a knock but no answer

Black, Dark

is all that he knows
no sunshine in these eyes
only darkness
and pain
oh so fucking grusome
of a life not
worth living

the children pointed
at that courpse,
that empty sick fucker
"the passive nihilist"
they called him
others called him weakness
or dispair
or "that empty, sick fucker"
whatever the lable,
he was scoffed at
by that race
of beautiful men
and brawny women

no meaning
no direction
there was onthing in
that lifeless mind
only a passive existence
day in and day out
chasing away death
only to wollow in his filth
for one more mediocre day
and for what?
this man,
was existing
(if you could even call it that)
for the sake of breathing
but, the irony of it all
was that every breath
was as meaningless as the last
dark, dreary and
oh so fucking cold
were all this man knew.

Although meaning still bled
from the people who scoffed at this man
this meaning was not their own
they bled false blood
of christ
and were able to exist
with that false blood
and little

There's irony in this whole mess
that only a man of the highest virtue could understand
and this was that these people too
would suffer the same fate
of that sick, poor
fuck they scoffed at
sooner than later
nihilism would be at their door
black skies
and total despair
was the inevitable consequence
of the human condition.
"we must pay for having been christians
for two thousand years!"
the fletchers would cry
as they whipped their sinful spines

And I
I only laughed
at those poor sick
who knew not how to create for themselves
as I charred up the first cigarette of the night
I laughed
becuase I knew
there was not a thing
you, me,
god or the moon
could do
about it

Nihilism was at our door.


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