
               
                      
                          

                          
                                   
                             
                                   
                       
                
                                                     
                                                 
                                                     
                                      
      by                                               January 25, 1993
     Igal                                           through
   Koshevoy                                            August 16, 1993
                                                    
                                                             book 7
                                                
                                                   
                



                 .                                .
                  ķ  ķ ķ Ķ      ķ ķ
                          Ľ        Ľ  

                      

                 This   collection,    appropriatly   called
                 "HATRED BLURRED" is all those poems that  I
                 never  felt  good  enough  about to include
                 into any other  collection, simply because
                 they didn't fit in right.  The majority of
                 these are from  this  summer,  and  I  was
                 pretty  bad  off then.  With full honesty,
                 these are cold, hateful, cruel, pissed off
                 and uncaring - don't expect any love poems
                 here.  To  put  it  simply:  these are not
                 nice little poems, nor  am  I  happy  with
                 them,  nor  am  I happy with myself during
                 that period of time - I'm still recovering
                 from it, and  still paying doctor's bills,
                 and still crying at burnt bridges....




                            everything becomes it
                           beneath its sickly wings
                                 one emotion
                                   one need
                                  one desire
                             it's never satisfied
                            and nothing is enough
                       and from the pit of nothingness
                          crawls the charred savior...

               
                    
                                     
                        
                      
                            
                                  
                           
                          





    ZNM
    ~~~
    it's all over - can't hide no more.
    everything folds unto me,
        like a giant origami box.
    damnit, i thought i got out of it,
        i was so sure.

    realization - it's been there,
                                  waiting
                                  for me
                                  the whole time.


                                                    -Igal Koshevoy (m)
                                                     January 25, 1993



                         SJ35
                         ~~~~
                          i
                        wanna
                         kill
                         you!


                          i
                        wanna
                         kill
                         me!

                          i
                        wanna
                         kill
                          us
                         all!

                          i
                        wanna
                         let
                         all
                         cold
                        blood
                        flow!


                                                -Igal Koshevoy (JTB^TBDOP^LCx)
                                                 April 29, 1993



                         SJ36
                         ~~~~
                       nuttin'

                       nuttin'

                         but
                        wasted
                         time

                        wasted
                        tears

                        wasted
                        lives

                       nuttin'
                         but
                        waste.

                        waste.


                                                    -Igal Koshevoy (m)
                                                     April 30, 1993



                         SJ39
                         ~~~~
                         it's
                        always
                         like
                        this.

                        every-
                        thing
                         just
                       repeats.

                         here
                          i
                          am
                        again

                         and
                        there
                          is
                        no one
                         left
                          to
                         talk
                          to

                         but
                       myself.


                                                    -Igal Koshevoy (m^s)
                                                     May 19, 1993



                         SJ40
                         ~~~~
                          so
                         far

                          so
                         near

                         i'm
                        scared
                          of
                         fear

                         want
                          to
                         hide

                         want
                          to
                        vanish

                         want
                          to
                      disappear

                         from
                         this
                        world


                                                    -Igal Koshevoy (LH^m)
                                                     May 21, 1993



                         SJ41A
                         ~~~~~
                         break
                         their
                        prides!

                         break
                         their
                        hearts!

                         heck,
                         let's
                         break
                         their
                         necks
                          too!


                                                    -Igal Koshevoy (JTB)
                                                     May 27, 1993



                         SJ41B
                         ~~~~~
                          this
                           is
                      efficiency.

                          this
                           is
                        devine.

                          this
                           is
                        holyness

                           in
                          the
                          land
                           of
                         fire.


