Demon of Pain [biogenerated poetry]

 Demon of Pain

I wish I could be enough

For you to be ok

But when you feed a demon

You become punishment

The tortured torturer who

Avenges their pain

All is not lost forever

Tomorrow brings another pain

You can erase with pain

As one pain tends to erase another

We proceed into normalized pain

The pain of foreknowledge of the day

Blunts the pain of the day

The throbbing becomes a rhythm

The rhythm becomes a routine

Seconds labor into hours

Every minute makes itself

Want to go away

Until ending pain

Consumes the will

Of the actor

Entirely

The Tortured Poet and the God of Names [biogenerated poetry]

 The Tortured Poet and the God of Names

The tortured poet eats his shadow

A song made for survival

The receipt you’re given

After you sell your silence

To the God of Names

The only name left in this space

Belongs to Him who makes shadows dance

Who creates a space where the dead pass

Who pins your ghost to the threshing floor

Death, is what they name Him

To Him all things proceed

The tortured poet calls upon Death

To be his muse

He wonders why when life is all he feels

There are no right answers here

There are no right answers in a Sea of Names

That’s how a poem can be beautiful

Even when it’s inspired by the hellish realms

It acts on instinct

Like Death

It moves toward its own completion

Live your life in such a manner

That rainwater won’t touch you

Eat your own soul until you are barren

And wanting again

Drink the blood of moribund specters

Who feed on your blood to come to life

Drink the emptiness of their machinations

Drink the solemn swelling promise of your cycle

Become the spirit of rebirth and understand

That Growth itself is eternal

But so is Death

A Home for Ghosts [biogenerated poetry]

 A Home for Ghosts

When you believe in ghosts

Every house is haunted

Restless spirits pervade the spaces

In between hope and fear

The silent echoes of the past

Ignite our imagination

And drive us, screaming, toward that place

Where shades and specters toil in loops

The abyss is always staring into you

You only notice when you're looking into it

When solemn eyes devise the path

To your destruction

And the only way out is down

Because you're falling

Through

Into

a pit with no bottom

The center of which is a heart

That forgot how to beat

The first hell was born of troubled sleep

All other hells proceed from it

The shades that inhabit this space

Become circuits of despair

Predictable

Like the motions of a planet

Like Sysiphus’ boulder rolling again

Down the incline

To what extent we are like

An endlessly repeating script

We are in hell

To what extent we desire to be seen

We are a ghost

To what extent we are a ghost

We are a home for ghosts

The Cruelest Month [biogenerated poetry]

 

April cleans up

Anything Winter could not kill

Flowers bloom from corpses

New life always requires a purging