The Highway to Hell

Riding on the wrought plains of woe,
a marginalized road paved with blackened snow,
steeped in boiling sweat of those undone,
road rollers broke upon the hollow tracks overrun.

Rising above the dust of worn out souls,
laid to rest under the smoking cigarette rolls.
Turned to stop the blistering march of the funeral band,
found myself done in on their command.


It’s Your Party.

Oh, it’s a pleasant surprise!
You seem to walk around in a stupor.
You talk to walls with no ears.
I’m pleased that you made it for supper!

So it’s your birthday again.
You chase them hoping that they’ll chase you.
You think you know, yet you don’t
Made deals with your demons to undo.

If life is steeped in madness’ past,
tell me, love, exactly how
bleeding long do you expect to last?

Afterall… It’s your party.



Lapis Philosophorum

Their burnt Magnum Opus.
In search for the one which gave them hope-
the glories, the riches, and the life worth it all.
Scientists and philosophers alike,
they travelled far and wide.
Till the end.
Till their ends.
The owner of the one
worn of temptations searched another.
A fantastical cure for life’s dull weariness.
To heal the scars of time and restore.
A sliver to transmute
hearts of stone.

Their hearts of stone.