                                                    -Igal Koshevoy (JTB)
                                                     June 1, 1993



    RAINBOW CHAMELEON
    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
    no,
     no,
      don't do this again -
       not again.

    i don't want
     to turn into a monster.
      don't want to be the fiend ...
       no.

    you don't know how this tears
     me up inside.

    shifting
     back and forth
      from
       black to white,
        as you pound my truth
         into a lie.

    imprison me
     for my speeches
      of freedom ...
       as you say you care -
        then walk away.

    i don't want this,
     don't need this.
      can't stand
       having to keep
        so many sets of books,
         tell so many lies,
          forge so many memories anew,
           live so many lives ...
            for who?
             no, not me.

    i want to be me,
     i want to be one.
      don't want to live
       this shattered life
        in so many glittering,
         dagger-like shards.

    i hate being
     so many splinters,
      that are trapped
       under my skin.

    don't want
     to have to keep
      (and believe)
       so many contradicting
        ideas and beliefs.

    i hate having to change
     like a chameleon
      right before your very eyes -
       i don't want you
        to make me
         what you are.

    i don't want to be an actor,
     running madly
      from play to play,
       changing clothes
        and masks on the run
         cause i know
          you don't want
           to see my real face.

    i can't stand having to remember,
     just what i'm supposed to forget;
      and then for some i should remember it -
       and for others, remember to forget.

    i'm an ocean,
     i am a river
      as i overflow my banks,
       drowning out the sorrows,
        sweep the joys into my flowing
         blood-stream with maddening duress.

    i hate them all,
     all these other me's -
      as they take my joys and sorrows,
       and i keep going farther into my sea.

    it's not my fault,
     not mine.

    i am not the captain of my ship,
     all i can do is watch it sink ...
      and for some reason,
       i still swim to the shore
        that never comes.

    adrift in my
     sea of tears
      fading
       into a lie ...
           with
            no
             one
              left
               to
                cry
                 to
                  but
                   me.


                                                    -Igal Koshevoy (m^s)
                                                     June 1, 1993; 7:40am



                         SJ42
                         ~~~~
                      bones,
                          grind
                           them
                            to
                             powder,
                          grind
                           them
                            to
                             dust.


                      crush
                          till
                           the
                            remnants
                          no
                           longer
                            have
                             lingering
                              memories
                          of
                           their
                            recent
                             past.


                                                    -Igal Koshevoy (JTB)
                                                     June 4, 1993



        She scratched a letter
        into a wall made of stone.
        Maybe some day
        another child won't feel as alone.


                                                -Igal Koshevoy & The Pfantom
                                                 June 4, 1993



        As 16, I have felt nothing.
        Having experienced nothing,
        And most of all been nothing...

        Then why am I changing?


                                                -Igal Koshevoy & The Pfantom
                                                 June 4, 1993



    Agree to Disagree...
    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
    Why must this disease
    blaze on lightning fingers
    through my charred flesh?

    Must what hides
    within the folds
    of my mind
    fight me?

    Why must I forever
    fight this war ...
    against myself?


                                                    -Igal Koshevoy (m^s)
                                                     June 4, 1993; 10:27am



    SoggyCardboardShield
    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
    How can I protect you?
    How can I keep you safe?
    What must I do to keep you
      by my side?

    How can I guide you
      through these blood-gutters
      without letting
      your feet touch the ground?

    What must I do to save you
      from the horror that's all around?
    What's there to do,
      when even I know that you're gone?

    Where could I take you?
    What would you say?
    Why can't you help me,
      help you in some way?

    Who are you?
    Do you even know?
    Why is this world around you
      not at all real to you?

    Why are you crying?
      I'm here for you, aren't I?
    Why do you keep crying,
      I can't hold you tighter by my side?

    What can I do to help you
      from your plight?
    I do want to help you,
      win this fight.


                                                    -Igal Koshevoy (m^s)
                                                     June 7, 1993; 10:04am



    GOODBYE GODDESS...
    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
    It feels wrong,
      just plain wrong.

    I've got the opportunity that I've only dreamed of:
      I don't have to see you again for months.

    I should be happy,
      I should be glad.

    I get away from she who torments me ...
      the playground bully,
        yet I miss you already ...
         why?

    I know,
     I know too well ...
      because you will always be with me,
       always a part of me that won't leave,
        feeling inside me like a golden tumor....

    I wish that I didn't need you ...
      but I do.

    You're my keystone,
     my holding block,
      my superglue that holds me together....

