Its just about two things in reality.
The single man of discontinuity and his love for his little brother. In the midst of the horror, the little brother painted his eyes black//
Black as night, and hidden from sight, he keeps me in his arms, despite the thorns that harm...
My outlandish preaching has been reduced to floating prayers, silent and often unspoken. My love will be quiet now. I will be very quiet. I will pray in my room with my door closed, the lights off and my head on the floor.
Romance is dead in me,
and she will sleep now,
and one day
she might wake.
But sitting in the quiet with my king, it's there when he speaks. In the long fields with an old book in my hand while my sensationalism is dead and apart from my flesh. Thats when my king tells me his tales, thats when I understand honor, and I get obedience. And, man, I battle for those times, cause I got a fever that wont break.
But they come. They always do.
And his songs and melody doesn't seem to far away when I quiet down. His direction is not too hard, when you got the flame of his hand piercing your heart. When the kids ruffle your hair and put a little fire under your feet, you already got somethin burning you to a truer blue; the rough sun doesnt kill you the same. The beatings all come with bandages and you know her sorrow songs are not the end of her.
Somehow, love is born from your rough heart.
Somehow you are capable of that.
You thought you were always gonna be sick and perverted.
You thought your love would always be laced with lies.
But not in this kingdom.
Not in his kingdom.
Submission to a Pure King. To a righteous authority, its flying, not falling.
Fly girl.
Here is my prayer.
I need to strength from my body. Strength lost from a lack of authority in my life. I NEED mentors and strong men to battle with me. Reign over me lord. Reign over me.
Can you feel the potential in your shoulders and the weight of your mind on your neck?
Can you feel the protest rising up on your borders, can you feel the predetermined war without reason?
Do you know what you were born for?
Do you know what sort of conflict was intended to break you down,
just so you could reconstruct and reinvent yourself?
Or were you born on high ground, letting yourself roll into life,
cause you're looking at my blood like a foreigner.
Do you sometimes feel awkward when your looking at God, cause you've fought and fought and still find yourself irrelevant compared to your king?
Sometimes, Brother King,
The hardest thing is,
that in order to be on the field with you,
I have to forgive and allow grace to move in,
for all there horrors, I allowed to walk in.
Im terrified of losing control again, and my fear is funny
cause I am the thief of my own self control.
There is no goodbye, you'll haunt me now, I'll forget never.
She holds account for my blind love, and I know her curling passion.
Our hands know where they fit, and I know her sense of humor,
and its not as funny as her goofiness.
She finds me hiding in the shadows, holding onto some old hope,
she always tells me, "you dont belong there,"
even if I am destroying her mind.
I've known her in her warmth, and I can tell her tale so well you'll weep. I can chart out her motives on a map, and walk out her path for her. I could be her if I wanted to. Cause I know her in my bones.
But its not my place to speak there, its not my place to reveal what I know. I have no right.
I have no right in her life. After what I did, I could believe in a special place for sick men like me.
I have no right in her life, and I was never hers. I was not what I claimed I was. And I knew everyone could see through my facade. I am not made to lie. I'm a liar anyways. A bad one.
She asked me the other day, if I would ever change. And my responses, theyre not enough. You've seen me in my most wicked ways, and you know. My words are fickle; upon temptation and a dark circumstance, I am moved entirely. My words are not profound, I am weak and fragile. And if I am loving you, I am probably also hiding from something. Mostly God...
And when I'm hiding from God, my love gets real sick.
My eyes are hollow, filled with empty anger and lust.
Death resides under my tongue. And flesh and pus flow from the hinges in my jaw. Its fucking disgusting.
For some reason, I cant help but return here, to this sick objectification of sweet blackbird. Rage burns when I sleep, and when I wake I want to tear at my skin.
Like I said, I could be you.
I could not drink enough gasoline to get you out of my head. I couldn't hold you long enough to keep you.
I am centered over this helpless life, or at least thats where I find myself.
To young to hold my hand, she doesn't think of the end of her life.I dont think, she even understands that she is separate from her mother. She doesn't know she will be the object of objectification, by men obsessed with their compulsions. Only in the near future.
You know, you think you are justified in your impulses. But what you find out, is you are stuck in a world that has limits and boundries and set definitions. And before you can declare your reality, even if you acknowledge it as fantasy, your head is spun around by gravity.
And some people just keep spinning and spinning.
And some sit like silent silhouettes, not moving, not breathing. terrified of being.
They wait for their name to be called, for their stomachs to be certain.
But, I can tell you about the man I am, from the bloodshot eyes,
Not from drugs, but from sleepless nights. Hurling up whats left of the torrent in my stomach.
Too much time spent in that ocean...
Sure, I told you that man is not mortal, but my, how he can break. He crumbles and brings himself upon the steps of the institution he hates. He paints his own world black and gray, and all he knows is this current that his selfishness holds him in. And finally, as he develops his illusion, wraps it in power and holds it with love, it grows and feeds on him and his family. The illusion is a symbiote and the man will grow in attachment, he will wear it as a mask, and his identity is stolen.
But its name is not the name that i bear. But his name eludes my lips, cause I to busy putting forth my own definitions. But my heart is sealed for him. I am truly his. That is my foremost definition.
And I get very tired of living my way. Wish I could be rid of this...
I dont know how to get rid of this.
The champ and sentry will like this weeks musical selections. Maybe Blackbird too.
Whenever I would foretell the future, in the past,
I would start off describing the toll of my apparitions and my soul-sucking addictions. Because, for most of my life, they were my greatest reality. I listened to long forgotten radios in our insect ridden home. I thought, whats the point taking the time to take a breath outside if your just going back inside?
