the other over is the name of the game of life. This is the game the humans created, not nature. Nature uses destruction to create, as humans use destruction to create profit; even if this means the destruction of all human life. What has made itself blatantly clear, is that no one cares about you, your life, or anything about you for that matter. You are not special or unique, all you are is a means to an end, for the real owners of this world. We are constantly being monitored every second of every day. We think we are having our own thoughts, but how many of our thoughts are actually are own? At every moment, we are bombarded with some type of propaganda. It is a never-ending regurgitation of forced-fed material, through a constant onslaught onto our senses. We are so used to it, we do not even notice it anymore. Our personal biorhythms, are being read, and detailed out, by all of the technology surrounding us. There will never be an end to it; this interpersonal invasion into our full being will continue to grow. This growth will eventually consume humanity, bringing about a new way of living life through a compartmentalization paradigm. Our daily lives, our personal relationship’s with other people, and the relationship we have with ourselves, are constantly being directly monitored by this invasion; all the time, every day, all day long.

One Kiss and Swallow of a Slit Tongue

ggkalfas

A casual encounter, within a cyst to remember. Another doubt to be considered. Doubting you will ever deliver. A promise into the night. When we both witnessed the new moon bright. The glow shined bright upon you and I. All through that night. You wanted to try. That was all you could do. There was not enough motivation for you to sink yourself in. You were fighting and biting, in between your cut-up words. Maintaining a silence, which would never be heard. You cannot change the death within your past. The life you died in was never meant to last. Giving birth to future lies, while creating knots with your twisted tongue. Witnessing the cataclysm behind your eyes. Scarred skin you will never mend or blend. This is when the sleep sets itself upon you. Deviant nocturnal gestures. Remembrances of blissful suicides, while blossoming and blooming itself into extinction. Untying the knots, will only make them tighter. A pretty noose to match your slit wrists. Delighted blood feast. Dinning within your corpses delight. Mangled and tangled. Deliverance within forgiveness. Hail the western winds of frailty. Seeking their lusts from within your enchantingly tainted womb. The growling and howling. Mating call of the tomb. Impregnating its hollowed sacrificial tendencies. Regrets never tasted. Used and destroyed. This hand knows your blame. A shame you sought out. It slit your throat. Twice. Not deep enough the first time. This is when I will use my other hand. This is how they know your blame. The blood remembers, as the mind is forgetful. Including me. Our defamation. The subtleness within the way we quietly kill one another. The embrace of chains upon one another’s chest. A glistening glow of the reached for torment. Simple variations of killing within beauty’s garden. One seed at a time. One kiss and swallow of a slit tongue. Feeling and feeding the inside of your mouth. Paralyzed cries. Servitude within your bleeding thighs. A reality we have both fantasized about. The inner breeding of bondage. Longing for its suffocating embrace. One at a time.

Drowning Menstrual Stream

ggkalfas

The specific way a broken tongue is gently stroked, is the same way a face of disgrace washes itself clean from its daily routine. The needle will drain itself dry, pushing its illusions away, deep into the soul of your lost control. There is no soul, when a life reaches the point of no return. Sometimes, but only sometimes; I enjoy tearing the veil for those who need it, not wanting it. Forced oblivion, can be a delicious delight. The taste and the smell are never too much, or too soon. A forced penetration. Your apricots wither within the cycle of their drowning menstrual stream. I am fascinated by how quickly your lips turned away from me, as though you have never tasted death before. A stranger within your flesh; seething while striking down the teasing tongue. Salvation within the fleshy salivation. Remembering the bleeding cherries on top of your stomach. I liked how the blood ran down your side; permanently staining your chastity within the threads of your neat, white sheets. The floating fear within your penetrating stare, knowing I would be the permanence within your life; haunting your living and dying days for the rest of your unnatural life. This is what you and I wanted from one another; a deep longing, a deep connection, carving itself into our elastic connective tissue. This is the raw carnality, which permanently binds you and I together. Only time can remember the first caw the crow made, on the first day of our creation. You are the external stranger I have always known, as I have always been a stranger within the external world. I have glimpsed into it a long time ago, as I was curiously witnessing it floating past me on a daily basis. I quickly became blinded; strangling myself, trying to see beyond the vultures inhabiting its lusting domain. This is why I have created my external world internally. No joy or excitement can exist within a world of vultures; constantly ripping and tearing the flesh from bone, simply because they feed off of a lack mentality.

Life has a way of Mangling your Thoughts

ggkalfas

Empty promises, are not as empty as we sometimes think them to be. Our empty and broken promises, are filled with the lies and the deceits of our wreaked pasts, and sometimes our earnestly diseased futures. It becomes an easy habit to maintain, this giving away of empty promises and empty actions towards life. It can sometimes become a commodity with monetary value. There is a reward for handing out empty promises; this is probably the reasoning as to why it has become so easy to do so. It is not difficult at all, as the others ears are awaiting the golden words of deceit and fruitfulness; waiting to eat of the diseased words to fulfill their hearty appetites. The one chance you had to get away from it all, the chance was blatantly ignored without hesitation; thinking it would not be as bad as they said it would be. Well, how do you feel knowing the reality of where you are now, and what you have become because of it? Life has a way of mangling your thoughts, and your inside up to the point of becoming unrecognizable. Most of the time when this happens, you will be able to hear the bones within your chest cracking, then snapping in two.  This is not an easy bone to swallow now; is it? Most bones usually are not, as you will have to properly snap them in half, in order to suck the marrow out.

Every Type of Death has an Origin of Recognition

ggkalfas

Suffer to remain alive. A blissful decent through, and into your rotted life of inhumanity. Striving towards carcinogenic thought processes; devouring wholly and wide. Deepening all you have ever thought you have known. One more dip into the death pit. Slipping back inside yourself from underneath. Dying memories submerged underneath and around your feet. The hypnotizing stench of the buried dead you are standing over. A deeper translation; penetrating what you have always wanted to release. The thickening pale stench; permeating profusely through your nostrils. A resistance to the translation; suffocating you from within its putrid depths. These were your own words; your own bleakness manifested. A faint recognition of the bleak origin you were birthed from and into. Every type of death has an origin of recognition. Your face within the constellations of the blackened night sky. Contorting within a black hole; no one else will ever see within your eyes, but they will always get sucked into you through derangement. The midnight death rattles a baby plays with. Movement of the eternal dance through your eye’s origin. A black hole no one will ever see or recognize ever again.