Dressing up daydreams as dead bodies for viewing pleasure: this life is a shoe box in the hole hoax

There will be eight Armageddon's not eight ladies dancing.
hounds of heaven unleashed from the clanking of shifting chains holding back remaining Titans unfit for frolic,
tired plane engines have failed and a safe landing is not on schedule for the itinerary.

chariots of hell rise up off the throne and infernal councils will,
there is no waking from the dreams darting back and fourth
as mouses in Tyron's maze;
cannibalism caters the wild,
calls us home as caretakers cutting the oxygen lines.

choke on water,
what are the telltale signs you've stopped caring for a lover?
the weight of this earth is killing,
and so these shallow graves will surface from the wet;
and skeletons will swarm as you swim and try to escape.

crash upon my enemies;
becoming friends,
fiends,
fragmentation from the shrapnel.

butterfly figments of our imagination.
dissection is nigh
as mud walls consume you with the dead pulling in from the horror movies of my childhood.

damp chloroform cotton handkerchief
in pockets of passing assailants
looting of the heart,
define the apprehension of customs,
cartouches warning of the ancient fear that overtook the old gods
that now knocks at our door.

this busted rear transmission of a world,
leaking fluid,
its a matter of sorting red return trip string from wrong blue wire snips
spilling liquid us across the floor.

the after shock rattles our bones to the brink,
arrows telling us where to walk when the wind could just as easily blow us into oncoming traffic.
split lips saliva song & dance.

so long i've heard the silent voiceless angels ringing in my head.
so long i've heard the shadows
voiceless demons pacing floors above the iron furnace rooms,
but they have no intention on going back without a fight.
alas they were one and the same.

the calm comes quicker than a pistol shooting silver,
surround the living in concrete and we'll watch it all die together.
one last buried alive trick for the history books,
but Houdini would have nailed it with a fourth attempt if given the chance.