Treasure Island

James Darwin Smith II

(10/6/74 / San Diego, CA)

A Delirium Morosely Based on a Paradox Setting

Tribulations of madness
Rip the veil of once was pure
Stressed into a world so chaotic
Only to become what is wanted
By those who play misery well-endowed

Cries of shame
Welcome points of toxic blames
Surfacing to that for which is nameless
Only to the identity of something wicked
In a mass residue of a Rat’s misanthropic misfortune

All rise, The Kings are here
To shower those with improbabilities
Destroying probable notions
That earned so much of a time of greater sublime

The stench is in the air
One that makes even death’s smell distant
Making those who dream incoherent
To become what they never wanted to become

In the first place to last place
All a haze in-between
Welcome to a man-made hell
Release yourself from all hopes and dreams

A mass pollution is here
Mental carnage if you may
Rust to rust
Dusted to a ruin of regret

Satan bared a love child
And its name is destitution
Breathe the airs of the garbage that fills the air
Adaption for those who are self-righteous victims
Of what we all call fear

Wake up
Was it all a nightmare after all?

Look over
There is all of the writing
Written with blood soaked ambitions on the wall

Death, Was never one to barter with
Even in the form of a measly metaphor
Who are we to mock the living?
When it was most of us who love walking a fine line upon the grave

Never scream for help
Unless it’s in the confines of your own regrets

Now, where do you, we go from here?

Deep inside madness, true madness
There is never an escape
There is never a thing called freewill

To unlock the mystery of madness
Is to take a part of who you once were
Into the fiery pits of hell
Then, what shall be come of your new form, now?

Never play Devil’s advocate upon free will

Submitted: Friday, October 25, 2013
Edited: Saturday, October 26, 2013

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Poet's Notes about The Poem

Written on 10/25/13

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