a servant of that pretty lie called "truth."

a servant of that pretty lie called "truth".
______________________________

you thought you knew
the way the world worked
didn't you?

but behind the curtains
no mice run
merrily on their cosmic
wheels..

and I KNOW the silence
of the world rapes your
soul.

(more than any pain your
heart has had to feel.)

oh..the expression on your
face yesterday...

the expression on that
face was Priceless!

(but you sold it anyway.)

How does it feel to be
a Slave to Dead Ideals?

A Servant of that Pretty
Lie Called "Truth."


Who walks The Living Land
of Death while Breathing
Ancient Fumes!

Knowing in your Heart
compassion Kills..

haunting mostly countless
empty rooms.

(In A Universe where
Mice have Abandoned
You.)

j.stephen.h.

the infants of night

infants of night.
____________

if every conversation
in the world began with
a kiss...would there be
less war?

would the infants of
night sing sweeter in
their cradles of doom?

i've seen love wishing
on a sacred star before!!

(but also weep her
guts out at the moon.)

so many cowards now..
screaming of revolutions
yet afraid to lift one
revolutionary finger..
to set the world aflame.

how do they sleep I
wonder?

(likely on piss-stained
beds of Secret Shame.)

my love is different.
beginning (with burning
lips) a dialogue between
every heart and a constantly
expanding universe...

(and the infants of
doom are whispers
now.)

j.s.h.

Like A Tragic Broadway Whore.

LiKe a TraGic
BroAdwAy WhoRe.

    XIII  13 XIII
         ++++

I have spoKeN
with
mulTiple
IdenTiTies
in a SolipsisTic
SeTTing.

Where MuFFled
HeAds cough
Laughs like bullets
before
BroaDway Whores
who never sees The
Beginning Coming.

and You're
always
There My Love..

(whom certain
"I's"
in Secret Hate.)

Pretty Like a
Nightmare's wet
Dream any corpse
would Die Twice
For !!!

(Then
Attempt to
ViolaTe.)

×


Why do i make
such
obscene statements?..

Are you shocked
love?...

Do you shake
your
head bewildered
by the Cruelty of
My Baffling Jest?

You are..

indelibly
sown
into the Many
Shattered
Thoughts of Me..

Dancing in Your
Finest
Dollar Store
Dress!

(Worn like
Sacred-Armani.)

×

Oh..

I must have
Brain-Cancer!!

(The "I's" Think.)

Because these
Bloody-Laughs
We WeeP
Now seem like
Nails to close
mY
AngeLs Coffin!!!

As Love stands
around

looking
Down
upon this
World..

like some
Tragic Broadway
Whore..!!!

(who never
saw the Ending
coming.)

j.stephen.h./

Authors Note:

Spare the Script
Flippin Lid Shittin
Questionaire please..
this is merely a reflection
of...My Disease Caught
by the World. (and given
back to Source)

A Portrait of The
Wanna Be Artist
Living in mental
Houses made of
So much social glass
that..



One should Toss
stones
At their own risk.

(but please
DO NOT RETURN
My SOUL TO
SENDER.)


JSH

till the soul meets its demise.

Till My Soul
Meets it's Demise.
_________________

You can see the
Sleeping Killers
in Her Eyes..

The Monsters
of Love who
wear The Cloak
of Paradise.

I've seen them
now for several
Wandering Lives!

(and likely will
till My Soul meets
it's Demise.)

j.s.h.

breathless in eternity's crumbling wake.

Breathless in Eternitys
Crumbling Wake.
______________

Forever was
Yesterday..

Breathless now
in Eternitys'
Crumbling Wake,

which sleeps
now forevermore..
and seeks (in
dreams) A
Better End!!
__

Hold me
Love..

For I am
Restless
in Death..

and This is
Not The Promise
Angels Made
to Those With
Secrets Kept!!
__

Forever was
Everyday..

Poisoned now
by reality's
Darkened View!

Which seeks
still to find a
way!

(back to The
Holier Images of
You.)

J.Stephen.H.


(inspired by
Jared Midwoods:
The Beginning of
The End.

A most
profound, and
revelational
piece which blends
traditional styles
with an ecclectic
narrative, and
freestyle Lyricism
scarcely seen in
Modern Times.)

sleeping angels

sleeping angels.
_____________

Down I lay
My Heart
So Broken
Now..

in A Grave
of Sleeping
Angels.

(who wear
the stains of
Chaos on their
Brow.)
_

T'was A
Necessary
Evil to
be sure..

The only
way my
soul could
thus endure.