    I can't help it,
     I love you -
      so many years,
       still do....

    Drives me mad to see you there everyday,
     watching you grow stronger
      and more beautiful;
       watching you grow away from me.

    Do I grow?
     No,
      but my need does grow....
       I need you,
        need you so bad.
         I don't care about anything else,
          other than you.

    Your smile irradiates me.
     Makes me grow warmer than any summer's day,
      I want you to melt me down,
       melt me into a pool
        and take me in.

    I want to be one with you.
     "i'm frozen, please defrost me."
      these crystal shards grow in me,
       they tear me up,
        every time I look into your eyes,
         I can feel them disappear,
          feel them vanish,
           feel the weight lift from my shoulders.

    Lift me, take me away from here.
     I want to be with you -
      be with you.

    I miss you already....


                                                    -Igal Koshevoy (AT^m^s)
                                                     June 26, 1993; 11:14am



    yeanling romance
    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
    i don't need you.
    i am not dependant on you
        for my survival any more.
    i don't have to repeat your name,
        crying to who-knows-what,
        praying you'll be here -
        mine to hold.
    i don't care any more.
    i don't give a rip about you.
    honey, i'm gonna screw you ...
        no, make that ...
    i'm gonna fuck you
        till you're blue.
    i'm so sick of all this foreplay,
        all these games
        and this thing called love.
    so let's just be like all those insects,
        let's get it done and over with.


                                                    -Igal Koshevoy (DF^S^JTB)
                                                     July 8, 1993; 2:21am





                            when the fight is lost
                           with its cause forgotten
                         and the way cannot be found
                              time loses meaning
                    as love and hate ascend into one grave

                           reference points erased
                               memories stolen
                               vision shattered
                                 mind emptied
                                 soul broken
                                 pride fallen
                                 lack of will
                                 tainted life
                               nullified drive
                              vanquished sanity

                        shifting from nothing into one
                       and dancing under a new dark sun
                       each facet gleaming like a blade
                                moving faster
                                moving faster
                              at a million miles
                                 to no where

                           as everything becomes...

                          
                          
                                   
                                   
                             
                             
                                   
                                   
                       
                       





    DANCING GIRL
    ~~~~~~~~~~~~
    DANCING GIRL, WIT' WHOM ARE YOU NOW?
        tell us a story, tell us a lie
        make up a story, give us a line

    DANCING GIRL, WHERE YA' SLEEPIN' AT NOW?
        keep on smiling', i still see your tears
        keep on lying, that you ain't go no fears

    DANCING GIRL, WHADJA' DO NOW?
        tell me a fable, another white lie
        tell a happy story, but still you cry

    DANCING GIRL, WHODJA' DO NOW?
        say he didn't hurt you, i see your scars
        say he loves you, and close your eyes

    DANCING GIRL, WHAT THE HELL'S WRONG WITH YOU?
        why ya' bleedin', why do you weep
        why do you know it, how can you sleep

    DANCING GIRL, WHY'D YA' DO THAT AGAIN?
        tell me another story, tell me another line
        make up another story, give me another line


                                                    -Igal Koshevoy (s)
                                                     July 25, 1993; 3:41am
                                                     IRON ANATHEMA 11:1



    plaster
    ~~~~~~~
    like a gutter after the rainstorm
    overflowing, seeping out

    limbs turn to lead

    too heavy to move
    too heavy to stand back up

    joints now wooden
    fingers become
    lifeless
    numb
    sausages

    mind slipping away
    and body follows
    it down
    the same drain

    left reality mentally so long ago
    now i leave it altogether
    and i won't miss it at all
    won't miss
    at all

    goodbye.


