ashweb poetry: Jett Black

Welcome to the Club!
How much of me have I invented?
How much of me becomes real?
just like I do,
I know that you dream, too.
We all crave to die inside.
We all crave to die by
Suicide
We all crave to die
sometimes
And if only we could...
Yes, if only we could!
it takes too much patience
to be so good
but no!
I won't change...
No, I never, never would
Forgive the past mistakes
Even though they tell me I should
Forget the future
Forever is so misunderstood
Relax into me,
Let me set you free
One last breath, and the End
I swear will come as a friend
No one now can condemn
What we two understand
Yes, we do understand
What no other family can...
It is simple, my friends
It is simply the end
It is
Simply
Suicide!
Suicide!!
Suicide!!
WELCOME TO CLUB SUICIDE!!
CLIMB THE ROPE!
AND TIE THE KNOT!
NOW, TAKE A SWING!
TAKE YOUR BEST SHOT!
TAKE YOUR BEST SHOT!
I'll give you a ticket to ride.
If you take it tonight,
You can take this ticket to ride!
Welcome!
Now, come on in!
Take a seat at the table, and
Deal me in!
Take a hand
I think i'll let you win!
and then, I'll let you do me in!
Again.... sweet dreams so complete
forever no more
just like sleep
take a dirt nap tonight.
It's just like sleep
sweet dreams for-ever
sweet dreams for-ever
almost sweet sweet dreams for-ever
it's in the back of your mind
take your best shot
and welcome
welcome to the club, to night
welcome suicide
welcome to the club
if you're quick,
you can climb to the top
take my hand
i'll help you tie the knot
I'll help you take your best shot
So, relax into me
and let me set you free
one last breath and the End
i swear shall come as a friend
no one now can condemn
what we two understand
yes, we do understand
What no other family can...
suicide...suicide...suicide...
...suicide...How much of me have you invented?...suicide...
How much of me now becomes real?

To You, oh, Moon of mine,
so full and bright
do I now extend my gaze.
My mortal eyes drawn
but with merely human wonder.
Could it be more, perhaps?
Could I possess a perception
beyond the constraints
of decaying flesh and bone?
I stare and I wonder,
marveling at your infinite beauty.

Would that I, too,
could exist as you exist --
to know this world from only
a Nocturnal point of view;
to appreciate the beauty of
an evening subdued by an
absence of abundant light,
to focus upon the sanctuary of
heightened sensuality as
shadowed upon the savory flesh of
feline teenage faces
and of those, too, whom
we speak of in whispers and
hush up in legend.

Grant me the Gift that
gives life-eternal;
The flesh I will cherish,
and satisfy Immortal.
Deliver me into everlasting shadow
and symphony of night.

Striking a flame to and evil I
both love and despise
I gently draw closed the heavy door
of my empty apartment-home
And climbing five...
six...seven stairs alone
along a windswept corridor
up & up
to a barren balcony overlooking
nothing....
merely the drab exterior of brick masonry
I sigh and slide my hollow shell down
against a paved wall
down to the haphazardly raked
cement floor of this landing

Clove tobacco snaps and crackles
anxiously through its thin paper walls;
much like the words we knew together.
The filter darkens rapidly, and I cease
my vacant stares into the nothing
to see it smoking in an eerie spiral,
my body & soul
whirling in a ghastly, yet comfortable
pain!
My days are numbered
(or so I am told).
As empty as they are, I concede
they are numb, and must be growing smaller
with each drag that I inhale,
staring callously out into the wind
that passes me by
once again.

Taking it all in
so much more slowly
this time
I hope to savour this
uncharitable despair
ashes flee like ants from the rain
to the ever so cold cement below
carried away quickly
on this wind that mocks me
continuously.

the umpteenth drag,
and as always,
I hold it in again
waiting for what?
I don't know...
And yet again,
I lose the heat my heart
wishes to steal back inside.

Reaching out now,
I grapple to hold onto
an iron railing
I need now to move on,
to look away
I need so badly to think and feel clearly
in fact to even see clearly
but I cannot.
I can see and feel.......
nothing.