The Loss
of Love once
Noble, Free,
and Pure!
__

So now
I lay My
Broken
Heart to
Sleep..

in a
Grave
where
Haunted
Angels
watch and
Weep..

waiting
(Like The
Dead)
for Love
to Creep!

(Back into
My Head
where Hate
Runs Deep.)

j.stephen.h.

my lady midnight

my lady midnight.
_____________

When it's dark
without a star
in sight..

I always
have My Lady
Midnight..

That beauty
from so far
away.

(who's face
is constant
in my sight.)

She see's a
World of
Flowers and
Smiles,

though it
all seems
naught but
Tares and
Frowns..

thus I wish
to share her
view a while!,

and look
Beyond
These Tragic
Clowns!

(who leave
my Heart
Defiled.)
__

For when
it's Dark without
A star in sight..

I always
have My
Lady Midnight..

who shows
me better
Worlds
than this.

(and all of
them seem
Right.)

j.stephen.h.

lambs of prey

Lambs of Prey.
______________

I took a howl
at the moon
tonight..

(and The Moon
howled back..)

then..
Silence...

__

It's maddening..
when left to
the devices of
your own insane
reasoning, which
cannot conform
to the Reasoning
of The Sleeping-
Mass.

A Shepherd Lost
in The Wilderness
without Sheep.

Consumed by
The Poisoned
Lambs of Prey.

Ah...This
Paradigm
Shift..

who would
have suspected?
(the world would
end like this)

That The meek
would become
the strong
and Lose their
Grace so quickly?

(seduced by a
Fallen Angel's
Song.)
__

Such is the
Dark I suppose..

that even my
Shadow has
A Shadow which
cannot be sewn
to any Shoe.

as Peter Pan sits
broken in The
Corner Crying.

(lamenting long
lost youth)

Aware now
how his Soul
is Dying.
___


I took a
Howl at
The Sun
this Morning..

and The
Sun screamed
back..

then..
Silence..

taken as
forewarning.

(That My
Heart shall
soon be Black.)

j.stephen.h.

too much TiMeLeSs on my HaNdS

too much timeless on my hands.
_________________________

I must have too
much timeless
on my hands
lately..

to be this content
with ancient horrors
in my Heart..

no time to stop
and eat the roses.

(though I often
feed them to the
dark.)
_

I've fallen
into love and
jumped back
out of it...

1,000 fucking
times now it
seems..

and yet here
you are..

my dead
unshining
star!

(haunting
my meaningless
dreams.)
_

the universe
is unimpressed
with ants..

but..down
here on the
farm everyone
seems to think
they have A
Miracle
in Their Pants..

and then
they pay taxes,
f?ck, and Die.

(while
considering
their Plight a
Romance.)

perhaps they
all have a little
too much...

timeless on their
hands?

j.stephen.h.

tHe VaMpIrE cLiChE

tHe VaMpIrE cLiChE.
++++++13++++++++
We sang sad
songs the dead
laughed at..
as angels cried,
and meaning
died..

(only to come
back a vampire
cliche.)

GoD wAs
ThErE..

sitting with
a Broken
stare..

watching it
all like a
curious voyuer..
who never
interferes.

and we..
sang songs
that killed
the world.

(but brought
Harmony to
The Spheres.)
_

ThEn I LiT
mY dEvIL
cIgArReTtE..

and the
UnIvErSe
choked..

as ThE
pHaNtOmS

placed their
Bets.

(on who
could blow
the MoSt
Grim
SmOkE.)

__

and..

we sang
sad songs
dead
lovers
loved to
Hear!!...

(But they'll
never love
again.)

XIII

once upon a nevermind

once upon a nevermind.
(a drunken ranting.)
____________________

once upon a ...
nevermind..

time is irrelevant
when concerning
Timeless Words.

once upon NOW
that will Never end..
I (in the Darkness)
Found myself in the
curious position to
see (with renewed
clarity) the Wheels
of This Machine.

Some called it
Progress. Others..
Sacrilege.

As for myself
(being a godly
devil without a
god or devil other
than my angel self)
I knew it was
just that Whore
Nature playing
her silly pranks...

tricking the apes
into thinking there
was something
transcendent beneath
their chittering frames.

Had I more booze..
I imagine this would
be the moment (NOW)
that I would dispense
with some relatable cliches
to keep you occupied..
but...I am a sober wretch..
God of Temperance,
who misses his drunken
counterpart..

and so I'll continue
with the Realistic
Nonsense in a circular
fashion to show you
this...machine...
how it spins in thee
and encompasses you,
and you are it as it is
you. Indefinitely..
(but quite temporally.)

once upon a...
now...

that only
ends when
the I does..