                                                    -Igal Koshevoy (m^lh)
                                                     July 29, 1993; 2:09am
                                                     IRON ANATHEMA 11:6



    hit and miss memories
    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
    here i lay
     in the dark
     in silence
    your face no longer
     hangs in front of my eyes
      once a portrait,
      later - faded picture,
      then a ghost
    now it has been
     flushed from my mind
     like a stranger passed
    all that's left
     of my memories
     of you
      is a blank
      a black blanket
    darker than its surroundings
     where i can see
     almost
     see the outlines
     of your
     shadow

                and when it has passed away
                  all i have is your name
                which i can whisper
                  to myself over and over again
                   till i laugh
                   till i cry
                   till i lose my mind

                            and when i forget your name
                             then what?
                            i will just have to lay there
                             smiling
                             and weeping
                             to myself
                            all curled up
                             like a pathetic fetus
                             in a tomb
                             built of darkness
                               trying to remember
                               what has been forgotten

                                        and then what...?
                                        all i'll have to cry to is the
                                         darkness
                                        all i'll have to laugh at is
                                         myself
                                        trying to think of
                                         why
                                        i'm weeping.


                                                    -Igal Koshevoy (m^s)
                                                     July 31, 1993; 10:35pm
                                                     GRINDING WHEEL 22:7



    pretty boy - you fucking hero
    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
    such a pretty
    fragile poem
    you have written
    there my friend
     such a sweet
     melodramatic
     piece about
     just how lonely
     you are
      how you feel
      so hurt right now
       how you miss
       her warming touch
        how you miss
        your stupid friends
         how much you want
         to fall back in line
         with the ranks
         of the walking dead

    man
    you're my fucking hero
     you're my fucking triumph
     with cheap words
     and pretty lies
      you fucking hero
       yelling so loud
       in your pathetic voice
        drownin' out the others
        the others in the dust
         the real ones that are bleeding
         the real ones that are crying
         the real thing
         you bastard

    now you're just
    a crawling
    with the chicks
    and all the glory
     i feel for you
     i really do
     selling your feelings
     and your god-damned soul
     for what?
      attention!?
      is that all?
      is that fucking all?
       you just said all that
       just so we would hug you?
        aaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrg!

    i hope you're proud of yourself
    really fucking proud
     got your pride all back
     as that cute blond sucks you off
      you fucking hero
       i should gun you down right now!
        you fucking hero
         i should gun you down
         just like you claimed you would've done
          you fucking hero
           you never fought the war
            you never lost a thing
            you just took the words of those who fell
            signed your god-damned name onto 'em
            and took home the prize money
            along with the girl holding the award

    you fucking hero
     in your stolen uniform
      with store-bought medals
      and a flimsy plastic soul

    you fucking hero
     parading 'round like a rooster in the dawn
      but where the Hell's your scars?
      where's the proof of your battles?
      and i know, there ain't none

    you fucking hero
     sold us all for chumps
      you fooled me alright
      you fooled them all
      all those that didn't know what to look for in the dust
       you gave them what they wanted
       and they feed you really good
       and she fucked you really good

    you fucking hero
     all pretty and so proud
      and you're not the one that's gonna fall
       you're not the one that's gonna die
        you're not the one that's gonna cry
         you're not the one that's gonna try

    you fucking hero
     draped in your glory and your lies
     shining like a newly-polished diamond
     an ember in the dark
      and under your belt
      a blazing sword
      your weapon
      dubbed "Attention Getter"
       you ain't no hero
       you're just a clever bastard
        you know what to pick off from the fallen
        and use it for yourself
         for attention
         for the chicks
         for the stacks
         for the lines

    you fucking hero
     and i'm the one that's going down
     aaaaaaaarg!

    you steal your lines
    like a pickup-artist
     take your clichs from olden books
      pretend it all happened
      pretend you're so fucking hurt
       tell the girls just how hollow
       you feel without them by your side
        tell them that you need them
        to survive till the very next night
         talk about Death
         and pain
         and sorrow
         in such intertwined
         pretty ways
          made up stories
          give 'em a line
          as you pretend to swim
          in your lingering solitude
           saying that you're losing your grip on life
           not, you're just losing your grip on your wallet

