She didn’t consider the soul inside the bones,
The only consistent as skin starts to shed.
Everything that mattered, don’t matter no more
She can barely muster a prank, let alone a trick.
It’s a 2,000 man funeral,
But she’s the only one crying.
Sebastian Noël
Eyes as blank as the first semester canvas
Waiting for context to give ‘em colour
She’s wasting away in a half price deck chair
In the cage where dust fuses with dust
Spit collects in her mouth
Tears collect in her eyes
Momentum can’t cease this soon she thinks
She’s gotta have a few years yet till Ragnarök
She chisels hieroglyphics into her skin
So she can stay as a historical landmark
To remind the world she’s to be preserved
To inspire a committee before she’s lost her youth
Slinking through the pavement, under the fire of stares
But what does it even mean?
When like gargoyles in the heart of Paris
The embody the idea of being alive
The fast claws away at her life force
Down her throat and between her legs
Can anyone look at that collection of marble
Like a Tate modern tenant, just lost in the wild
Statistically that’s ridiculous, clearly they will
But when conversion is a thing of the past
The frost reaching the womb, dictates perception
Comparison can only thrive in this crater
How can she make the seals clap again
With the hypnotism hitting their eyes
In a way only the one possessed by Eros could
Fill the pigments with a hot pink grip
Before turning blood red from the tears of heartbreak
Emulating winces and frowns
In the sceptical that only youth allows
Only a year has gone by
And the visage remained beautiful
So what happened?
Why do the seas remain calm?
These eyes that used to grip their gaze
Dead
These legs that would be traced with their tongues
Dead
The tights that would interrupt their thoughts
Dead
The origin point of the nutrients that would invigorate
Dead
The whole world has died around her
And she’s lost all life as a result
The earth has forgotten her as time thrives
A glacier victim to decay, at just 24
No eyes will objectify her ever again
What a fate for one, which solitude only brings danger
Lnc0
An eon or two, on tippy toes~
Trying to be heard across the mass
The place felt pretty desolate before
Now it’s 8 units, 8 flames of life, 8 experiences
With the noise of 50,000 roars
I sware it wasn’t so hard to be heard
But now everyone’s up and gone I’m lost in the heard
Cos they don’t give a shit when your 23
What’s your AK0′s?
Yeah 23′s gotta be the age…
Where the solitary ready to ruin alone
Accomplishments that would result in tribute
End up nothing but a cough during a symphony
But maybe that ain’t so bad
The only critic that matters is your own monologue right?
I spose’ but I miss them misty eye’d looks
To make my near vicinity, a source of invigoration
Ooohh what a feeling, what a bargaining chip!
I didn’t think I’d lose the moment so soon
Cos they don’t give a shit once you hit 23
What’s gonna be on your tombstone old man?
Yeah 23′s the age, for sure
From cocoon to moth, you
metamorphosize.on your own
Shifting gears for pinker skies
The kind of sold on the front of seaside postcards
Each one of my friends a Hephaestus in their craft
Each lover a Kikuri-Hime of their circles
Maybe if I could bend reality to my whims
A tangle taffy version of my arms could reach the port
Drag myself along the ocean
And tag along the festivities as the observer
The ticker tape apocalypse
An absolutely brutal assault on the eyes
Courtesy of a lexicon of primary spin off’s
A fuchsia, goldenrod on the back of a cinnabar sapphire
I could fake it you know, I could invent the craft
A world renowned speugerlist at JUST 23?
I’d blend in as a icon in a shit stain
The ones to make this an origin to be proud of
No one would have to know otherwise
They can’t hear my cliff note records
Vs. Your encyclopaedia volumes across monthly installs
When faced with the riddle; “What you been up too?”
They don’t have to see me wait in silence
As blood brothers recount the resumes of quests
Grit teethed in the thick of the crowd
Pleasantness with those who could adore
“I wrote something this week but… It’s not your thing”
“I know you couldn’t come, it’s allright”
To them it’s like a gap in persona’s never occurred
We’re all still arm in arm cheering on for the next day’s barrage
Planning escapes and anticipating breakouts
To them, that’s still how it is
No one will have to know the wiser
Please just cast of while I’m putting on my shoes
Oh can’t you find it in yourself to stay?
