Cold, so,
So unbearably frigid,
You can feel the chill penetrating
Deep past layers of muscle tissue
Straight into thy bones, bitter frost
Enveloping you in its embrace; you
May try to avoid the blistering frigidity,
But there is no escape. None at all.

All around, as far as the eyes can see, is a blanket of
Thick, white, endless snow, obscuring the ground
Under its smothering, vast presence. One could concur,
Indeed, all is dead and lost…this be a land
Of no hope,
No future,
Visual representation of that numerical value

But the ancient trees still stand, bare, but proudly tall, and critters
Still find time to frolic with gaiety, while others
Have tucked themselves away to endure
What may appear to be the end times
In the eyes of the unfamiliar, the uninitiated.

Life hath not been vanquished.


Donned new appearances, new forms.

Pity to those who couldn’t
Make it; woe unto the unfortunate
Unable to withstand the mad howls of
A fading year’s rushing winds.

No way out, is all thy mind
Can seem to tell itself
On repeat.

Where, o’ where,
Doth the exit reside, in these
Harsh, cruel lands?

Trudging forth, it all seems so
Futile, as your body does its best to
Spread heat into every square inch of
Your being, eyes growing weary and blurred as a
Result of the vicious assault
Committed upon thee with
Great fervor, for Nature is
Often cruel, even when it’s so
Strikingly gorgeous and
Awe inspiring. Exhausted, tired, every
Bit of exposed skin stung by the burning
Pain of thousands of pointed, invisible needles,
Morphing into a deep crimson hue. Every step
Feels weighed down,
Unbearably heavy,
Senses turning numb
Whilst a blankness of
The mind overtakes.

Yes, this is all such a wondrous sight to
Behold, bear witness to…

Glory be to the picture-esque scenery,
A true monument to the
Sheer artistry Nature is capable of
With its brushstrokes and molding hands…

Preposterous, it would be, to not take
Note of the way the full moon
Bestows the only constant source
Of illumination; one
Mustn’t be hopeful
In regards to the
False hope given off by the
Rays of already dead stars that are
Impossibly far from our little abode.

Crawling still towards a
Non-existent path
That leads out of this

It begins to
Dawn on you…

What you hope for is not there.

Subsist? Survive? And how?

Via the lethally icy substance
You tread through?

Or the bits of food you were not
Programmed to detect…least of
All, here?

With no recourse left,
The snow is the last thing you
Feel as your body plummets
Right into the ground, unable to
Keep mindlessly wandering through this
Place, of which you cannot recall
How you wound up in.

Heart rate slows to stand still
As you let your heavy eyelids
Begin to fall shut, breathing becoming
More labored, more…difficult,
Lungs and throat singed, lacking moisture,
Only dry bitterness remaining, but the
Energy to cough and wheeze is
Dissipating fast.

Curious shadows begin to approach
From the edges of your field of vision.

Noises of a most disconcerting
Variety fill your ears, and you wonder
What will take you first.

It’s close…

The reaper’s scythe…

Departure is inevitably; tis coming soon.

But it will wait…

As the cessation of your life
Begins to take place, where being alive
Slowly turns to being a corpse, the
Puncture of Death’s eternal blade
Makes itself known in your back.

Jaws of what had been following
You since you entered into this space
Now indulge in the reward for their patience…

O’ it hurts, but the ability to scream
Left you long ago…



We squabble over notes in pockets and wallets. Mass produced pieces of paper, hardly much different than what I write these words upon. Only reason it means so much is because we repeat over and over that it does. The ghost, the phantom, of the dollar, still haunts this home called Earth. But we must seek to exorcise this nuisance, this demon. All things, as a result of this jealous god’s vicious influence, are reduced to matters of money. “Redistribute the flow of money so everyone is equal.” “Let the money decide what it wants.” “Only the most deserving shall receive the money.” Truth is, the only correct idea is to discard money altogether. While a certain philosopher came to this conclusion (one I despise), it is, indeed, true. We are Homo Sapiens, not Homo Economicus. To say that the musings of ideologues who draft up state-supported modes of vulgar production who care nothing for nothing else but what makes their precious, darling child breed and reproduce more of its wretched spawn (or more of its corrosive influence)…is a tragic error. The dollar is but a secular deity, another idol we worship. Its churches? Banks. And it is a pervasive, totalist god. It demands subservience. All discussions, in its eyes, must boil down to its existence, and how it can still be able to dominate.


Is what you’d be on the chopping block,
Condemned to be killed by your
Own love affair…

Nothing but foot soldiers, pawns for
Scheming men; mirroring the
Very things you despise,
And yet, you gain so much praise…

Willing slave you are, the very thing
This preaches and rails against, choking
Upon the dust of dead men…

Once your use is fulfilled,
Carted of you’ll be
Into well-deserved misery,
Unable to let go of things so arbitrary…

But I guess that’s what happens
When you let programmed machines think,
Ready to fight and bleed
For thoughts and words that aren’t their own…

Human concoctions have never stood the test of time; don’t think yours are somehow special…


Murder minded,
Stomach turned into
A cemetery,
Intestinal tract is
Where they’re all
Fucking buried,
The mere thought of
Giving it up, to you,
Seems so fucking scary!