    you ain't nuttin'
    nuttin'
    nuttin' at all
     you're a fake
     a plaster mold
     that you can't even hold in your hands
     but you'll put your name on it and say,
      "I'm so hurt!"
      "I'm so sad!"
      "I'm so alone!"
      i should snap your neck
      like a dry twig
      under my fingers
       but instead
       instead
       i'll let you live
        your putrid life
        your empty life
        cause somewhere
        somewhere deep inside you
        you know you're hollow
        you know you've got nothing to call your own
         and one day
         when you're not as pretty
         when your lines begin to rust
         when the girls run off somewhere outta sight
         and the spotlight on you dims
           what'll you have?
           what'll you have?
           nuttin'
            you won't even have pain
            won't even have tears
            won't even think you are alive no more
            and i'll gladly tell you you're right

    and i'll walk in
     and look you deep in the eyes
      and laugh my fucking heart out
       and watch you crumple
       falter
       wither
       and
       die

    hahaha
    you fucking hero
    you fucking waste


                                                    -Igal Koshevoy (JTB^TR)
                                                     August 1, 1993; 11:20pm
                                                     GRINDING WHEEL 17:5



Fifty-two points to anyone who figures out what the word on the wall is...
                                       

  kicking wall
  ~~~~~~~~~~~~
  gotta get back to the kickin' wall
  need to return to the place (where) i burn
  fire up the engines and claw away
  like a leopard in a cage on LSD

  fighting madman
  bursting into tears
  blood splatters across the wall
  but who's to see
  but who's to see
  but who's to care

  tear at it as if all depended            Ŀ
  beat it till my hands are pulp           ´
  trying to defeat the immortal            ´ NO TRESPASSING 
  wanting to fight till i'm gone           ´
                                             
  next day wake up on the concrete          ´
  blood has dried to the cement               
  clothing is all shredded                      ´
  and my mind                                       
  my mind                                        ´
  so much worse                                
                                                ´
  try to cry but can't find tears              
  want to die but nothing sharp's in sight        ´
  need to fly but my wings are broken               
  want to ride but my horse has left                  ´
                                              
  pick myself up                                ´
  like all those times before                   
  crawl into a hole inside a wall              ´
  inside my soul                              
  and try to find tears                    
  find tears
  but they are lost
  like i
  lost

  pull myself awake next morning
  from my hollow, frozen niche
  drag myself homeward
  home, they call it
  what a joke
  not wanted there
  not wanted anywhere
  it's just a house
  just an apartment
  on some stinking alley
  out in this forgotten city
  forgotten world

  stumble into traffic
  hoping someone will hit me this time
  they all honk and yell
  "get the fuck outta the street!"
  and drive around me
  drive away

  the pawn shop won't give me a gun nor knife
  probably cause i can't afford it
  damned wino won't give me his old bottles either
  he's got his own problems, i know

  pass a phone booth
  wishing i had someone to call
  wishing someone could call me
  wishing silly dreams

  crumple against the gritty street
  fallen soldier in the heat of battle
  wipe my eyes
  hoping to find tears
  there are none

  final moment
  all dreams forgotten
  forsakened
  sitting there as the world flows loudly by

  pull my hands up to my face
  stare long and hard at the scares on the wrists
  going all the way up the arteries
  all those scars
  all those times

  hold a hand up to my mouth
  close my eyes and
  bite
  real hard

  mouth fills with sickening warmth
  but i'm used to it
  so used to it all
  keep biting
  and tearing
  and biting
  and when the lights begin to fade
  there's only one thing left to pray for
      that i'll never wake again


                                                    -Igal Koshevoy (LH^m)
                                                     August 1, 1993; 11:53am
                                                     GRINDING WHEEL 23:6



    WIND LOVER II              
    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~              
    summer's night             
      feel the heat pour       
        `round me              
    oozing through my mind     
      like a thickened fog     
    blocks my mind             
      holds me captive         
    as i feel                  
      myself go numb           
    feeling like               
      i'm going dumb           
                               
    and i                      
     don't want                
      to care                  
       about it                
    and i                      
     don't want                
      to worry                 
       anymore                 
    no i                       
     don't want to care        
                               
      don't want to live       
       for ever                
                               
                               
                                   i feel you
