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"There Is A Place?"


TERROJA

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"The creative process is a cocktail of instinct, skill, culture and a highly creative feverishness. It is not like a drug; it is a particular state when everything happens very quickly, a mixture of consciousness and unconsciousness, of fear and pleasure; it's a little like making love, the physical act of love." -FRANCIS BACON

The keys wash up on the bloody shore

Each inch yields 100 more

You search harder than before

But none of these open the door

Confound it all

The heART--

It dangles in a chamber

Throbbing with a righteous anger

Anger spat forth from the fear

Of the one who has imprisoned it here

What hearts do we need but these?

A plague of teeth

And a new disease

It's beyond the wall

Inside the tower

A clawed-off mask

Of worthless power

It's a golden means

To a rusted end

And a hole-stained hand

That Messiah extends

For the pious worms

To feast within!

A shell in Hell--A vortex torn

A vore text scorned

Rebirth aborted

And shown the door

A shapeless color

A colorless shape

Who here remains

Alive

Enough

To escape?

You've never known this sort of beauty.

The unread book was on fire

But the illiterate worms

Couldn't read all the smoke

That it spoke

My poor book . . .

Every answer

To Everything

Is Everywhere

If you just know how to look

An armada of eyes in the darkness

Glued together by snakes

An ever-squirming teardrop

Forms the lake of your mistakes

The eyeball bares its vampire fangs

And a million tongues implode

Under the weight of emptiness

Where lullabies erode

An iron alibi of loathing

Gives you the chance to shed your clothing

When you're already as naked as

The day that you were worn

She assures your she's not a rose

But a lotus

As

You bleed

Against

Her Thorns

A love parade

Your money spent

A crumbling tower

A steep ascent

A book unread

A hole unfilled

An eyeless iris

With a gate to build

Yeah, The Kingdom Came

And the Kingdom went

We haven't seen the Kingdom since

And Divinity chokes on its own impotence

Numbers and letters unseen before

Eat the keys and smash the door

They've done this many times before

And they'll do it forever and evermore

You'll be trapped and weary

And dead and sore

One again, yes, forevermore

But

The winter forgives what it cannot kill

The heART--

It dangles in a chamber

Throbbing with a righteous anger

Anger spat forth from the fear

Put into the ones he's imprisoned here

There is a place?

There is no place!

There is only your face

That brutal mask

Like Dali painted--

That one where all the angels fainted

AND ALL THE PAIN

AND FIRE

AND HATE

IT BURNS

IT BURNS

IT BURNS IN WAIT

What exactly is it waiting for?

YOU KNOW THE KEY!

Just lift the lid

Tick-tock sucks the clock

Welcome to your id!

The painting is opening

Step inside

Who you are is dead

Who you will be

Is just waiting

To die

But

Perhaps

There is serenity here

Stop shaking, child

It's you that they fear

The king of this place

This place you helped create

For the true art is what lies behind

The tattered canvas of your mind

It's too beautiful to exist outside

You'll never view it with human eyes

Long though you will . . .

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