It's always darkest before dawnBlack trash has died before he was even buriedSitting next to scarf wearing girls on the busBut no one can hear the padded rhythm of his shoes before stepping into the devils denRoses in the devils garden I tell you,Roses in the devils gardenI used to tell himWhat is your name because,Angels who I have known climbed high and never came back downSo I left them thereIn the sweetness so coldAnd they stay there sedatedSo will you pray for me, for them, for allBecause you have electricity in your soulAnd it could have a chance to come out playFor once before concrete depositionAnd he says to meWho the fuck are you to sayYou’ve felt a shot in the darkAnd whiningly speak of beingblinded by the sun and stars
May the moon shine bright aboveRed Rover,Calling you over,to breathe sweet monoxide to my lungsleave me black and deadin a cold alley's gutterso I can spark up little purityto prostitutes and pimpsjunkies with lips locked around run-away'sthat pause to pay hesitant respect
Another AbominationNever love your mother.Because you deserved to leave that clawed up house from the start, and no hours of relentless sobbing will turn you back. Do not trade weak spoken slam poetry tinged with lisps for unspoken lovey-dovey ramblings.She was not there with your peeps of suicide, slitting your wrists with paperclips and etching out tree branches to your skin.You deserve to write ANGRY UPPERCASE POETRY on bathroom showers after standing in the shower, breathing steam. Wanting to turn into some abomination to swim away and sink faux fangs into human flesh.Rare moments of shoving freezer burned chocolate ice cream into your mouth is delicate, with laughing your ass off like a crazy man, eyes glued to the T.V. No amount of disappointing desserts foreign to the mainstream eye is worth it.I still think that men who love men who drown themselves because they love the sea are ABSOLUTELY PREPOSTEROUS, AND SCHIZOPHRENIA IS JUST ANOTHER POINTLESS CARICATURE OF DREAMS SPOILED IN THE MIND OF A
How I loved his battle cryTo him, loyalty was the single witness of your crucifixion, and as you lay upon the makeshift cross of decaying metal, maybe, just maybe, she would breathe you back to life with her hoarse words, and the feet to hold up your body would tread once again on this forbidden planet.I believe these were not his exact words, because he was a simple machine, and had been hushed by this mistress for as long I had tried to make him speak.The day I first met him was when I was shifting through codes of binary, and stumbled upon his locks of lavender with green eyes sparking the darkness. I only watched him as he played with his brothers, and then waited for my father to call me home.That night I asked him again, and he said I will never love another man. He said this while I averted to the deer head mounted next to our psalms. His coal hardened eyes made me guilty, and I mumbled a word of recognition for him. I never felt sorrow, but hedeserved my respect.On the second day there was mu
Affairs and other amiable thingsMrs.Mallard sang, a ballad that could make Mona Lisa cry out in both wonder and fear afflictions with the heart you say?... what is this? railroad disasters, it was only an open window! Catching patches of blue skies, flying free,free,free! And to honor a lovely life, I say she loved you sometimes Because she drank the elixer of life,
A Confession of love to a worker of many sortsMonochrome skies with the seekers flying high,What a wonderful day,I dreamed of my beloved and I setting sail,I beg you, take me awayAnd honestly there is nothing wrong with,kisses drunk with passion and the atmosphere of the imaginary land I walk .
Airplanes in armsHeart attacks in a glass, what a wonderful dayBreathing in the blackness of greedWait, what?A moral on its way?Chop its head off, and let the true blood flow,For we live in the land of pure metal.
Puppy dog tears and golden ringsLet words unwrap you as if it was your first raptureAre you breathing in too tight?I may not believe in God, but damn I believe in life.Oh noIn the end we are all clinging to violin strings, where was the grand symphony to play us out?I always knew the cello was the wisest of them all.
Golden seekers are the blindest ones of them allYou are,not so great,Thanks to your blessings,The poisoned hummingbird continues to pollinate till this dayMaybe the proud spider should stop spinning its knotted web,So you can smell the burnt thunderbolt falling from the sky
PromiseI thought I was a prodigal man.It doesn't matter.The sun holds true.Perhaps, I am a priest of thieves,redeemed in some cautery.The air, still bountiful and sweet.However life inlays my debtors,and I have laid them, after,I will leave an openingfor lightfor everyonefor you.
Mankind / HumanidadMankindI was woven from the dust of the earth,Born from the womb of Your servant,Formed by Your hands, quickened by Your breath;Come to the precious Garden,Walking among Your very good works.I heard the voice of the serpent,I took from the tree of knowledge,I disobeyed Your instruction of obedience.I wanted to be alone and above, I, I;I rebelled openly against You.I have walked in shame,Under a fair judgement, surrounded by decay.All of my steps reap death,I've made myself an agent of destruction and ruin;And behold, You still do provide.Despite my deeds, behold, You are faithful,And have called me unto a covenant;You called me to faithfulness, to believe and trust.You have shown Your worth, and You gave me chanceTo have communion with You once again.But, behold, You see I am not ca
Fairytale of the ChoirThere is a special place,Outside of the broadest wasteland,Sought through the cylinderof an old revolver.Have you heard the choirs of the dunes,And how their praise echoes off of shifting slopes,molded by merciless winds?Have you felt the thunder of those hauntings?How chilling the thought that Ihave only heard these things,in where I am disoriented by my thirstsand my revolver is closed-minded.This place is strange.I've known it only in the back of my mind,Through a peculiar hell of idea,Whispered like a bedtime story.
Static on the TelevisionThere is a calmnessin ceiling fans, every whisperedsound emitted, two in the morning,never needs to be acknowledged,never seeks attention the waya television might, or an hourglass.Only a child knowsthe importance of listening ––the way his mother never will.To lay awake and not watchBut feel the changeas a dandelion does in wind.
Dangerously BeautifulThey take off,like butterflies,in the sky.Little creatures,with innocent notions,like the shades of the ocean,or the smell of love potions.Breathtakingly beautiful.
lin(e)ar commsthe line stretched taunt between the cansheld in our respective handshello can you hear me well canyou I asked you between landswith eyes for ears you know eye canat least well enough for weaving strandsand so we continue to fanthe flames of cosmos fire bandsmind's third eye epiphany brandswith thoughts ego can't withstand
The Alien who Loved God "The Alien who Loved God" I come from beyond the stars above,Seeking the truth that is beneath it all.I've seen more than you can understandBefore receiving mankind's spatial call;Here am I, life unknown to your land. Throughout my existence, I have walkedThe universe and wondered what it wasThat it came from, before time began;A trail of light in everything I see;Beauty I can't make, neither can man. Your science, engineering, I have known;Society it is that I explore,History and this love you professShowing why I could not be alone;Why a Source is out there nonetheless. Looking around, miracles I seeThat claim to come from the one you call God.You speak of mercy that He had for you;You speak of One whose might gave shape to all,Whom, you say, created even me. In your history, I cannot thin
MistletoeFirst we met beneath the mistletoe,I with Queen Maeve eyesyou lost within your winter storms.It was the ancient rite,you had the taste of cinnamon,spiced mulled wine,whilst I inhaled the scentof pine.The Yule log burns,revelers held within its protective glow,warmth spreads through the skin,specters of futures goneand futures yet to comeflit through the flames.
Do you hear me?Cracking your knuckles against my teethAnd singing silly love songs to insomniaRoses are red,Lobelias are blue,Conjunctions are just sighsSped up to you