                                    whispering breeze
                                   cool and sweet
                                    as you sof'ly pass through me
                                   you're stream's water
                                    refreshing my soul
                                     soothing my pain
                               
                                   welcoming me
                                    to live again
                                     live again
                                   you make
                                    me want
                                     to
                                      live again
                               
                                   i feel you
                                    flowin' 'round me
                                   caressing me
                                    with hidden hands
                               
                                   all is cleansed
                                    all dirt
                                     is washed
                                      away
                               
                                   you clean me of my hatred
                                    you hide me from my lies
                                   you send them off
                                    blessed with your kiss
                                   and fill me with your song
                               
                                   quiet and lovely
                                    just like you
                                   just like the breeze
                                    as you flow through me
                                   clear my mind
                                    ever so gently
                                   sweep me away
                                    with the wind
                                   and the only words to say...
                                    the only thing important left ...
                                   and the only words to say...
                                    are, "I love you"
                               
                                   you ain't my captive
                                    can't keep you
                                     from your way
                                   and as much as i don't want to lose you
                                    you must go
                                     and move away
                               
                                   a parting kiss
                                    a glistening tear
                                   a final touching
                                    of moist fingers
                                       "you're gone"
                               
    sullen heat                
     comes back to me          
    feel the hatred            
     come like a lover         
    my mind goes dizzy         
     swirling away             
    as i forget your           
     sweet caress              
                               
    sultry blanket             
     covers me up              
    blinds me                  
     and shuts down my senses  
                               
    i want                     
     to feel                   
      your love                
       again                   
                               
    instead i feel             
     myself going numb         
    instead i feel             
     myself going dumb         
                               
    and i                      
     don't want                
      to care                  
       about it                
    and i                      
     don't want                
      to worry                 
       anymore                 
                               
    no i                       
     don't want to care        
    no i                       
     don't want to live        
      for ever                 
                               
       without you             


                                                    -Igal Koshevoy (AT^m)
                                                     August 1, 1993; 1:47am
                                                     GRINDING WHEEL 25:4



    voosh
    ~~~~~
    vanish
      i want to disappear
    too tired
      to fight
      another battle
    too tired
      to care at all
    couldn't want
      to lift a finger
    don't want
      to let out a word
    i don't want
      to flex another muscle
      throw another punch
    don't need to spend
      another moment
      in this
      fuzzy grey nightmare
      that swirls around me
      like a storm
    just want
      to fade away
    disappear
      from this place
    quietly
      without a bang
    no farewells
      just gone
          never
          to
          return
          again.


                                                    -Igal Koshevoy (m^lh)
                                                     August 6, 1993; 7:30pm
                                                     IRON ANATHEMA 12:1



    every mushroom cloud has a silver lining.
    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
    like a shadow
    of another
    one i cannot see
    cannot imagine

    a shell
    a crust apon a cake
    that i can't taste
    can't even hold

    ashes from forgotten pyres
    memories from hated dreams
    unwishes wished again
    looked on with cold eyes
    and felt with colder hearts

