War of the Masses

Crashing to the ground, side by side,

Sharing pain and distant apathy,

Two soldiers in a wicked war,

Battling against the world’s expectations,

Each in their own space, but it is too big to fill on their own.


Tongues lap on dirty pavements,

Cleaning the streets of all lies and truth.

Buried insomniac is restless beneath the concrete,

Noise cuts through him, as sight has no end.


They say it’s not right to be that way,

They are the masses of right, spitting at the handful of wrongs.

They judge and load bullets as they hand over the gun,

They shoot you before an epiphany has left your tongue.


All are wicked to the victim of war,

Collective drones piled up to make a wall,

Segregation is on the tongue of them all,

The only belief that matters is your own.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

not sure on the title for this one


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The Devil's Nest

Lost Treasures

The Devil's Nest
'Damien's Lost Scripts'

Get Out Now!, Get out while you can!. A strange voice shouts in my head. Where is this coming from the horrific images of things no sane man should have to witness. Look! There goes a two headed ape juggling hand grenades. The images alone could make you want to crawl inside some deep dark hole to never be seen from again, but the voices? Those are some devious, demented bastards I've ever encountered. They are my own I know this, but they are as foreign to me as the next face to pass me by.
All of this sober, well as sober as I will get but no hallucinogens have entered my body besides what it naturally produces. So does that make me crazy? Some would argue. When I look around and observe your world, the society I was born into. It makes me disgusted, so while you; obsessed with my sanity stumbles around in the dark blind to see what it is that I see. I may act insane, at times clearly deranged a facade designed to allow me to move around you unnoticed, undetected.

We are living in the devil's nest, eating supper at the table with our demons and skeletons. Breaking bread with the vary same sins and temptations that you run to church on sundays to repent, then to repeat, just to run back to the dinner table for seconds, thirds, and so on. I would not be one bit shocked if one day scientists were to find, discover or even label a hypocrite gene within our DNA. There is no need for a devil with horns wielding a pitchfork. For we are our own worst enemies, that nightmare that causes us to jump awake with sweat dripping from our face. It's easy to stand toe to toe against a stranger, the odds are in favor, with a fifty fifty chance. To face ourselves, the dice are loaded and the deck is stacked. The game is rigged for subconsciously we know our own weakness, to cripple our advantage. Time to storm the gates.

Everyday these strange faces slowly melt together into one big blur. Everyday these strange figures blend in with the mundane backdrop of a wasted reality, waking to the ignorance of existing. That somehow believing that since they are simply breathing they are living. They wake by alarm, drones jumping into routine, programed as they glide through the motions, The same thing everyday. The same thoughts. The same. These are the fools who judge my sanity, who question my morality. Those who would deem me unfit to care for myself. Yes that still bothers me quite a bit. The same people who would choke off any aspirations for creativity.
There must be something to the question of my sanity, if for any reason I could be called insane let it be known for the fact I still hold out hope that one day people will wake up. Move on from old dogmas and tear down a corrupt judicial system. That people will see that a soul can only grow if the body it inhabits is free and unbound by insane laws. I question the motives of any man in power, anyone who can by the stroke of a pen or in this age click of a mouse cause me to simply vanish without a trace.
I would like to say that it is not to late, that there is still a chance. Deep down I fear that may not be the case. That this cause has been lost, as things continue to get worse more and more will line up with their hands out expecting their nanny to take care of them, only when they realize that the system is broke will their eyes open to the true tragedy that surrounds us. That I see, that my mind processes everyday. Thoughts of a world wide melt down, due to incompetence and greed. Am I sane? As I sit in the devils nest, indulging willingly in a vast array of intoxicants. Watch while I seduce temptation and rape the devil. I will overcome. I will prevail. I am after all when everything is said and done a soul in a universe that is the true house of god.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This is an exerpt from a chapter in my unfinished book "Damien's Lost Script's" However I have yet to decide which pen name I should put it under. The Dead Poet or Damien Nosferatu.... Such a tough choice. Your thoughts?

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The bench is empty.
Only memories and dreams.
Hollow shell-which I've grown.
We all must walk a path.
Fated some, others to the wind.
Yet time and chance afflicts all.
Tears are only a prop of the stage.
Like the brown leaves above.
Melting back into time.
Children play like our shadows.
Hay,"OLD MAN", lets run.
Shed things of times passage.
Memories are the play ground today.
Soon they will fade like the sunset.
Then oblivion of all repose.

12/2006 from ????


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Small talk
Small mind
In kind

Small thoughts
Small words
Small turds

Small dreams
Small wishes
Watch TV
Do the dishes

Small desires
Play Nintendo
Rent a movie
See what THEY do

Small network time slots
Canned laughter
Just give the crowd
What they're after

Small expectation
Small disappointment
It's just insurance
Look where your life went

Small existence
In smaller spaces
Conceals the road
The path to greatness

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You and I
We have survived through the voices
That have convinced us of truths
Only tangible through lies
By the just who are decriminalized
By the irrelevant who leave noises
To echo through the youth
And the normal ostracized
Just to be publicized

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My Painted Caves


Cityscapes and the palisades

The chaos outside my painted caves

The walls that tell of naive crusades

Oh how I’d give up life for one judicial day

Tales of miracles and inapt redemption

A child gets back life with radiation

But a bullet spirals with the lack of pension

So I built a battlement for my protection    

Try to view the scenery without all the deception

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A cockroach is a gesture

An unbelievable effect on ones life

As some order is the answer  

To this abstract meaning that we must ensure

This social status that we care so much to maintain

My home is infested

With the success that you have gained


For you must see

This reality that you live

For you must see

All this comfort that you give

To this community so unsure

I’m sure that you’ve endured

A greed that is pure

People living a purpose

That is totally unorthodox

In a country based on parking lots

And closets filled with food for moths

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Back to Youth

We rush to grow, real pain we think we know

One heartbreak and the world ends, consumed by our various trends

Unadmittingly we think we know it all, though our lives have barely begun to crawl

Looking back why did we hurry? Back to sixteen I wish we could scurry

Wished for adulthood, though kids again if only we could

None of us had the slightest clue, looking back we know its true

Now its time for us to be grown, though many their maturity has not yet been shown

Some will continue to fail, others the ladder of success they will scale

Lives of a different fate, linked by a common trait

Remembering themselves as kids again, and how simple life trully was back then.

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Ugly Beauty

Just another pretty face,
Some eye candy for the human race.
You've got it all, or so you feel,
Though beyond that your fake, not real.
What your lacking most dont realize,
That your looks are misleading, beautiful lies.
A beautiful face, with an ugly persona,
Accepting it would only cause you trauma.
Treating others how you please,
In your mind they should bow on their knees.
So here I come to rain on your parade,
Showing you your life is all a charade.
You think your beautiful but youve been confused,
So many have you hurt, their feelings you abused.
So with this knife I will demonstrate,
The pain in others you create.
When your beauty has been taken away,
Will your feelings begin to sway?
Perhaps now you wont be so blind,
A decent person within you maybe youll find.
This lesson is harsh, to some cruel,
But never again will you use a person as a tool.
With an ugly face how will you survive?
With no real soul to keep you alive.
Perhaps now it will be known,
Through our skin true beauty cannot be shown.
An ugly face to match whats inside,
Now your alone with not a soul to confide.
Perhaps one day it will become clear,
A pretty face isnt enough to keep people near.

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