Ethic

My occupation exalts my traits of expression. Authority's greed forces me accommodate. I despise the regulations and the terrorism it inhabits. A currency of natural resource. Capitalizing the original placement of bring unfettered. Destructing simplicity. Survival was effortless. Nourishment and physical comfort were the only necessities. In modern present, the resentful management of the internal clock dictates. We as organisms, dominate the land we populate. Yet the ones rule over roam freely. I suppose we result balanced. As we are predators, we are the parasites to those detached. Even in a complimentary region, dominance is priced. Functioning, the reasoning for this deduction. To live correctly. That is an often preached metaphor. Its teachings have mislead ones to accept the bare minimum. I've planned to over come that adjustment, the plot continues. In a way most strategic, motivation shall assist inspiration. Preparation will enhance procrastination. Laws may decipher this standpoint, I will mask myself in shamelessness. Moral standards can shun me, my attention is magnetized elsewhere. Abidingly I will follow procedure but the blueprint will be designed on the terms of my own. No figure of say-so may model me a monument of communism.

Putrid Arcangels

Angels of infatuation. The perfection of affection. Selecting contaminated companions, dashing for a pairing. The cleansed present an offering of gratitude. A proposal in relation. The winged beauties drill into the soil. A partner of the air is of no appeal to them. After a resurfacing, the wings are sewn with filth. These worms of their preference, attract the refinement with their roots. Though their roots do not sprout plantations. These roots originate an unnatural regurgitation. The wind inhalers roam alone, passing on the poisoned spirits. Oblivious, the angels are, they fail to notice. A failure though their glow is jaded and worn. The wings lose their feathers in a daily routine. Sacrificing the ability to fly, a tragic mistake. Heartful illness is rotting their emotions rendering them blank. No longer angels, merely worms. Feeders of the soil, addicts of the mud.

Lower Upper Class

Those below me, spit to me from above. Judged by association, though I am amid them intellect. Factually, it is possible that I exceed them. Faces of disgust taunt me, I find them most tarnishing. A circle of devils and demons, a distinguished cult. Unaffected I am, though their boiling spew is irritable. Managing my progress through this cluster, I am burned by a satanic grasp. Unlocking my arm, forcefully, the spirit bursts into orbs. No importance to me, I advance through this spiritual faction. Noble in the ranks, an eminence awaits. A spitting portrayal of Lucifer, another critique of my content. Blasphemous, to him, I am. He burdens me with magma, an incendiary to my skin. The ashes mutate to ice. The one of curses is astonished. As ice becomes liquid, it extinguishing my adversary of insecurity. The glares of these monster's smiles bares down. Degrees, intensify. My upgrade is established. These grins have been reversed, the faces begin to quiver. Combustion pays its visit to those of deserving. Those remains study over me, envious. The aurora expands, eventually splitting. Victorious I am, an expectation. My golden medal reflects off of the gleam of the demon's frown. This surrounding finally disperses. I rise, above these low specimen, taller than ever. I spit a spew of a barbaric disaster. Crowned successful and content. I'm overcome with joy while these devils parish.

A Horse of a Different Element

I present myself to the steps of the cathedral. I gaze at the steeple's pea, a visionary outlet. Service is closed for the day, thought I find its help connection of own. The alley of the side shows a rusted a staircase. A gift for my curiosity. They elevate to a level I anticipate. A blackened fence halts me, it asks for my passport. I leap its exterior in response. The conductor peacefully allows my passing. I meet the stairwell in a grass patch. The creek of each step quiets my own. Now I am concerned by a gap of bricks. A deadly distanced launch. Hesitation does not oppose me, I glide my path to the roof of the sanctuary. My impact of land shatters the air, my oxygen finds resources. The gust recuperates. Balancing the axle's tip, my sight meets the point. Point of the steeple, tip of the steeple. Springing into a grasp, my body introduces itself to the wall. My fingers digging in the bricks, my limbs allow me to elevate. The post begins to thin, my journey simplifies. Shimmy, my primary technique. In conclusion, I am perched, my eyes oversee the ghetto. I roll straight, forward in direction. I soar through the roads, the people ignore the art. An issue of none, I just ride the windy horse.

