Orphan Avenue

Some of us just aren’t meant for this world we come in curled and twisted, tailor made for a label, a sticker on our head that sais broken. We are the ones who have to try harder, fight harder, love deeper to get our space at the watering hole. You judge us ridicule us villify and defile us but we are your sons and daughters with half a heart yearning for the missing piece. We didn’t ask to be misguided or forgotten or ignored. It happened and we cope the only way we know how. Things just seem to work out for some folks, some trip on crags in the concrete and rise up with bloody knees and ripped tees. No more band aids no more ice cream and kisses just shame and blame and pointy fingers prodding our bones like vultures infiltrating a carcass…so we cope…we scratch by…we surprise you with a momentary high…then we die.

By The Archetype

Brave New Chaos

Meet Me At the Uranium Farmhouse
for A Post Funeral Death Party!!!!!

The Archetype©®

The Gentle Collapse

The Gentle Collapse

He stumbled on the thought that his dreams sold him out
Delusion carved out a history of failed attempts to escape doubt
A wanna be Houdini has been that never got out
Drunk on woulda coulda shoulda dressed to piss and pout
Watching broken heroes play out their recycled past
On a stage of missteps misinformed and miscast
A humanist on Facebook a narcissist in real life stabbing thin air like a ghost with a paper knife
Little boy lost with kerosene and a matchbook
straining for one last cold hard look
as Summer reaches its end and the air grows colder
the boy can’t fight gravity and inevitably grows older
praying to an alter of ancestral ashes
as his memory fades and the bridge finally crashes
a life pined away for lost and wasted days
Feeds kindling to the fire and is freed in a blaze

By The Archetype ©®
From ‘Notes On Self Destruction (Fire At The Movies)’

The Revolution Is Inside

The Revolution Is Inside

All your screams in protest will fade with time
All your soldiers will abandon their holy line
You’ll finally come to terms, realize that it’s not gonna be fine
And you’ll run through streets of madness no more line between creed or crime

You’ll see that tolerance is just an excuse, a fake plastic grin masking passive abuse

Then you’ll take up your flag again and protest in defiance of the ruse
But your army of apathy will have failed you and you’ll see its just no use…

The Revolution Is Inside

Your faith in God is faith in fear fear of damnation instead
God is just a chemical a chemical reaction in your head
And when your beliefs fail you you’ll believe what I’ve said
God is the Devil the Devil is God and your God is dead

The Revolution Is Inside
By The Archetype ©®

From ‘Notes On Self Destruction (Fire At The Movies)’

The Hotel

The Hotel

This is not a new view-
Time to pick a clue-
This isn’t post crash rehab déjà voodoo-
Not some out of body doldrums-you just fell into-
not a matter of who needs who
who loves who whose saving who-
a matter of who abducts who
whose corrupting who whose
killing who-
And whose God you’ll cling to-
screaming for dear life
as that bombshell mannequin-
you used to call a wife-
Buries her discount dollar store wedding cake knife
deep into your back – on date rape night
Carving in black and blood stained blue
The words ‘die happy’ as a funeral tattoo-
With dope fiend needles all the while huffin’ glue-
At a roach motel hot tub death suite w/a view-
Pay no mind she was a waste of a womb
And you? Another victim evicted from a foreclosed tomb-

No birth right, no death notice, no epitaph no name
just a gaping hole-that your corpse once claimed-
No worries my friend-you’ll be born again

Parlez vous Deja Vu you’ll ask her – with a sardonic grin-
looking for an angel’s way out and a devil’s way in-
to play the same sucker in the same movie you already died in-

It’s a line of self deceit which suits you well well suited to wear your wreck of a shell-
a post modern rent to own prison cell

Faces? You remember faces- but no names
if you walked up and said hello “remember me” would that be insane?-
No-you’re not deranged
You’re estranged from the trail-
with no path to success you can’t stop pass or fail
Straight jailed in a cage – of fugues-and hungover guilt-
For burning down the house that Faith Hope & Love built-

But your guilt is garbage- not fit for the trash
A worthless piece of paper pawned off as cash-
an empty filthy dirty bag-
drifting ‘tween the Bible and the bottle on a late night jag
Hung over, Dope sick, broke and jet-lagged
peddling white noise, sex toys, red tape and black flags
Whoring itself out for a shag, bag, and a drag-

yeah….it makes you sad, the phrase she spoke…sexy little hag…one more toke…breath or choke…then the final stroke to the killing joke…
wearily wearily wearily wearily…
life is but a smoke x4

By Th3 ΔRch3Ty¶3
Taken From ‘A Series On Self Destruction
(Fire At The Movies)’

Immersion Ritual

Immersion Ritual

the Tide has crested
black water baptism
salt and jellyfish

rush the open wound
splinters and angry mud
ash and seaweed

interrupt my lungs
small crimes forgiven
cleansed and reborn

By The Archetype ©®
Taken from ‘Notes On Self Destruction (Fire At The Movies)