Biography of Nathaniel Colbert
Pretty generic childhood. As i grew older, i developed a strange fascination with death and the supernatural. Soon i started using drugs. I probably have used every single one. dissasociatives, opiates/opioids, hallucinogens, pot, stimulants, countless prescription medications. that time has come and gone, but i am thankful for all the insight i have recieved into life from these experiences. and i continue to the journey... i write because i like to. poetry lets me put the things i really cant put into words, into words. i also keep a journal, it helps keep me sane, and i write short stories, and have currently started work on a novel. thank you for your time, i'm sure everyone that reads this is an awesome person.
Nathaniel Colbert Poems
She lay carelessly strewn about the hillside, clothed and vapor and a gown of dreams.
Progression Of Happiness And Pain
something like a star you sparkle, so far away buried in the blackness of my dreams broken hands reach through the emptiness,
An Ideal Situation
Sometimes i wonder why we feel anything at all... Candle light flickers and dies, blood-red wax on ivory bones. But all this is
Left helpless like a contorted corpse, it's grave tilled by falling leaves Never meant to be alone with a contrivance with lost capacity to grieve A painful portait i must conceive: Brush stokes in flesh, pink, black and pain; obscene...
Sex And Needles
Painted flesh. Would you fake this ecstacy? Sex-coated mesh? Handprints in blood, pasted on walls?
Hurt and Taken by your beauty. You entice me further into insanity I want to go Please take me with you
A Thousand Stitches
In the dim pools of light i saw your eyes floating with disembodied thoughts and shadows. Gods prayed to know, and i would die to see now what i knew then. Could have flipped the veil, and gazed on a thousand stitches and angel corpses embedded in her porcelain flesh. But ignorance is bliss, and bliss is beauty, and beauty is enthralling.
Left helpless like a contorted corpse, it's grave tilled by falling leaves
Never meant to be alone with a contrivance with lost capacity to grieve
A painful portait i must conceive:
Brush stokes in flesh, pink, black and pain; obscene...
Pigments touched jagged to finish with acetelyne
An immolation of creation is but one true creation
When the pastel clouded brilliance give endless aspirations
Yet we feel the Earth, and kiss the dirt
Holding so hard that we don't fall away...