Final Destination (Roadless Horizon)

The road not taken leads to nowhere but solitude, a dead end, without purpose.

Hatred is a freeway not to be taken, leading Evangelion neo Angelo hellions to melancholy mausoleums of dissatisfied cadavers caught in traffic’s havoc amputating memory lane’s paved in asphalts Holocaust

My soul is the sound of a metallic monster shrieking to a halt

Stuck on this path left massacred, enraptured battered by the crash-landing of mishandling gargantuan titanic obelisks colossal apostles of a path of wrath, an acolyte of poltergiest leviathan might striking the pavement with every train wreck second, the engine revving deathless redemptions emissary of Armageddon, the suspension of the moment rolling like a river on the road uncontrolled, stagnant like a Ragnarok of four wheels and and board, calm like the gesturing Gestapo stalking the monotonous metropolis of apocalypse's soft esophagus that squeals regal like a vehicle, I have to get a grip on the pavement stop disengaging cause I’m out of control in the wail of this maelstrom of orchestrated hatred, scavenging avenues alone, drag-racing isolation

I race towards a dead end, battered by the bends of requiems journey, burdened I merge with the wheel to cling to air as I parachute beyond the bend of evangelical rebellion like the hellion I am, one of the damned, mortality a ballerina endowed a hallelujah of broken toes, still dancing on the magnum opus of hopeless dystopia

There is no short cut, there is no final destination, caught in anthropomorphic motion, cataclysm ramming into anticipation, diabolical reconnaissance

Swords that serve warriors are better left scattered like flower petals, the wreckage’s destiny rusts luscious in an angel’s graveyard of melancholy scrap metal Valkyries serpentine sanctuary ravaging redesigning iron diaphragms that scream machinery like a choir of hydras

But devils and mavericks, ventriloquists imitating inglorious emotionless immortals have no need for a scabbard

With their semi-automatic philosophy of velociraptor doppelgangers intoxicating thematic scavenging megalomaniac blasphemy attracted to the avalanche,  scrap metal chiropractor pyromancing the dynamic fires sparking skarkicism's dandelions wildly psycho

I still live ‘cause I don’t sin

That’s what they all say, masquerading devastation manifesting questions wrestling with deception

Is the agony of the antagonist any more auburn than the diabolical gospels who lie bottomless in their solitude?

While I merely skim the surface of purpose, mercifully re-emerging subservient to the rat race rapture captivatingly distasteful flinching at the influence of glinting windshields in the distance like a hieroglyphic cliffhanger dangling off sanity like a tarantula's mandibles clamping praying mantis lava lap of manta ray machinations braking the silence screeching tires but reinvigorated by dominatrix back-peddling to the metal belching alphabets of cloudy cowardice

And when your race is run, the exhaust fumes blooming illusionary crescent moons anew again, illuminated by the street light lycanthropy dancing deer mesmerized by the headlights dissection, screaming cleavers in the greasy dialect of skid marked arsenals of artwork infernos murmuring the murderers words honking humonculus without turning back to evacuate the freedom of Elysium graphited with breathing seething death in backseat, grim reapers grins reverse in rear-view mirrors tyranny the scythe of lifecycle’s enlightenment quiet at midnight idolizing psychopaths synapses

In the winter defibrillators skating on the scales of a maelstrom, thin ice is the only divide between wrong and right

The page of concrete shines intertwined with dawn

I didn’t read the signs, or the stoplights, ran right through the intersection’s inception deafening like a metallurgist violin virtuoso hermaphroditism of violent sirens deciphering the clovers’ jam of hammered brakes breathing reavers smoking oceanic commotion floating over noiseless tornadoes of volcanic Salem, turn signals malignant signatures on the pavement of Gaia’s flacking highway skin, I beg for change on the side of the road, but it doesn’t come, tires set fire to the wind, too late for u-turns, the epidermis that once flourished heavens dishevels evils of belladonna dust devils ebony with the scorch and the screech under heated sheets that hide the diabolical frail heartbeat moaning comatose Ouroboros motionless as the earth spins to the rhythm and churns to the inferno and squeals through its cerebral upheaval one last day before tomorrow to find her macabre forefathers, in the skyline of hang gliders primordial

