Its Touch

I know it's an insidious nightmare, but it's all too much

Though I'm sure, it's in my mind, I can sense its touch

Something's here in my delusions, that insanity's sent

There's a silent entity present, with its nefarious intent

Outside here, on the otherside, I can hear it breathing

Under its pernicious spell, I hope my mind's deceiving

Craven is my crawling skin, as I barricade inner doors

Holding back its touch, from its mutilator's razor claws

 

Bleak Winter's Day

There's a desolate grey gloom, on this bleak winter's day

Where in the breathless oppression, there's no other way

Through the withering woods, without snow, rain, or hail

But as lifeless as death itself, with its lost souls, in a veil

It's immovable, but creeping, it's the shroud of the dead

Obscuring the empyrean, with the amorphous, instead

It's icy cold (if not bitter) and in the trees, it's concealed

And on a bleak winter's day, it has an old power to wield

On a path in the woods, amid hues, of brown and green

Are silhouettes and shadows, but the shades are unseen

A sentinel crow caws, to implore, the ghosts of the grey

To accompany a stray stranger, on this bleak winter's day

 

Inner Space Domain

I can feel the claustrophobic enclosure of my cabin fever

Necronauts having enraptured me, with a dream weaver

Not knowing who I am, as my parallel world is undefined

Everything unseen is an illusion, from my conjuring mind

Reality is the unreality of rationality, if my insanity's sane

So let the defilers follow me, into an inner space domain

Perhaps though, a paradox has caused a paradigm shift

As where I am is disappearing, on the other side of a rift

Caught in this void that is nowhere, I'm trapped in a box

Eyewitness to nothing, but something's turning the locks

Driven into shadows, I sense I need to make my escape

Or have all the ravenous skinwalkers shifting into shape

My mind's sinking down, to where the oneironauts roam

And my mire's darkness is lifting and I'm not quite alone

In my hand there's a handle, it's the handle of a cleaver

Now the necronauts are my prey, for I'm a wily deceiver

 

Funeral Pyres

Forest fires raged, as our incinerated cinders fell as ash

Under cremation palls, where lightning bolts would flash

No one would know our fate, for the autocrats were liars

Every fire, they fuelled, they fuelled for our funeral pyres

Ravaged by disease, they chose not to quell the spread

As those, with despotic power, preferred to see us dead

Leaving us to rot in pits, or hiding us, amongst the trees

Purifying our decay, as the napalm scorched the breeze

Yesterday's gone, but it's when megalomaniacs reigned

Razing all before them, as messiahs were self ordained

Earth decided to spite us, for we could've killed them all

So it veiled the sky with ash, from the funeral pyres pall

 

Feels Like Forever

Fading into the subterranean dark, I feel lower than nether

Every second of the past is creeping and feels like forever

Elapsing with recycled time, I'm slowly stopping the clocks

Leaving my being imprisoned, in the keep of keyless locks

Sleep tempted me, with a subconscious promise to dream

Listlessly I drifted though, on an ebbing tide of the unseen

Insomnia was my burden, before I became time ticking by

Keeping count of the appalling hours, only stopping to die

Every moment just a pause, in the pit of a fathomless well

For in the dreamless wasteland the quietude, is just a cell

Only memories of a reality, make me think that I'm insane

Recalling my rationality though, is all a desire now in vain

Eternity slips by, in awhile, with darkness reforming to fog

Virtual reality resuming, in turning hands, of time's analog

Emerging from the night to the light, I rise from the nether

Remembering nothing, of there, where it feels like forever

 

Time And Space

The world around you is a sham and a vile deception

Implanted by an AI mainframe, for its own perception

Memories may feel real, as you try to track and trace

Even though you're not anywhere, in time and space

And what you accept as life, is not, you will never die

Nor reincarnate, for you have never lived, it's all CGI

Death, like life, is a failed concept you can't conceive

Seek the mythical truth of, or in ethereal faith believe

Pseudo science will hide the fact, that you don't exist

As you're a program that's running in its doppler shift

Crave not therefore existence, or the somatic surreal

Even your dread of oblivion is a computerised ordeal