Your appetite is
Built upon genocide,
Lacking any discipline; just
Consume whether it’s grilled or fried,
Not brave to consider the families
Rotting away inside of your gut,
And you scowl at this mention,
Too neck-deep in the mud to
Give a fuck!

Walking graveyard
Sustained by death,
To live you must steal
All of their breaths,
How you salivate at the
Blood on your plate,
More and more is all you crave,
Needing constant murder to satiate!

Don’t preach shit to me
About liberty,
Yammering about oppression
When you demand that
They shouldn’t be free,
I don’t wish to hear it,
Excuse after excuse,
Championing control,
Perpetuator of woe,
Enjoying the abuse!

Such a fucking man…

Look at all that crimson on your hands…


Dulling minds
To the horrors outside,
Keeping us locked in a cage,
Quelling that well-justified rage,
Going after those condemned to die
Under the veil of a blackened sky,
Acting like the law that you
Claim to hate,
Lynched bodies
Of the disenfranchised
Hang in your wake!

Another slew of kids
Cross your path,
More women coerced,
Feeling your wrath,
Pushing poison to the ones
Who frolic with the same gender
Under threat of a gun,
Eager to see ‘em all get fucking done!

I’ve had enough of trying to
Understand your side,
Claiming to fight the system
While aiding them
In goddamn genocide!

So many are crushed under
The weight of your boot,
Painting yourself as a hero
When really you’re a dictator
That we need to fucking shoot!

Preying on your people,
Viewing them as cattle to
Rake in dough from while all
Strung-out and feeble,
Not allowed to condemn you
While you rape and pillage
Land and communities
Just to turn it into another ruined village!

While the powers-that-be,
Your co-conspirators,
Can lie to my face
About who and what it is you are,
My eyes clearly see you’re a disgrace,
And I think that your oppressive ways
Have been allowed to go too fucking far!

I know you’d shoot me for this,
Because my words are true,
Even your clientele fucking hate you,
Damn that makes you rabidly pissed!

Expel the profiteer who keeps you down,
Bash the bloodsucker that wants you in the ground,
Whether they be legitimatized or not,
Don’t your lives be sold and bought!


I’m lurking around in the darkest corner,
Near this presence, no coat could make you warmer,
An inevitability you can never escape,
The fear itself makes your heart falter and your bones ache,
Where shall you go and flee to?

Here I am, waiting here,
Patiently standing as a conclusion draws near,
A birth cannot happen without me first,
For blood to flow, quenched must be my eager thirst!

I’m never going to be gotten rid of,
Try as you might, I’m the below that reaches above,
My hand holds the blade that cuts through all things,
And my crows will peck apart what decays as they all sing,
What do you think awaits you?

Eyes watch, hollow and black,
Life’s containment allows me to seep through the cracks,
But if things must grow,
I must clear away what grows old!

Seeds must sprout
Upon which is now
Forgotten to time,
Never again, to stand and rise!


Antlers covered in the blood of another
Who thought they could just slaughter
In this holy place the beast and their own
Have always known to be home,
Entrails decorating sharpened bone like a crown,
Hooves trudging through the blood
That drips upon the ground,
Eager to bring back another trophy
So it could be mounted on the wall,
But now their insides are mounted
Upon a cervid’s head, the would-be killer forced to crawl…

Teeth clasp around the throat,
On the blood, the bastard chokes,
Several pairs of jaws from the pack
Dismembering while the trespasser’s on their back
Claws digging through the chest
As the fucker’s laid to rest,
Spilling guts while they eat,
Life’s liquid leaves the body and slowly depletes,
Dirt stained red,
A potential killer dead,
Jugular is leaking,
Blood junkie no longer fiending…

Beaks peck at the sockets
Of a scumbag with shells
Nestled in their pockets,
Slumped up against a trunk
With the roots growing ‘round their ankles,
Body long since having long been slumped,
Food for the little ones that nibble at the flesh,
Delighted to have food so fresh,
Flora and fauna nourished by the dripping crimson,
Having foiled another scumbag’s mission,
Branches and bark having made their incisions,
And those who don’t partake
Gaze on appreciatively, for this specimen that tried to
Walk among them was never, to them, ever great…


You say that the rambunctiousness
And discord is little else but
Pure, jumbled mania, carnage
Without rhyme nor reason, thus
Violent; these are all true, yet it
Is the meaning of freedom, of being
Unchained, living like wolves
Rather than automatons…

Declare, you do, that the opposite,
That foul imposition of control,
Of symmetry, understandability,
Congruency, sensibility, is the
Real way of things, but outside of the
False constructs, I find this idea to
Be sorely lacking in any
Validity at all…

Pipedreams are required to even gain a
Mere sliver of a chance of fulfilling the
End goal of this inane desire, this utopian
Need for stability, boring and dull stagnation…

Outside of the idiocy of charlatans and frauds,
An individual can gaze all around and find
Zero trace of its alleged existence, for outsiders
Balk at the idea of being steamrolled over for convenience…