I.
(ended.)

XIII

demons

Demons were
Angels (once) too..
before falling
from the Heavens
Blue..

into a world
which soured
their Love.

(for a God
they Once
found True.)

the streets of blood

ThE sTrEeTs oF bLoOd.
_______________________

Tonight I
Am The Mad
Architect..
(of an Ancient/
New Design)

The Old
Guitarist
strumming
his Sacred
Melodies in
Streets of
Blood.

(For all
The Dead
 to Hear.)

As Ugly
Angels chew
upon the corners
of My Ears.

(and I Hear
them speak
in Floods.)
_

Welcome to:
The Pain Club..
cost of admission:
Bad Backs,
Blown Joints,
Rotten Teeth,
Impoverishment,
Mental Disease.

All (as such)
are Welcome.

(Membership
is Free.)
_

then..
The Morning
is a Cruel
Artist teasing
The Mad
Architect with
Death. (which
never comes)

He was
The Old
Guitarist
Once.

(who
Drowned
Lonely in
The Streets
of Blood.)

j.stephen.h.

the machine

into this machine.
_______________

If one were to read..
between the stanzas
of propaganda..
they would see Into
The Machine..

These Characters
invented..by The
Mad inventors.

(The Masters
of Sheep.)

It is Nothing
less than
Nothing..

Circular and
disingenuine..

How Everything
becomes a Fiction
which the Mass
(in turn) believes.

A Star
Imploding
in on itself
ashamed!

(Because it
was deceived.)
__

Hello, My
name is Grace..
I am Hopeless..
(and do not have
a face)

Within me there
are Oceans.

(where Sharks
devour faith.)
_

But, if one were
to read between
the stanzas of
Propaganda..
they would see
Into This Machine..
and Realize they
Are The
Mad Inventors.

(who perpetuate
Their Dream.)

j.s.h.

tick-tock heart

tick-tock heart.
__________

And his
clock-heart
ticks on...
immeasurably...

ticks on...

measuring..

the distance
between..

he and she.

(the source
of finer
dreams.)

Tick-Tock
I Love You...

Tick-Tock..

Who's There?

Tick-Tock..

No Words!!

(Could describe
The  Splendors
Of Her Stare.)

and so..

 his
Clock-Heart
ticks on..

(immeasurably
measuring..)

j.s.h.

formless forms.

formless forms.
___________

He's made the
continuum continous..
congruous..

adhering formless
to a form which
touches the heartless
heart of ancients..

Her lips to flutter..

mutter like an angel's
voice within his 
beastly brain.

tis All for thee and
more my sweet..

as I open this tragic
door to something
prettier and deadlier
than before.

Riding on your
Wondrous waves..
digging...into the
Hopeless Graves
of Shadows Living.

to find My Space.

(with thee.)

j.s.h.

the many untold riches of Sandra M. (a novella of loss, gain, and the mental riches found only in poverty.)

Hungover didn't even begin to
describe his current state. He
was "hung-under."

Hung-Under and still hanging
(loosely) to the pathetic fable
of his sanity.

The light peeking through the
blinds is a source of pain..
sending shivers of nauseua
through his stomach, and (in
spite his many failed attempts)
he can't seem to blink away
the dizzy sensations threatening
to send his broken world into
a tails-spin.

"Why do I do this shit?"( he asks
a self that no longer answers.)
And with that he staggers his
way to the bathroom to splash
cold water on his face.

The ugly, unshaven bastard staring
back at him seems like an unknown
assailant who has broken into his
house while he slept, and climbed
into his mirror to mock him.

"Fuck you." he mutters to the pale
face with dark circles beneath it's
eyes.

"I hate everything you stand for."
he adds.

Then,(wake up ritual complete.) he
walks slowly out of the bathroom,
and heads into the kitchen for coffee.
__

Sandra M. was in top form this
morning. (no surprise really.)
Her cheer sending cold chills
of annoyance down his spine
for reasons he can never define.

"Good morning Stephen! she
chirps, pointing to the kithen
table. "I made breakfast. Biscuits
with gravy, bacon, scrambled
eggs, and coffee!"

"thanks." he mutters. Trying to
keep the scorn out of his voice.
The feeling of nausea threatening
him once more.

"what's wrong Stephen, rough
night? She asks, her brow
furrowing in concern.

"It was busy. I wrote a lot."
he says non-commitally.

"oh, well great!" Sandra M.
exclaims.

"when can I read it?"
she asks.