Reeking and exhausted,
alone and afraid
I rise again
descend these
seven stairs again
only to re-enter
my empty apartment home
alone.

Heavy fog hangs about
motionless
among these many engraved stone markers.
Somehow, I understand completely
the grave significance
of all these finely carved stones,
and that tonight, a fresh grave
waits to receive the corpse
of someone known to me.
This hand holding my hand above
my head in a warm
somewhat familiar grasp
belongs to my mother,
I believe.
Apparently, she grieves
though, of this, I am not convinced
nor certain.
My steady line of vision
casts its gaze only
upon the pale moon-light
reflecting off of a few
close headstones,
through the sparse patches
of grass softly embedded
into the soil beneath our feet,
and through the light fog, now and again.
All I really know is that I am at last
conscious, and focused to the point
that I know that
I am here
if only for this singular moment.
I absorb the beauty of this brief awakening,
the quiet, damp cold
of darkness.
The moon is radiant
and I feel invigorated by the evening air;
comfortably at home
not just here inside the cemetery gates,
rather in the presence of death
as it passes by
and I...
am not alone.

My Motto

We are Beauty & We are Foul
the colours of Abortion & Romance
A motley generation of
individuals, once proud, now ashamed
of our own decadence

Medusa's Head

Jet-stream financial success looms like a horse's apple --
just *out* of reach in the eye of a hurricane.
Not quite willing to risk losing my youth and newly *found* self
inexchange for impenetrable stoicism and inter-corporate
success, I lunge, slip, and fall back down into tides
deep enough to tumble my crawling, quadrapedal body
upon sex-smeared, sandy beaches of lathered,
untethered flesh, lust, and shattered delusions;
nostalgic fantasies dripping from my loins, the corners
of my see-saw smile, and every pore imaginable...

Even My Heart

Pain & Terror
rips right through it
a little boy, your child
screams into it
come now, give it to me,
there's nothing to it!
ahh! you suffer beautifully,
and I love you for it!
Whaether you come for business,
or come for these treasures,
please come in side for the sunken pleasures!
Come inside!
Smell the corpse's rotting flesh.
Come inside!
Necrophilia is sweeter than incest!
Come inside!
Our pleasures are sanctified by christian death.

Even in dreams, you want me;
even in sleeping, you need me!
Your body is so exquisitely empty...
I am the death you pray for, my dear.
I am the demon you fear.
I am the happy hunter,
stalking your child!
I am that evil grimace
and I'll go that extra mile
just to watch you suffer,
to bring you Pain's face.
i am the outcast bastard
in a state of grace.

bring us the corpus delicti!
set the tables with care.
Invite our special guests,
covicts and the usual suspects
and only the finest ginsu chef
for this casual affair.

seventy-five sweet appetites
gathered here for the
corpus delicti
all of our hungry young children
gathered for the feast
knives and forks
singing like switchblades
echoing in the wind
and goblets banging like
trash can lids in a a back street alley
on the banquet tables, tonight..

And yet,
you make us wait
"She's not quite dead yet!"
No matter
We have eternity
"to know your flesh!"

Making Things Better

Happiness rarely burns out completely. Instead, it merely fades away slowly like leaves falling from Autumn into the heart-felt isolation of Winter. And so, to make things better, I dream of another place and time where I can escape from the slow drain of happiness and you. I dream of having anything to say at just the right moment, and yet I drag on empty and lonely without the glow in your eyes and soul. Though, of course, I realize that you physically remain as you again turn away. Our happiness fades to ashes pure and grey. No ambiguous lies in ashes. Nothing remains except to watch it all blow away. Which is my lot as you have already turned away.

Cloves become then my only friends. And like all true friends do in the end, these faggots take all the life out of my heart and lungs. All the while offering me sweet empty comforts. And so I prefer this sickness and disease to make myself feel better.

Occasionally, I must drift beyond our thin hollow walls and seek out the masks, plastic smiles and soiled souls of our friends, and strangers. I prefer the strangers as they tend to be much more mysterious, though less cunning in their lies. And then there's always the opportunity that they might bubble with interesting personality and perhaps something even more rare and beautiful to offer such as the ever elusive "truth". Truth is, of course, just another uncontainable human fantasy like Time and Happiness. So, I flirt with strangers to make myself feel better.