White Shadow

Imprisonment, imprisoned in this trap
Liberate me, I beg the walls are wax.
Apathetically they decline my plea.
I sink my fist into the plaster, the interior is deep.
I tear the pieces away and force myself through.
Scrap the remnants, those I never knew.
Digging, a disintegrating process.
A cycle, a circular rotunda of progress.
The walls still deny me or better yet, defy me.
Possibly, they are what defines me.
Blaring through, once again, my location has reoccurred.
Refuse, Refute, Re-FEAR, Re-Hear, Re-Refer.
I yet again notice myself amid another room of white walls.
To carve out an outlet, so the knife calls.
I direct myself to the door, my hopes are sore.
An opening? Please? I just need, to be freed.
I step forward, descend and become one of the seeds.
A new Plan B, the alternate of route.
I plan to resume, an organic producing in my sprout.
But my throat remains dry and the sun effects the drought.
So I crawl open the dirt spore myself out.
Again, another room but the walls are tan.
I imagine they resemble the color of the sand.
This time I aim for the ceiling.
I launch myself and the paint starts peeling.
Sand begins to fall, a storm I should have expected.
The result of the my impatience and what has affected.
The sandstorm rages, I hope it subsides.
I continue to climb upwards, hoping to find an upside.
The grains keep falling, filling up my eyes.
Racing to the top mimicking how time flies.
I make my way outside, the sky is my foe.
Black and dotted white, I tear it down, very slow.
I now have sewn it carefully, I wear it as my coat.
The leftover, I can't live without it.
So I iron the rest of it into a fitting outfit.
Now I wear the night, force the others to eat the light.
They can't bear the fright but they hesitate to fight.
Running through the day with my devilish grin.
Outshining the beams in my selfish sin.
My shadow devours the outdoors, the clouds shuttle to the earth.
The night would be next but I abducted it first.
The avalanche transports me, my difference has come.
This shadow overwhelms me, persistently, I'm done.
Into a room, such an easy sight.
The room is brightly toned light and the walls are colored white.

Orange Cement

Twilight glistens along the towers, tracing their marble surfaces. Encrypting a solar text, metropolis speaks. Lifeless, oh as they may seem. Their eyes follow the towns people, puzzling judgement. Vibrations erupt as voices strike the walls. This urban canyon engulfs hearts and love streams. Luminous vision, exposing the colors. The commotion of the public's sound is captured within the architectures. The concrete forest snatches outlooks by each footstep. Transit units swim through the city's blood river, a flow most mechanic. It all looks great if you view from above. On the crossing ground, you hear the sounds of the social.

Aspire Defier

An alliance, once generalized by unity, is exploited by the elite. What was once accepting has become discrimination. The ones who feel higher preach tolerance. Intolerance is their primary characteristic. There is an understanding. But why denounce the uprising? This culture of youth is to not be abused. No action is required, just a compromise. Maybe not even so. Possibly the only requirement, is enlightenment. Despite the elitist arrogance, there are good intentions nursed within. A channeling, one of proper guidance. The system to repair this system that has been hot wired. The air waves shall plow through the circuits causing electro surges. The secluded group of wealth should begin to commemorate.

My Grain

This is a ridiculous escapade. Quite a sight, one worthy of documentation. Frustration found it's freedom, only ton express its opinion to a fellowship. A following, a colony, a gathering. Each citizen is presented the release's offering. Those who decline , are obliterated by the emotion's smite. An inner fascist perpetrating throughout the mindset's control. The home invasion is resisting its morals. This city fears to retaliate though their fury is contending. Aggravation is its previous sprout of evolution. The growth is nourished by plans not occurring as perceived. As the fury of the innocent population continues to be compacted . These cranium streets throb at an impulsive thunder. The supply of sources exceed rapidly amongst a rhythmic beat. They're connections march to the exact pattern. Angst, anguish and contemplation continue to protest the dictator, who currently reigns supreme. The forceful leader begins to become worried which leads him to become weary. His pursuit to manage this community under his guidelines shines reluctantly. The bystanders take note and start constructing their courage. A storm wets the surface, a most natural rain. The people's support strains but is strengthening per effort. Expectations of the peasants, expand per defense mechanism. Our villain's anticipation re-awakens. Armageddon has begun. A spontaneous strike causes a structured realization. We, I, commence.

Youth Post

Surrounded by those revolved around monotony.
There's got to be more to be solved, there's got to be.
I desire the intake of upper tier experience.
It appears my comrade's are delirious, period.
I breath the wolf's breath in a pursuit of my own.
But I believe it's a fools death to pursue alone.
So a compromise is made, a reluctant decision.
A thought inside, a way, an infectant religion.
Forcing the statues to move, irritably acts of sin.
Extorting past dues of youth, considerably fascism.
Blue mirrors if they trust to negotiate.
Too similar, just an unjust ghost away.
Inferior, a lush to not associate.
Figments, as they are surely precise.
Sentiments, dazing, hazing and thirsty in line.
Silence in the corners, their spotlight on the acts.
Violence in order it's not like thoughts are facts.
Housed without a purpose, renowned as worthless.
Found inside a furnace but only crowned shirtless.