His eyes darken at this,
and suspicion fills his mind
uncontrollably. She dosen't
believe me. (he thinks.)

"When it's done Sandra."
he says in a flat monotone
voice.

She frowns slightly, and
says " I really do hate when
you call me that. I'm your
mother afterall." before
walking over to the stove
and uncovering a pan of
biscuits.

"Yeah. Sorry." he says.
(insincerely.) "Force of
habit." then he grabs the
carafe and pours himself
a cup of coffee..sipping
prematurely at the steaming
brew which (of course) burns
his lips.

"Son of a bitch!!" he screams
in rage..holding two fingers to
his freshly burned mouth.

"Language Stephen." Sandra
M. scalds. "James is here you
know." she says pointing across
the kitchen to a little table where
a small boys sits, shyly watching
the exchange between adults.

Genuine guilt fills him now, and
he wonders how he overlooked
the boy.

Forcing more cheer into his voice
than he feels, he looks over at the
boy, (the ghost of his brother in
child-form) and grins,  causing the
boy's face to light up instantly.

"Say boy. when'd you get here?"
he asks.

"Hi uncle Stephen." the boy
says grinning. "My Mom dropped
me off."

"ohh. well..cool." Stephen says.
adding "Might be a good day to
fish eh?"

The boys grin widens, and he
looks at Sandra M. exclaiming:
"can I mamaw?"

"Well, I don't know boy. Uncle
Stephen looks kind of sick. He
was up late last night." she says
in the placating kind of voice that
adults reserve for children.

"I'm fine." Stephen assures with
more conviction than he feels.
"a few more of these." (he says
holding up the coffee in mock
salute) "and i'll be Perfect."

"well.." Sandra M. begins.
before being interrupted by
another outburst.

"Oh for christ-sakes "Sandra"
(stephen yells, putting emphasis
on the name Sandra to annoy her.)
"You act like I'm gonna feed the
kid to the fish or something!"

James laughs at this, not reading
into the tension building in the
room between the adults,..causing
Sandra to frown, and turn away
to the stove again.

"alright." she says, relentingly.
"just don't fall asleep this time."
she adds.

"That was ONE TIME Sandra.
One Time!..and you're going
to bring it up till the day I'm
in the Grave." Stephen says..
anger rising.

"One time is enough Stephen!"
Sandra yells..her own voice
raising now, and patience waning.

"One time for him to fall in
the Pond and be gone like..."
her voice cuts off, and she
starts to walk out of the room.

"Wait." Stephen says. Guilt
overwhelming him now.

"I'm sorry..mom." he whispers
sincerely. "I'll keep a close
eye on him. I swear. I got
4 hours of sleep last night,
and you know me. I can go
for days on four hours." he
adds reassuringly.

"Ok then."she relents.
"just please be careful
Stephen." she adds half-
pleadingly.

"My Heart couldn't handle
another loss."

"Great." he says. An odd
sense of victory reviving
him.

"well. first we eat. then...
we fish!" he says triumphantly,
causing James to giggle
hysterically.
_______

Just Two Guys Fishing.
____________________

2)

the mirror snarling-creature

The Mirror-Snarling Creature.
_________________________

Lately (in
consideration
of my deeds)
the good angel
on my shoulder
must have fallen
asleep.

Since I roam the
littered alleys
lost!

(killing other
thieves.)
__

It all comes
back like an
unwanted
dream..

that wears a
shit-stained
smile..

the kind
which attracts
"the gullible
breed!"

((Hopeful
Infants in
Denial.))

And I
wonder..

Was every
Good Deed
an Opposition
of My Nature?

Rebellion against
A Devil I grew
bored with?

theres No
answer from
the Mirror-
Snarling
Creature!

(and so I wear
this Smile of
Shit.)

j.stephen.h.

a tableside coversation between lovers

a tableside conversation between lovers.
_____________________________

she gave the wilted flower
a sniff..and smiled twisted
beams that scared the ghost
in me..

as we sat around the littered
table laughing..

defying the conventions of
other loves.

(which make our own a
mockery.)

"thank you my dear" she
whispered like a razor in
my ear..

"they're really pretty!"

"you're welcome."
I replied. (trying to add
an air of severity.)

"but the scent is far too
shitty."

(for one so lovely thus
as thee.)

Lovely thus as something
from the Otherside of Me..
who reckons my own affections
as a Single Being.

Lovely thus as something
worth repeating.

(for now and eternity.)

the song of our own hell

the song of our own hell.
__________________

Why must
we
be enemies?

when we
worship in
the same

Haunted
House of
Self?

with
Scorched
Tongues
Singing
ineffectively.

