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
away.
Apocalypse Bingo.
By Eugene ‘Philosophisticater’
Artwork by BakaArts
Philosophistication Poetry © All Rights Reserved ©
Apocalypse Bingo
The End is Near!
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