eXistence-devART

Some die while they're swinging. Some die in their sleep. Some die being famous. Then others will weep. Some die in a bathtub. Some die on a field decoyed by skulls and by bone. As brothers they marched there, quite eager to wield their mortality. Some die alone. Some die because they just quit living. Like when only silence kept true. Remain unforgiven, but keep unforgiving. Because so, little dead one: did you.

Here are some spooky true stories I experienced while working security at a large psychiatric hospital in New England. Known as McLean Hospital, it had (has) many varied buildings sprawled across many hilly acres. Founded in 1811, the hospital grounds are riddled with as many strange stories as it has bricks. - - - - - - - - So . . . one chilly night while doing security rounds, a fellow guard and I were patrolling the hospital's old red-brick school house. It was erected some time ago for troubled youth. In addition to some classrooms, there was a library on the top floor. It consisted of two cramped rooms separated by a breezeway (as show

As shadows whispers in my ear Striving to keep me lost at night I struggle to keep within sight The fact that God is always near As darkness tries to make me fear The worst of me, I let the fright Force me to seek out any light To keep me  from shedding a tear In the distance, amid the snow A tiger appears, fearless, strong Our paths meet beside a stream's flow A moment's time, we move along For we both know that we must go About our lives, where we belong

Moon shining upon a fresh layer of snow The clouds having just departed from the sky The tiger in silence approaches and I- Rise from my slumber to hear a zephyr blow I try to sleep again but it remains slow And still I see the tiger before my eyes What acumen is he attempting to show? What pure torture is he striving to defy? Yet again slumber at last falls upon me But the tiger does not come around this time A slumber without visions of hope to see Longing to know again all that is sublime With the dawn comes the passerines' melody It seems without the tiger, life has no rhyme

I was dragged to a chamber where Belial demanded his henchman to imprison a naive kid. A place where it's only one-way ticket to go. There's no home for you to go back. I saw my live in those blue eyes. He grinned at me. Siphoned me to the depth of his Terra. All I could see was a vision of me burnt. A reek of insecurity held me tight; all that's left. Hell, was it not?

promises become broken, like the shards you chase and then someone phones you hear something in the distant, (It's the jones) inviting you over for tea and cake again

Alone in the Shadow of God, He bleeds music into the darkness From between layers of the past- Mouths long forgotten words Whilst staring into shop doorways Where drunks dribble vomit Into frozen crystalline mandalas. His present is an intrusion, A knot in before and after: He is beautiful and terrible In the deliberate forsaking Of easy halogen comforts In temples where we bow our heads. Catching his voice Whilst avoiding his eye, Numb to the cold night airs And lack of graces of passers-by Who glare Affronted Then slip Into Memory And Are gone. He sits. He waits. Pursued by nature for this Defiance of time. I love him for his unnatural