(the Songs
of
Our Own
Hell.)

and
Why
must
The World
Die?

Everytime
I Wish to
Live.

with Faith
a Centipede
of Roving
Eyes!

(that never
see beyond
the
chaos of God's
Crypt.)


j.stephen.h.

my love poems

most of my poems...
_______________

Most of my poems
are love poems..

(in their own hateful
way.)

bold enough to say:

"The Reality of
Love is Born
Today."

A Reality that
Love breeds many
things aside from
pretty flowers...

like thoughts of
Rage, and Suffering.

(which murder
the tranquility of
My Hours.)

how many
Souls have choked
upon their Broken
Hearts I cannot
say..

screaming protests
to The Unheeding
Dark.

(wondering why
Fate led them
astray.)
_

yes...
Most of my Poems
are Love poems of
The True Variety..

a collection of
statistics present
in every Society.

The Razor edge
of Truth!

(which severs the
Yarn of Faith inside
of Me.)

j.s.h.

the worst critic

The Worst Critic.
_______________

The worst kind
of Critic will
see all of his
Own Errors.

(while examining
the works of
others.)

j.stephen.h.

brilliant thoughts. (in their own stupid way) a stream of consciousness poem

brilliant thoughts.
(in their own stupid way.)
__________________

I hate these kind of
nights when it feels
like i'm drowning in
thoughts that would
be brilliant if i had
someone (aside from
my shadow) to share
them with in a way
which surpasses a
onesided ranting in
some multi-sided cage.

it's ironic too because
such desolation once
inspired in me the
art i have become
(faintly) known for
in small circles across
the electic waves.

and these mornings are
just as hateful because
i often indulge in a
breakfast of silence
and rage that burns
like dry ice on cold
skin above drying
veins of ingratitude.

(aimed at my shadow
due to his hypocritical
platitudes.)

but i suppose everyone
is brilliant though eh?

(in their own stupid
way.)

j.s.h.

razor lips of rage

razor lips of rage.
________________

I wanted to do
a beautifully romantic
love piece for you..

but,...

I always suck
at those..

so, (instead) I'll
love you to Death
with madness

and kiss your
soul gray with
my razor lips of
Rage.

j.s.h.

the house which silence rapes.

the house which silence rapes
_______________________

the sounds have died now..
in this house which silence
rapes..

consumed by Watchers In
The Crowd.

(Born in The Grave of My
Haunted Thoughtscape.)

A Sparrow landed on The
windowpaine..

grinning like A Tragic
Joker..

it's cawing chased my blues
away.

(but I lost Our game of Devil's
Poker.)

Save your Smiles and stale
Cliches...

nothing here survives too
long..

except the multi-talented
shades!

(who teach the soul My Sad
Charade.)

j.s.h.

the secret of the oaks.

the secret of the oaks.
__________________

a promise is a promise..
said the breaker of oaths..
Ye Old Warlock Wintervaine.
(who lives Beneath The Oaks.)

Thus I shall teach survival to you.
(he said.)

how to blend (with ease) the
old and knew..

and turn stones into monkey-bread..
or Darken The Once Sweet
Heavens Blue!!

(even raise the Dead.)
___

My Power it was purchased
from an Ominous Star..

(Soul for Mojo.)

which Has left Upon My Heart
a Scar!

(resembling a stained and
Broken Window.)

__

Be wary of what ye seek
My Sweet..

(dampen the dewdrops in
your eyes .)

For The Devil's in Men are
quite Discreet!!

(and look like Angel's paving
The Path to Paradise.)

__

I wasn't always so damn
Broken...

so fucking damned, and ill
of Faith.

But once Those Evil Words
were Spoken,

I Became This Wicked
Wraith!!

(Both Dead and Damned by
the SelfSame Haunted Rage.)

___

but..a promise is a promise..
and..

an oath is an oath...

thus come, my dear and learn
from me!!

(The Secret of The Oaks.)

j.stephen.h.

beneath the loving mask

beneath the loving mask.
________________

it coughs, and spits,
and hisses...
beneath the mask of
love..

beneath his loving
mask.

(where pretty little
morning Doves..

devour infant bats.)

and the fingers linger
on the keys a while...

linger
contemplating...

contemplating profound
style!

(suited best for
desecrating.)

it was all for you...

all This Shit which
superimposes..

letting the darkness
through..!

(where dead angels water
Screaming Roses.)

it laughs, and cries...
and dies...

behind the mask of
truth..

behind the mask of
Suicide!

(preceding the Heart
I Puke.)

j.s.h.