    flowing ever-stronger
    caught in the flow
    of the living
    of the dead
    of those in between

    cursing at walls
    kicking at fences
    scoffing at whatever dwells in the shadows
    and that which dwells in the light
    and the shadow
    of unreason
    of disgust
    of lies and hatred
    and of feelings forgotten
    and of loves lost
    just things buried
    just waiting to be uncovered
    to live again
    to live again
    to live again in the light of the dark sun

    waiting for the key
    a word
    a memory
    to spring back
    in vengeance
    to those that sinned
    and they shall sin again
    as it all comes back to life
    again

    a stray word of a joker
    one who knows not what is said
    not knowing the significance of his breaths
    not knowing what hurts so much
    and hurts so little
    and not even wanting to know

    when you know you are 'fraid
    'fraid of what you know
    of what you know not
    and that which is hidden away
    locked inside by padlock and chain
    from others
    from yourself
    until not even you know what anything is any more
    until not even i know what anything is any more
    not even knowing who or why or when

    when images and memories just fade
    into memories
    into dust
    into oblivion
    where things forgotten
    where things unwanted
    fester

    slowly rotting
    collecting strength
    gaining power
    steadily growing stronger
    growing fierce
    coming closer to the surface
    of the shell
    and trying to break through

        . . .

    i am but a shell
    and nothing more
    i know not what is inside me
    for i know too well
    what lies within...

    my glimpses of it frighten
    and i see them all too often
    my shell is breaking
    covering with hairline fissures
    and claws that tear into it
    and tear it apart

    and on i lie
    to myself
    to others
    to the false gods
    and to false idols
    to the walls i kick
    to the people i spit on

    why do i do it
    why do i keep it up
    because

    because i do know what lies inside my shell
    i know too well
    and i know i cannot let it roam freely
    don't want it to
    take control
    don't want to lose the grips on those reigns
    that i have fought and fight so harshly to hold

    and it breaks
    and the shell splinters
    unravels
    and thins out

    how much longer
    how much longer
    how much longer must i keep this up
    how much longer do i have to fear myself
    how much longer must i hide myself from myself

    pretending to be cool
    pretending to not drool
    pretending to be the savior
    when i am not even close to being a saint
    what is the reason
    and yet i know
    and so i hate it
    hate this unknowing
    hate this need
    hate this wanting
    and hate this knowledge that i can't let it free
    no
    i'm not so perfect
    not as perfect as i pretend to be

    just as shallow
    just as immature
    just as weak and feeble
    as the rest
    despite my strong words
    my claims
    i am weak and know it too well
    too well

    i want to tear this shell apart
    want to pour this stale bottle out
    and watch it drain away
    not just the way i do in times of turmoil
    or hate or loss
    but for all
    for ever

    break free from my bonds
    let the bones gleam through the flesh
    let myself free from this grave i've spent so long building
    let it out
    let it all out
    but i can't
    too much to lose
    too much to gain

    sitting on the edge of the cliff
    and praying for wings
    clawing at the cage
    till my arms are but stumps
    and my eyes
    still dry
    no tears
    no tears
    no tears for me

    want to hit it
    want to cry
    want to die
    want to be
    want to stop being what i am not
    i can't stand this scharade no longer
    it is just a matter of time that it breaks free
    i can only hold it in so long
    as it all falls upon deaf ears
    alone
    in the darkness
    alone
    in the hate
    alone in the place i fear the most
    alone in the place i hate
    alone again
    alone with myself


                                                    -Igal Koshevoy (m^lh)
                                                     August 16, 1993; 2:47pm
                                                     IRON ANATHEMA 15:9



    katzenjammer expos
    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
    Sorry.
    I try,
       I always try,
          but it ain't ever enough.

    I could say I was busy,
       but I haven't been.
    I could say I have been occupied,
       but I wasn't.
    I could say I didn't have the time,
       but I did.
    I could say that I was sick,
       and I'd be right.
    I could say I was tired,
       and I'd be right.
    I'm sick and tired,
       like usual,
          of all this madness and tyranny and loss.
    I've been trying to ignore myself again,
       hoping that I'd go away ...
          but it didn't work.
    I've been trying to forget myself,
       but at every step,
          the glass shards cut into me and make me bleed anew.
    I've been trying to forgive and forget
       and have failed at both.
    I can't forget what lies within me,
       can't forget what lies outside.
    I can't forgive myself for my wrong-doings,
       can't forgive what I am and am not.
    I guess I've been forcing myself slowly into a box,
       till I could see no more and feel no more,
          till all I could feel was the cold steel against my arms.
    I still feel cold,
