http://timbarrus.tumblr.com I am the evil one. Whose sense of identity provokes the report from a crazy fool -- those who are beneath contempt -- that those shrouds you wear as hoods covers up all your destructive executions. You. Disillusioned. Shrunk so strangely in our wounds. The repeated patterns and the branches of the trees shimmer in repose as does time. I am the evil one. Whose black eyes scream timelessness in sockets of such a quiet history. I am blameless and serene. What mortal knows himself as to know his fate. What strained and ancient dogs expose their dreams to deep lament. The fanatic cannot change the subject or himself. What you do in the implication of your guilt is supplicate yourself to the broken places and you accept the end and you accept the end and you accept the end. Had we but known that pretending was so precious, we would not so much insist that we endure at the edges of our fear. Where is the rest of me. In continual compliance. I am the evil one. The bad bad seed so quick to let the past come in. The evil one whose malignant eyes see through the absolutes of truth. To nuance. The treacherous shades of light upon the moon so fraught with the soft passing of the earthbound clouds. Whose existence is a savage thing. A crude barrage of hate seeking refuge in whatever it can devour from the inside out. Clawing with my talons through the bellies of the innocent. Crows. The evil one. A gift from god. From what bloody birth is this. From Isis. from Osiris. From Gabriel and his voluptuous cock my mouth his vehement re·cep·ta·cle his chalice my unrelenting pain and taking sleeping pills I swallowed him calling to the sea inside his blood a virus of desire in the flooding of the heart inexorably slipping away through a gruesome reign of terror -- oh, Gabriel -- you, off to the landscapes of our crumbling exile. From Isis. From Osiris. From swallowing disease. From asceticism. I am the evil one. Whose abortions were awkward in this crawling through the soil. Torment