I like to drink... alot. I'm really into philosaphy(Plato,Arostotal,Socrates, etc.). I'm also into the arts such as drawing, painting(realism), music, acting, writing and so on. I'm pretty easy to talk to, so just message me even if it's just a "hey" I'll respond back, just try to be a little more creative with the conversation. Let me know what you think of the poems, but don't be an ass about it. I will be adding to my profile as I finish more poems. I'm a Druid and I teach and practice magick. I can't thank my teacher, my brother, my anam cara enough for teaching me he is one of the only people I would trust my life with. Thanks Sean. I do belive in past lives, vampires, angels, deamons, werewolves, dragons, and etc. If you don't believe me I don't care I'll still talk to you but if your just going to be a little prick about what I believe than I've got no problem blocking your sorry ass. If you have any questions about magick, life or any thing for that matter feel free to ask I'll give you the best advise I can. Hell, I'll even listen to you vent if I know you well enough. And please don't type like a moron (I mean things like, omg,wtf, and all that), lol, and jk are fine just don't go over board with it.



Song Dragon

In the war between good and evil, a Song Dragon tends to walk the fine line of Neutrality.
When it comes to the powers of Chaos vs. those of Law and Order, your inner dragon walks a fine line between Law and Chaos.
As far as magical tendancies, a Song Dragon's nature does not lend itself well to the ways of Magic.
During combat situations, whether by spells or by claw, your inner dragon will do whatever it takes to get the job done.

Dragon Description:
Song Dragons are semi-nomadic in nature. They do choose a general geographic region to live in, but move their nests frequently within their territory. They build their nests in remote areas, where they are secluded from outside disturbances.

Song Dragons are a dull grey color to their scales, but are graceful and quick in movement. The most striking attribute of the Song Dragon is it's voice. Having several sets of vocal chords, the Dragon's every word reverberates like a string symphony.

Song Dragons build their homes deep in seclusion, but in truth they are very social and friendly in nature. They will often be found polymorphed into human form and fraternizing with people in bars and public places.Song Dragons are the bards of dragonkind, they greatly value creative thinking and artistic talent. They live life to it's fullest, and are well known for going to extremes. They are also known for their good-hearted nature and kindness.



"My friend once said: the sences are like windows to the soul, when haveing sex if all five sences are used, it can be a mystical experience."

Jim Morrison

High Horse

“Fuck you and the horse you road in on.”
Worked legal space to proud swallowing it’s angry pride,
it yells bitterly.
Radiant white fangs biting cross skies to leave sunken marks in its rocky skin.
The demon dream corrupts,
what is left of the innocent,
devoured,
devoured by the digital wolf.
No boy cries out this warning.
“Power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolute.”
We ride the high horse,
the whiter the better.
In the few hours we are the polite machines,
and in the human night we revert to all that is primal unknowing.
Red catatonic theory,
the pure religion,
starves as the blue tick is hosted.
“The rich get richer and the poor get poorer.”
The wont dream abyss opens its craggy jaws to engulf the fence walkers.



Folded Gods

Courtship carrying queen of my stone age.
Off with her head and pull,
aparting my dream.
The spade seer to a diamond knower.
Deepen,
darkening,
whole of an illiterate void,
call upon the evilest creation of man.
Of man indeed it cries out from its lone head,
the Enubus.
The skeletal remains of everything in mass.
They’re a cold earth bearing casket holder,
to what circumstances bring you there?
Celestial game of the Gods from how high a tower.
Press the sanctions for the answer and liquidate the currency of family values.
Irritate the throat of the audible dragon and so forth will it spit its shallow fire.
The warning shadow moves in it’s hiding from the sun.



Paper Locusts

The strangest creep philosopher tunes his blooming guitar.
“They’re coming to take me away.”
Pulled,
ripped from the conscious vine of,
society is screaming.
We are the food of the systematic horse,
rearing its horned, malicious head.
The blue virus,
Hydra of ways of man.
Shows its continental face while the others toil undetectably behind our backs planting the flawed existence seed.
Growing blackened by dreamy aphids,
sold still for idol profit.
“You work day and night on hollow offerings.”
Man can’t survive on nature any longer,
watered down with lost prayers and wrong promises.



Come to me as Beautiful

The final sound revelers twirl unappreciated around the clock of the horseman.
Roaring broken butterfly.
He pushes on going no where fast pulling his past.
Chattering of the fused extensions booms through the red forest.
"It is greeting time at the industrial church."
The socket less eye opens once a day to release the dogs.
They bury thier heads at the sight of the ducks.
"Just what they were taught."
"Come to me, come to me as beautiful."
Mocking tuned snakes tunnel into his head,
the just line extra stares on in bliss.
The dreamed hands do nothing as they wade comfortable through bloody masks and uniforms.



