Patrick Bateman

Crimson Release
Anguish Decrease
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Scenery's somersaulting solstice
Segues to scintillating explications
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Cardiac Zombie
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As the sun goes down
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What is that sound from the muscle of vitality?
It screams like the winds of October.
Perpetual volumes...ignominous...
Move through the vessels of mass,
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The regurgitated bubble float towards gaiety,
Graceful as the pollen on May's air.
Sores have been nursed by the sands at the bottom of the glass.
Partnered butterflies release renaissance into a labrynth of veracity.
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Irony is the genesis to the dearth of sanctuary.

Sanctity swallowed psychosmic sawdust
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Left at the wayside
Dangling from limb
It cannot reside,
A house of lights dim
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Coursing through 32 feet of enigmatic anatomy,
Slithering rapidly with prickled extensions,
Impaling pelvic surroundings…
Lacerations of tubular miracle,
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Aplomb decreed,
Yet I still bleed.
Psychotic plead
Plight will concede
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Tears have painted
the portrait of too many;
staked claim on the
vitality of the undeserving.
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Endearment mitigates,
Finally consummates
What will surmount?
What will paramount,
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Tenacity has not
The kind of rigor
Required to defeat the might
Of flight
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Incessant volumes of malevolence
Exclaming murderous, valentinian threats.
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