The Dark Angels are a come and go crew. They create then disappear like street art. Their works exist in fragments, particles that float, dust motes that spin before the wind that blows them to faraway places. They are individuals that work as one. Deep as oceans, as impenetrable as the night. Art urchins and poets, they dissolve before they form. They are the Dark Angels, they are discharge. They are a bloody mouthful.

Saturday, 2 July 2011

A Variation of Her Selves Is a Weaponized Collision / Part I

The first strike is painless An aberration At best a subterfuge masking a genuine expression of malevolence Her six chambered dominance veiled in the mist of darkness takes perfect aim A percussion of intent which traps and lures in order to get close enough to move in for the kill Her transcendent deceitfulness becomes both my undoing and my proving ground

She tastes unseen A deeper crimson A melodious eloquence rising Her feral nature brimming with tempest and charismatic madness Her savage secrets of slayers and costs to the soul pulse hidden from its victims beneath the refrain of her instincts She breaks off words from her frozen lips as if to explain their battle cry But the only sound that escapes her is shadow

The addiction to self destruction always begins with a kiss The long division of an idiosyncratic emotional style lives to express its masochism Your kiss A sub molecular rancor which spreads its malignancy beyond the reach of compassion is a hideous poison Your sincerity an astringency which burns humility and mutilates trust far beyond any hope of recognition Searing a labyrinthine vexation into the tenderness of the soul


You're a riverboat of affliction A cargo of rankle and filth The assault of your judgment impairs my vision Speaks to my emptiness The zero rises again against the disfigured whole and cuts through the layers of betrayal beyond a cavalier infinity Desperate acts of self burn in the heat of retribution spilling infection A silent suppuration oozing from the abscess of your woundedness gives rise to the stench in my consciousness Your admiration is a wretched corpse mutilated into human form So easy to miss at first blush Just until the repulsiveness sets in


Exhausted from contention She falls again from her lacerated sky Hand over hand she passes into herself Into the void of narcissistic cruelty She splits her archetypal presence into halves Then quarters Then smaller and less than Until she renders herself a scattered particulate In due time Her hate reassembles into its new grandiose form of benevolence and friendship. Beware.


Justin Lee Brown Copyright © 2011 All Rights Reserved



jbkrost said...

The addiction to self destruction always begins with a kiss

and the rest also!!

.:. said...

beautifully put.
thank you for sharing your vision,
your voice~.