-Army of Orchids

Grey golden rods from were the weeds are hung.
They are left to twitch and stir with a growing death toll.
Sanctify the dried and lying ground.
To what extent would we go to prove what we aren’t?
We are a wolf in a sheep skin,
we are the shark in a fish body,
we are the snake in a butterfly’s clothing we are,
we are a weed in a roses petals.
We are a disease,
We are a phantom locust what thrives on Caines bounty we are Able in Mary we the righteous, we are evil.
Can you find them?
Rest easy and know you are one of them, 
  one of us,
one of many,
one of the same whole.
At least if one petal dies the whole weed will live on.
Lets dissect the reason,
push logic,
and pull out the process to reveal a wilted orchid of the most beautiful kind.
We are an army,
we act as a unit,
a beast,
we,
are an army of orchids.



Different Sin

This eye is merely a peep hole into the evolved hypocrisy.
The soft deception,
is so in many parts a hole.
The sadistic void of all sins returning to the alter too.
We forget ourselvs only remembering,
reveling what we thought we lost.
Every page written is a small price to pay for the greedy dogs speaking rage.
The shells dropped into thier mouth,
the after math epithet.
The murderous faith in the green commandment,
the highest bidder takes all.
The loyalty drug,
more dangerous than the shallow cocaine.
Unknowingly held against our will in the ignorent cell, we can look but we can't touch.
The power cross sits behind his faith wall,
clear and content knowing he can't be touched.
The dieing guards have ODed on this rightous lie.
Another twisted piece in the coffin door of humanity,
they're subjected to the robe parasite.
A different passage a different bullet,
a different sin a defferent chamber,
the pious roulette.



This poem I wrote in class and it sounds like a song. I would like to change it to a song but I can't find a good chorus to it, so if anyone who reads it has any ideas then please message me and I'll take a look when I have time.


Transformers and Mental Breakdown

Somewhere beond my reach the blackend ashes of all that is forgotten and gone linger in my soul.
I can see them,
the old bones.
Burnt and withered away by time and wanting something more.
Listen,
speak,
can you feel it?
It's there waiting,
knowing weakness all this bleakness comeing to a head.
Cut,
maim,
sever and throw away what is on the floor.
Dare to have and have nothing,
show nothing,
be nothing,
hear nothing.
Only wanting what is then the once was,
the has been.
Kill the heart one more haffed glass stake,
that which you can look at yourself with.
See yourself commit that which you call a self rightous act.
Nechromance where it all went wrong,
the fallen angels nightmare.
Transformers and Mental Breakdown.
You can't get away,
a sacraligice Hell,
the blasphemous spell,
the fine line between reality and in your head fading.
You start changing,
you're alone.
No reflection to stare back at you and show you your deadly sins.
It all dissapears again.
The cuts on your arm don't bleed as much as your heart,
in the end we are reminded of what we really are,
we are...
Transformers and Mental Breakdown.
Don't you love how it all comes back to us now?
Transformers and Mental Breakdown.


Black roses and glass houses

Declare war on the ordinary.
Assult the savior within to take back what was never there.
Dominate the killing game,
and return to your place of comfort.
I just keep creating patterns.
Embrace the chaos.
It leaves a cut so deep in the soul that it seems there is no way of healing it.
It all boils donw at last.
Confronting it is the only way to sew up that bleeding gash.
Put back together all wrong,
take your life now darken your light.
Take it away,
these days don't make the wrongs right
You want to let go but they keep yelling for you to fight.
You scream at yourself and dig your own grave.
The blood flows down your arms this reality is slipping.
When you push yourself you feel everything start fadeing.
Destroy the glass houses,
now pause to take a breath and rebuild the broken hearts.
Love is for suckers so pick yourself apart.
You are your own murder scene,
you're the vindictive,
discontented loner you've always been.
Carry on,
your eyes are heavy as you lay in your silver casket.
So quit crying and sell your jaded soul,
but don't forget to patch up the black hole.


Magnetic Jumpsuits

Dear Magnetic Jumpsuits,
 
    A vanishing act for the sences and shake off the days routine blood letting. Never the less we cut off or cut out a small piece of outselves, despite what the murderous black doves have to say. Time and time again we're subjected to these, electronic corpses, these digital victims, these... magnetic jumpsuits? Revel in all it's hypnotic splendor and keep telling yourself it's all okay. There is no next time in the never ending brimstone reign, or is it rain? I guess it like everyone else is in the eye of the beholder, and everything is comeing to an end in my, your, our, we, us, thier... psychodelic lie. Are we them or are they us? Close your eyes and hope that everyone, no wait... everything fades away before you do. Your blood runs cold as your ashes are blown away in the winds of more or less. The mins they do not bless are here to riot, fight, take back, and give up what belongs to, who? No one, someone, thisone, everyone, me, you, us, them, they, we, we...we are left to our own devises, and left for dead. So wer shall dig your... our graves, black and embraceing, endearing, calling, I'll throw myself in for the last time.

