Weeping Heretic

Chaos Of Whispers

Brad Crothers — Sun, 31 Mar 2013 15:45:53 +0000

If we’re honest
we scrape nothing but
scabbed over cores
of raw emotional intensity;
A lack of want.
A yearning for emptiness;
nothingness;
stillness.
A murder of crows
that renders the sky
shallow and useless.
A cover of bloodstains.
A protective exoskeleton of bruises.
A pained smile.
Cracks in a ceiling.
Darkness that stretches eternally
as rays of black sunlight.
The muted voices of millions.
A reversed drowning of self.
The inverted torture of a smile.
The beauty of suffering
when all else is numbness.
When sense of self
is nothing more than an empty bed.

If we’re honest
our eyes roll back
into our heads
as soft dreams replace fear of death.

If we’re honest
the tears of children
drive us forward.

If we are honest
we know that the silence forms us
just as much as we form the silence.

Secrecy has a way of destroying us.

Ambition

Brad Crothers — Tue, 12 Mar 2013 22:45:53 +0000

Breeze blowing
through tall meek trees.
Chlorinated and pollinated;
the devil’s beat creator.
Wish away the pain
and sing the blues to me.
One cliché too far
but not enough
for you.

1.618

Brad Crothers — Sun, 24 Feb 2013 19:09:50 +0000

God is an endless string of numbers.
The in-between details become the devil
with little to no effort.
I calculate repetitively;
infinitely;
in endless circular trails
which feed themselves into starvation
Lying perfectly still among the night’s stars
and burning myself out
into the depths of golden ratio
numbness

Serpent’s tail shit;
Over and over;
On repeat;
Circular perpetuity;
Et cetera.

Nothing but missing letters
and glorious exhaustion
lie within…

The Light That Blinds

Brad Crothers — Mon, 21 Jan 2013 15:24:13 +0000

The light flowed down from the sky
as silken waves
smashing into harsh landscapes.
I stood.
I stood and watched
the light’s metamorphosis into flakes of snow.
The light then held me as I waited for something more.
But as flakes of snow reached me
I realized they were ashes,
and the light changed.
No longer holding me.
Now holding me down.

Saturday Night

Brad Crothers — Fri, 28 Dec 2012 20:20:33 +0000

Tied up all my influences
and drowned them in the river.
Sealed off all the exits;
tape over dry mouths.
Wet eyes and runny noses.
This is not a free ride.
We’ll all pay a price
again.

And again.

Bleed Me a River

Brad Crothers — Fri, 28 Dec 2012 20:19:44 +0000

There is no pot of gold
at the end
of this grayscale rainbow

Just another wasted day
spent / searching

Title Number Six

Brad Crothers — Fri, 28 Dec 2012 20:19:12 +0000

Gasping for emptiness.
Frail and bled.
Wounds as constant reminders
of the true potential.
It’s all repetition
and lies;
Guilt by disassociation

God would be so proud.

Second Hand

Brad Crothers — Fri, 28 Dec 2012 20:18:44 +0000

Uninspired and cold
as blood tears roll
on a pale white cheek.
Led like a lamb
to the slaughter;
Reflective metal
through taut flesh

You are not my god
and I will not sacrifice
for you.

No, Never

Brad Crothers — Fri, 28 Dec 2012 20:17:24 +0000

Frail and falling apart
to pieces of fragile porcelain.
Where do you draw the line
between down and gone?
Concave vision of rabbit in headlights.
Light through a dirty window.
Repeat to fade.
Black nails and imploding skin.
Penmanship is not so good.
The elusive end is never near.

Self-Preservation Coma

Brad Crothers — Mon, 17 Dec 2012 18:43:40 +0000

I try to relax
yet sitting on hands
fearing the red silence.
It shows its teeth;
I do nothing.
Looking into the eyes of others
raises the vulnerability level.
Where I want anonymity
as a means of protection.
It clenches it’s fists
and screams in my face;
I do nothing.