Short Pestilential Poems

Curse the poets with oblivion.
They haven’t changed a thing.
There still is war and pestilential greed
In spite of how they sing.

Damn the poets to perdition.  
They haven’t fathomed Fate.
The grave is still inscrutable, yet near—
No poet makes death wait.

Banish poets to cruelest torture.
They deserve the rack
For promising your heart to me
When rhymes won’t woo you back....

Read More

Blood fluxing in my veins stained the DARK canvass as pigments
                             LINES stroke - exemplifying this pestilential excruciation within
      Color of SHADOWS and of my vexation and abhorrence occupied this art
                                   Ending this existence to give birth to this lifetime masterpiece
For my very last breath, I can exaltedly declare,I've consummated one virtuous creation....

Read More