    Sincerly,
    ...


Angel Killer

Dark angel I'll watch you fall.
Your wings shed feathers as they're torn and mauled.
I'll watch you cry,
take your last breath.
As you go,
while you die,
just look at my face just one last time.
I want you to see me before you die,
before eternal night makes you blind.
Look,
look upon your killer just one more time.
The mirror cracks and falls to the floor,
now one last breath just one more.
My wrist burns, and hurts and bleeds.
My wings are taken and destroyed in front of me.
In the glass I saw myself the killer,
the killer,
no oneelse.


And all things will fall

Destroy me slowly, I want to feel the hole grow.
I’ll bottle it up and never let it show.
I like the way it hurts,
I can’t describe the pain.
Should I feel remorse,
should I feel shame?
I feel empty and hollow,
in these deadly sins I plan to wallow.
They’ll blacken my heart,
let my soul die.
I’ll play my part and never ask why.
I’ll act dumb and like I don’t care, but what it all comes down to is what I’ll ware.
To their funerals,
I’ll be there.
To watch the mausoleums,
I’ll sit with the crows, their bones will feed them.
My skin will turn and spirit will burn.
But when it all ends I shall sit with my friends.
Basically what I’m trying to say is not everything is here to stay.
When it’s all said and done,
when the dark swallows the sun,
I won’t be gone long at all, I’ll be back,
and all things will fall.


Finish it

My mind is blank, black and cold.
These memories now are buried and old.
I found it in my closet replaced by something else I thought erased.
The bones white, bleached and gleaming,
from someone else I could hear screaming.
It was me,
in a dream,
that had to be real.
I can’t describe the fear I feel.
Suddenly broken I drop to the floor.
I think I’ve been here once before.
I feel it warm, wet and seeping.
I see the darkness that is now creeping.
Filling my eyes with blurring vision I should have considered a different decision.
My regret is not what I did; it’s how selfish it is.
It’s that I shed no tear,
for the hazy thoughts that settle hear.
I see the light at the end of a tunnel and my life winds down this endless funnel.
My face sullen and somber,
now I slip into eternal slumber that when I finish it,
I’ll make my bed among the dead.
 

Parrot

They say no body can copy you is it not completely impossible?
The answer is it’s not to hard to do,
To rewrite someone else’s gospel.
Make yourself become someone else.
To blaspheme the church of another,
when the scheme is to rediscover.
What they’re made of,
maybe the little sadist knows.
How deep the rabbit hole goes.
In single file the capitalists parrot each other.
Repeating things said by another.
Telling lies,
like broken records they keep saying it till they infect the beggars.
The days are filled with fast talk lockdowns and letters from youth protection.
I’ll never let myself be brought down by these,
systematic talk arounds.
And I’ll look up to find redemption for these false patriot intentions.
When the end of the days comes,
I’ll march to the beat of my own drum.
Maybe some day I’ll go and everyone stays,
till then I’ve got nothing more to say.


Untill we meet again

Stranger in the darkness waits,
a being from the evil gates.
Of Hell I'm come and destruction bring.
A spawn of lucifer, a horrible thing.
I haunt your dreams and bring you nightmare.
Not a person on earth that I spare.
Think of it as a gift a cold hearted thith.
I'm in this life to make all writhe.
To make all sin and wish the worst,
do unto before done on first.
The holiest law of the lesser key,
the lesser bible of Satan see.
My blackened soul is here to stay,
but I have to go I'm sorry to say.
I'll see you later,
wait for me when the time comes.
I'll be back then,
so for now untill we meet again.


This isn't really a poem it's more of a artistic museing I guess. It's not finished I have a feeling it won't be done for a long time, but if you like what I have so far then let me know.

I sit and stare at the reflective pool and can't help but notice the dirt and grunge swirling around on the surrfice.
I can't seem to get past the waste to see the clear shimmering innocence that when the pollution does begin to drift away makes the days worth starting it all over again.
It almost makes me want to dive in, in to the very mechanics of human morals and question whare all of it started to slip.
Slip, into the subliminal verses and static images cramed into our very skulls by the capatalist journalists that are sucking the smokeing brown cocks of the government who sit and pretend they don't notice the eyes of the viewing nation. 
I guess I'm saying that the media is in bed with the government, or at least they're having an affair on the people that fight every day to protect what is left of the penny and quarter's dream.