And as we walk our own paths to the future, I rattle around the floorboards and corridors of shadowed diablos, and while they all walk on home living on in damnation, I have taken the old loneliness of the travelled road inside my soul, driven by my hatred, a marathon of despair for an era of arrogant chimera heretics, who thought with maniacal laughter that Gaia’s sadness needed manifest in a cadavers avatar in their aftermath

I find that carnage bargains with the heartless, empty chested, I wrestle with hatred’s wraiths until death one last time, before the road takes me to my final destination, done with reincarnation, Maleficent, I clench onto revenge’s endless appendages with my left fist, and grasp at redemption levitating while hanging from the ceiling of a disobedient sky, somewhere I will never reach, my rusting revenant buried by the roadside, home the only thing I left behind

Or buried in the graveyard of a dream, wishing I had left it all behind sooner

Because my soul is the sound of a metallic amalgamation grinding to a stop

But my heart doesn't bleed diesel frequences like Evel Knievel as it beats and wobbles and weaves and flows on concrete rose gravel avalanches of cold clovers overdosing contortionist morose in the road rage aroma of table-tossing velocity

So let me sit back and relax, shapeshifting infinitely into sixth gear, the night's stars a chandelier on my pyramid, aviator prayers of alligator havens and incoherently race with cryptic obituaries, chase the sight of Deus ex Machina's mocking my mirages like an acolyte of electroshocking obelisk in the fuselage that fuels my fire bright dynamo hallucinogenic engine on a windless night's lightning kaleidoscope of an enlightened roadless horizon's cloak of my exhaust smoke

Author's Note

I wanted to write a poem for the local slam, ended up writing something better, a great longer poem. I guess you could call it an epic if you really want compliment me, but either way, it's around 1000 words. I finished editing, and am proud of the result. Please tell me what you think.

I very seldom reply to reviews, but I promise I read EVERY single one. I look forward to my next review, because it helps me learn. Even if it's just one word, I promise, I will be ecstatic to have the chance to hear what you have to say. Whenever you write something about my poems, or the themes of my poems, or criticize me it is not in vain. I will listen, learn and be thankful.

Reviews

[Pete]

a little disturbing - i think Robert Frost would beg to differ on where that road leads. your unique style of knitting words together shines in this. your writings are always good for a walk on the edge ... :)

[R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe)]

Thank you, I'm happy to hear it's worthy of your words.

[.]

"Road Not Taken" is one of my favorite poems I read in 8th grade! I remember every moment I have presented this poem for 2000 audiences.
To me your poem is one more written by you, I like so I will praise it but will you take the praise till you realize how well you've written? Anyone will praise this wonderful combination of words but what about you? You can't make a masterpiece till you believe it yourself.Take it willingly that you have to work more, don't accept that you haven't done well. Your readers don't want any excuses they will see how much you have improved, how much they enjoyed reading your work. Don't convince yourself, believe it! You are just too great at writing this poem and lots of appreciation from me. Maybe I flowed away so much, don't mind, you have done well, that's all I have to say. Claps....👏.
Good Luck😉
-MC

[R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe)]

Thanks MC. Always happy to hear I did better than I thought I did. Sometimes, I doubt myself. I'm glad I was wrong.

[.]

Don't doubt yourself like that.😆

[Ghost writer]

Chaos, death, fear, very good. I do think that you seem to rhyme somethings just because they rhyme, like a line will rhyme but it won't make since. I'm not judging, I think we've all done it, I just think that too much of that is a flaw so you might want to keep an eye out for that.
I like the last part, between the last two pictures, It made a lot of since to me and it was my favorite part of this piece, thanks for sharing.

[R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe)]

I appreciate your insight, it's a habit of mine. My poems are wild, rather than well groomed. I've gone over the poem and changed some stuff, but I'm glad the message was still good enough to enjoy. Thank you for reading.