       I still feel empty,
          but there's no cure for pain.
    It is my friend,
       my only
          and it is all I have left.

    I've done many things in the past few months,
       but I don't bother writing them down any more.
    I don't want to remember them,
       and at the same time I don't want to forget.
    So I straddle the fence
       and don't do anything at all
          and hope I fall off
             to one side
                or another
                   and break my neck in the fall.

    I have felt many changes flow through me.
       I guess it is just my facade,
          my shell beginning to break under the strain again.
    I am hoping that it will repair itself if I just ignore it,
       hope that I can forget about the breaks that form,
          if I just don't look.
    Hope...
       Hope...
          Another delusion broken.

    Clawing for some substance,
       clawing for some reason to hang on.
    I've always been a survivor
       but I don't know if I can survive myself.
    I keep searching for an answer to a question I know not,
       wanting just one reason to take another breath.

    Falling into a well of wishes and of hopes,
       but they sank like quarters beneath the waterline.
    And as I fall deeper into the well,
       the more I see of the world outside....
    The farther I fall into the darkness,
       the better I see myself in the black-light.

    Fighting for a reason,
       fighting everyone.
    Fighting others and myself,
       and I don't even know what's right.
    I hear myself splintering,
       further and further coming apart.
    Breaking from one into many,
       and from many into none.
    The mask breaks into millions,
       and those million tiny masks keep breaking on...
          till they vaporize into the dust cloud that looms over the horizon.

    Feeling lost and feeling empty.
    Feeling hollow and departed,
       from my world
          and from myself.
    My vision narrows
       to the point where I see everything,
          all that is and all I'm not.

    And I keep falling down the well,
       groping for footholds and for hopes.
    Can't find any,
       just keep on going down,
          down,
             down
                into the darkness
                   of myself.

    Extremities losing feeling,
       mind keeps its rot...
    I feel no more for the world that swirls around me,
       all I feel is guilt
          and rot.

    I always try so hard,
       so hard to be something.
    So hard to force a union between the warring tribes within.
    I don't really know who is winning, but I do know who is losing ...
       me.

    Me...?
    Who is that now?
    Don't know,
       don't know that either.
    Just a mess thrown together,
       refuse pile gone mad and sentient.
    Identity is fading,
       as it splits away ...
          away from me.

    I can't scream any louder,
       I can't fight with more force.
    I've done all I can to get some understanding,
       try to get some hope for life.
    And despite my desperate searching,
       I only get nothing -
          nothing for my fight.

    Can't stand this dependency,
       this inner need to want another.
    I've always provided for myself and others
       but have always got nothing in return.
    Always had to be my own lover,
       my own master
          and own slave,
             my friend,
                my enemy,
                   my teacher
                      and student
                         in the fray.
    Always needed to be my own mentor,
       my idol
          and my god.
    Had to be my father,
       mother
          and so much more....
    My world of delusions just keeps getting more intricate with time.
    More complex and more vile
       and I don't see a way out.
    I can see the walls in the distance,
       the ones I cannot scale.
    I've tried so many times to climb them,
       and my blood stains are testimony to that.

    Big-banged universe inside keep on expanding 
       swallowing all else.
    A river becomes an ocean that covers all in sight.  
    Try to keep myself from drowning,
       try to keep myself afloat.
    Trying to stay at the surface, 
       but I can't float.
    
    The ocean, 
       the ocean of my life - 
          it drowns me 
              and it comforts me 
                 with its cold and sharp delights.  
    I don't want to keep swimming, 
       don't want to fight to live.  
    Don't want to keep pretending 
       that my high-horse is so well built.
    Want to break those walls down, 
       want to climb out of this sea, 
          want to be someone, 
             want to be ...  
                me.


                                                -Igal Koshevoy (m^s^lh^TBDOP)
                                                 August 16, 1993; 4:33pm
                                                 GRINDING WHEEL 28:5



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      Anyways, I've wasted enough of your  valuable time and brain cells, so I
 honestly hope you have enjoyed the poetry that I've  written.   I  also  hope
 that  some of the stuff written has 'rubbed-up' on you and has or will change
 your life and that of others somehow for the better.  Take care.

                                                    -Igal Koshevoy


         Ŀ
           Copyright 1993 Igal Koshevoy, all rights reserved!  
          "Mess wit' mah' poems n' 'Ah break ya' finghas!"  -JTB 
         

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