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Apocalypse Bingo

° Freakshow °


Hysterical symposium,

asymptomatic to the teachings

of deceptive apostles, truth

spoken in a way subtle,

lit candles and forgotten fables,

still stiff cables carrying dead weight.

it’s a summer, time to summarise

your fading lifespan, where the ending

mimics Pyro, then here I stand

and end my own apocalypse,

these lips leak, words like a waterfall

from bleeding lips, perculia being

when the sky keeps undressing

that galaxy behind, I’m Tinkerbell

tweaking a god’s design, quick

climb to Babel’s cliff; I read

forgotten tongues with a serpent’s tongue,

such a deceptive being, the subject

I can always twist, your thought I

can always fidget with, hold my

glands like explosive spheres, I feed

off fears of man’s desire, vindicate

the advocates of nonsense, in sync

with the gospels of time lapses,

I dine with the done, the remaining

creeps, the essence of being has

ascended upon like a thousand doves..

Like a foaming cloud, I breathe ancient

cities with a silent gasp, allow me

to build Atlantis with a quick sigh,

I’m a seasoned freak, apocalyptic scene.

I brood in bliss, I drink mercury and

burp out Mercury, grand gesture is to

form a thought without any utter,

collide with my constructs and soon

you’re cursed with such wailing bliss,

the truth will creep into cold bed sheets.


This pen is sculpted from sensitive

teeth, I can’t bite into the meat

of things, that is for you to decide,

reside on either side of a blind eye,

I’m Frankenstein’s I, your dystopia

I see nude; there’s too much uncaptured,

an uncanny rapture, multiple forgotten

mantras; too many hymns disrupt the

choirs, banshees are here screaming

and awareness is vocalised, see through

the ice walls, it’s not as it seems when

an eye is easily faulted, shuffle through

your eye’s pixels, change the lenses,

Horus calls for his iris from that

‘consciousness’ scene from various

claiming emancipation, false seers,

your visions are clearly conjured,

find favour in my enigma, feeding

you magma for a morning meal,

humbled in my disease, in fruition

on my barren land, horrors I plant

like rotten seeds, I water what I

think, thirst is quenched by this

spluttered ink, I’m forever

treating ink cartridges like wine barrels,

toast the ink for flavour, the Sahara

is the oven from where I toast

these words into stranger things,

strangers I conflict, truth I inflict,

influence Kings and Queens I leave

questioning personal intentions,

tempting with pheromones left

as puns on these written lies.

Kiss my palms, where I hid the

treasured memories.


Favoured by the Nether realms,

I can carry the creed of shadows

anticipating the exposure of their

creators, I choose what I let you

capture, sensitive with my intentions,

insecure with my cures for your

chronic obstructive failing vitals.

Jaundice when enlightenment comes,

tan grows too intense when logic

leaves, patience for yé patients

leaves me with every word I let read.

Sit with me on these dining tables

where they feed on each other’s

dying conversations. See me fade


Apocalypse Bingo.


By Eugene ‘Philosophisticater’


Artwork by BakaArts


Philosophistication Poetry © All Rights Reserved ©


Apocalypse Bingo

What is seen is Bizarre.

1.00 ORPLE


Given by 4 amazing people


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