And, hopefully, one of our good friends will bring out the coke, or a bottle of something unfamiliar and interesting, or at least some grass. I prefer to be consumed by such distractions only within the close company of friends, or someone I can trust. The absence of both have never kept me from seeking escape as happiness continues to dissolve along with grains of acid, alcohol, and brain cells. For a time wrought by delirium, I believe I need distractions to make myself feel better.

Now I can hold you again as a stranger's arms coil around me. Past the stench of fermented rye and whiskey, somewhere embedded in my brain I can smell your hair drying in the morning sunlight. In tears, I remember the soft warmth of your skin down the back of your neck, around your waist and into the pungent patch of wiry tendrils where my fingers would graze sleeplessly deeper into this taste of you. My mind wanders until her hands weave and waves across my gaze and I then awaken to see her lips kissing my fingers which she brings up to my lips, never realizing how recently my digits have been within you. My thoughts reflect upon you again as you shift, and turn away in our bed. I can no more reach out to touch this one now than I could to prevent your heart from plummeting, nor my soul from drowning in dreams of the skull. So, I let her curls spill over my face as she reassures me now that this will make things feel better.

Casually, I wonder about all of these images in decadence. Secretly, I've always known my wings were clipped by the deceit of Happiness. Floating weightlessly now, ever wishing to sink deeper beneath undulating waves of your love, her love, their love, friendship, and honesty -- anything to make things feel better, or lose consciousness one last time.

3 a.m., party's over.

3 a.m., party's over. Firmly shut the door. Slide the dead-bolt deep inside a snug, dark hole. Tucking away my palm-pilot... it's time for a little point and click. Retro-Jesus Dance tracks crooning on the radio bring back classic teenage memories, tender and fuzzy. Still, Robert Smith doesn't impress me now. No more dancing incense for you, Robert. And the Cure won't depress me anymore. Those were days when I still had a heart. Days when I needed someone to save me from myself. Days before I began to let you wear me down. Yeah, You! and You! ...and You, too.

Funny how the Sex Pistols, Black Flag, and the Dead Kennedys all seem like dusty old friends crackling back at me over the radio... Friends on the radio. And so, now here I am again going down on you again, all alone with your love between my fingers, and your image plastered into my mind's eyes. Auto-erotic sensationalism ever pales to your tender, controlled touch. To think that hands so soft could smack so-so... I can't wait! I'll have my satisfaction now, thank you... and reaching to the floor, I find that worn blue towel as Devo whips my soul to sleep.

NEAR DEATH

DUST BETWEEN MY FINGERS
BLOOD UPON THE SAND
ARRYTHMIA HOLDS MY THOUGHTS
TO THE SNAKE IN MY HAND
HEAD LIKE A DRAGON,
SPIT UPON THE GROUND,
STARES BACK UP AT ME
AS DISTANT CICADAS SOUND
VOO-DOO MADNESS IN MY HEAD
MUCH LIKE THE SNAKE'S RATTLE
SENDING OFF THE GHOST
OF ITS DECAPITATED HOST.

Skeletons in the Closet

I see you straining
this afternoon's truths
through yesterday's lies.
A facade so familiar
I see it etched upon
your cataract eyes.
Why wouldn't you tell me?
And why would you hide
feelings set aside for her
in a shoe-box I might find?
She haunts the very air
you breathe
I look to my heart
nailed upon your brow
Yet, I see
not my image, but hers
reflected in your gaze
and honey-dew droplets
of yesterday
and today.

Club Suicide	IMMORTAL PRAYER	Pondering a Disintegrated Romance
J'ai Arrive	My Motto	Medusa's Head
Even My Heart	Making Things Better	3 a.m., party's over.
Near Death	Skeletons in the Closet	Discontent

My Motto

Medusa's Head

Even My Heart

Making Things Better

3 a.m., party's over.

NEAR DEATH

Skeletons in the Closet

Discontent