Riku and I would escape to fight off the juggernauts at night. We hid in castles together for just long enough to feel each others warmth. My solace was with her.
Thing was, Riku wasnt always there, and when she said sayonara, I went searching for her.
I ran myself in circles pleading for her to come home to me. Chasing girls whom I no longer remember. Split my love songs upon them, before I could wait for her to return.
Then confusion came to reign.
Riku was disembodied
I left myself
And Blackbird's heart was punctured
I kept myself enthroned, attempting to define love,
being so desperate not to lose it.
I redefined my King. I redefined Blackbird.
I forgot Riku.
I broke the seal and ripped apart all her letters, and forgot my childhood love. I forgot her guts and the beautiful swords at her sides. She would go with me anywhere, because there is a very special king who sent her.
And its hard to articulate the difference between the two. Between blackbird and riku. The wound in my heart dividing the two is still numb. I am not the judge of identity. I must let the light break into the homes of the scared, and give the proud a fright.
Sure gave me a fright. Shook me up and showed me how much of a ghost I really am.
The fire of my torch is more solid than my own existence. Then again, I realize its more solid than anything else I know. Solid blue flames pulverize my heart, they tear the tissue, they tear my bonds of musk and dust. It's heat thrusts me into places I've never seen, hospitals of love and sanctuaries for the crawling children. I must sprint to new fields of grace, let go of whats behind me, cause this fire will not let me turn back.
In these new dreams, as the wolf comes to meet me, I return his words with a left hook straight to his soul.
I love the law of my King. It's beauty shall radiate through my bones. My brother accomplished and fufilled the law, and I am free to live.
Know wolf, I am a Torchbearer.
I may not know where she is, but I know my Brother King has lit my torch. My flame burns because victory is already here. Today.
My father had already been hurt, and it seemed to him that he was losing a child.
My mother was young and full of warmth.
When I was born, my name meant "God is Judge"
A name that tore apart my fearful friends. My name set fire to the cancer that ate at their raw skin.
In the wake of the grand rupture of the marriage, It kept me sane.
Sometimes. Sometimes, they're wasnt enough sheet rock in the walls to keep the fists from coming through. Sometimes, the monsters always knew I would be hiding under the covers. Sometimes, my glazed eyes weren't glazed enough to keep the vivid horror from ingraining itself into my conscience.
I would lay my face on the floor, as stress breath ran through my mouth, and I tried to suck any life out of our dead carpet into my heart. Enough of my life-fluid leaked out to fill the house with spirits. And the paint was falling off the walls from all of.. our
scratching. Five anxious bodies, terrified of our home going up in flames.
What he wouldn't know till late, was I burnt as I slept. Dreamt about apocalypse and apparitions. The madness kept me clawing through my mind, they kept me chained to that ghost; knew him as half enchantment, half curse. What a wicked sound came from his head; I tried to keep him at bay, but I had not the know-how to keep him out. I plead with my father, "please hear this song" but his ears were clogged with rust, and his light had been reduced to a collection of jars he looked at when he got real desperate.
My song, became angry and defiled. That spirit of mine rose up a war anthem, rusty and sun-burnt. Its breath was quick and quiet, waiting for short bursts of wept tears and screaming anguish. And for a while, I just kept my head up because my heartbeat was the songs drumbeat. Sure, I knew that the All-King's Great Commission lied further than what my anthem was reaching; that he planned for my victory not just survival. I could never deny that there was a melody, but I couldn't harmonize.
Maybe because I had to thrust fire deep into the source of distortion, maybe because I took the SWEET GIFTS and twisted them into steel to pierce myself with. My bones werent stable enough for me, and in my anxiety and isolation I took myself apart and rearranged my soul. I wasn't building to conquer an empty world, I was preparing(waiting) for lighting to strike the third, the fourth time.
So it had to be burned, all of it had to blackened into ash and soot.
Mourning.
Sleepless regret.
But, at this instant.
I hear an old song from my youth. Childhoods treasure.
I feel it come shining through my skin when I'm in the forest.
It smells like apples and soap.
Every spring has been grey. Winter passed though the air into my mind. I've wanted to free myself from how senseless death seemed. Ive wanted to bond myself to how precious life is. To have that spirit that pulled through darkness, over the enemies expectations, into a higher place.
I see a strong tree of good wood standing on my hill. It is blooming. King's initial intention.
While I may be unaware, I am not unqualified. While I am unsure, I am not undetermined.
My friends, you have provided me with a stronger map of myself. With less fear, I walk down these neglected corridors and cavern holes. I'll discover new gems, but also more sources of the flooding. To be honest, I'm tired of these leaks, Im tired of being cold and wet. Everything is hidden under the malevolent elixir, and as these currents build, and as I slip, I am less able to understand what is definite.
Thankfully, I am not the only one within these walls, within my soul. At the movement of my lips, despite how cynical my mind is, he draws near. He fills my lantern with new oil, and the black liquid recedes into the darkness.
My mind is fertile soil, but my feet are heavy. The Lord once gave me a vision of a land of hills, and he showed me how beautiful I was, but there was no temple for him to reign from. I lacked the substance and the structure. I awoke, with a sadness in my heart, at who I was, but with also a yearning for a fortress.
The composition is thus;
Diligence.
Intentionality.
Proactivity.
Willingness.
Consistency.
Purity.
My good Father has put me here to build this fortress. To conquer this juggernaut before The Most Wondrous King, The Champ of Angels, This Torchbearer and That Sentry of Phoenix set off to see the color of the Sun.