But I know none of us win, if you don’t go away
– Lnc0
Little kids can’t help be to lay in bed at night
And dream about getting their mits on the Lucky Mallet
After just one little bop on top of their heads
They’ll burst forth to an elevation like they’ve never imagined
“For now I’ll just keep you under the sheets Mr.Mallet
Getting giddy under the golden glow
Counting the days down like Christmas till I can bust you out
Then every inch will be my playground
The coffee, The smoke sticks, The fancy clothes
The stacks of gore digitized onto little CDs
Finally they’ll have to listen to what I say
I can’t wait for the ol’ tap tap tap”
But what a depressing little scenario to imagine
That given if this fictitious object came into fruition
They would bop bop bop without a moments hesitation
It just shows that from their little eyes
All the days out with the family down the beach
All the make believe games down the local wood
All the electronic art that’s been passed down as gifts
Doesn’t mean a damn thing to them
“They hold back features on a time-based-unlock
Not even giving me the courtesy of a synopsis
Just to get a few more years on the stall
The hours of experience they’ve earned on earth
Pushing trolleys and calling Sandra a bitch in the breakroom
The prefect justification to talk me down to a hush
Well when I get big I’m gonna show them all
With a bop on the ol’ noggin I’ll shut them up”
Could it be in an effort to glorify our actions
The 4 weeks grind to get the funds
To gather dime a dozen technology and architecture
That beautiful way we lie to ourselves
We’ve altered their viewpoints too?
Despite the fact that if it were any of us
And we got our hands on the Lucky Mallet
We’d bop bop bop and go back, without hesitation
As Preformed By Domestic
– Lnc0
What is this bottomless source of inspiration they call love?
Will it give me a reason to step out of the door in the morning
What is this immortal and uncontrollable desire they call love?
Will it make me finally clear the dust in these arteries?
What is this mythical force they call love?
Will it’s claw reach out and slap the knife from my throat?
What is this all knowing, all seeing entity they call love?
Will it stroke my hair and stop the late night sobbing?
They tell us not to worry, they tell us it’s not everything
Then they tell us to fucking consume by every square inch
Self-indulgent scriptures of bloated romantics
Acting like it’s as natural as wearing the shirt on your frame
And if you dare turn up to the social gathers on your own
Then you’re the outsider, the kid that got picked last in P.E
Arm in arms they give you the most detestable looks
Forcing you back like a laser beam back to the dungeon where you belong
Disingenuous sonnets shoved down my fucking ears every day
From deflated personalities, who have beam devoid of it long ago
Trying their hardest to recall a time a fallacy could serve as the fuse
I’d give anything to feel something so powerful
That’d it’ll reduce me to such a pathetic snivelling wreck
But I’d be thankful, because I was eroding on the floor with another
Would I stop feeling so lazy, if someone else was there egging me on?
Get your arse out of that chair you’ve got to keep my interest
Would I stop feeling so hollow, if someone else was there to make me react?
Unfasten my bra and I’ll bring this poor lost soul back to life
Would I stop feeling like I want to die, if someone else was there to stop me?
Oh honey you’re a god, you’re an Adonis, you’re anything you want me to say
Would I stop feeling like their’s no point, if someone else was there to give me context?
I’ll rip you open from your insides and give you subtext
You sit there from a top a makeshift stepladder and bark orders at me
To make a rough estimate for every aspect of my life from here on out
But when I can’t even begin to grasp this simple and yet universal concept
How could I even be sure of 1% of what could reach out and trip me up
Student loans, Career prospects, Mortgage, Kids college funds and Pensions
I can’t even get her to hold my hand before she leaves on the 61
Oh god what’s the point of trying, I’m lagging behind the crowd by 2 years
And now suddenly 80 years till my grave feels like it’s tomorrow
As preformed by Domestic
– Lnc0
Domestic Poetry 