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
the playwrightGod is a playwright.He sits in the back rowof velvet seats and claps160 bpm after every act.He closes his eyes whenthe audience laughs together,cries together.His play is very good,and He knows this.After the show,they always ask,“How did you makethe characters sovulnerable? Sohonest? So real?”He shrugs in his tweedjacket with elbow pads,frowns slightly, says,“The characters got away from me.I did not make them this way.”
Forming HelixForming Helixsit at the rootof totem poles,emblem blazephoenix scarsinto token shardsand let heat signaturesspike, sparklike alcohol ciphers.gazes glazed vitreous viewthat triggers starrysky-gaze stareseyeshot into shaky acuitybefore sclera’s bloodshotat divinityfalling likethunder discharge.autoscopy astral projectionas it spiralsandswirlsaround thunderbirdforming helix.
IlluninatedLight from within and light from without,Mingling in a dancing prism,Reflecting gold, red, blue,Reuniting orange, purple, green,Again to become a single beam,Focused illumination.
A Place to call RefugeThere is a world that follows the laws of nature.Survival of the fittest; it’s killed or be killed.Predators all around, and not enough places to go.But there is a place to go.In the midst of nature, an asylum is built behind enemy lines.“Come in; there’s room for someone like you.”A home like no other; the heart is compelled.People coming together; a place to get away from the chaos.Laughter, smiles, tears, and compassion; a refuge is born.A home like no other; a refuge in the middle of a war known as life.Built on an unbreakable foundation; there is nothing like it.Nations and worlds collapse to form into one; a place to thrive than survive.It’s forever beautiful here, and the heart of it beats.A love like no other and a compassion like no other.Nature can survive, but the refugees will thrive.A place to call refuge; a home for all and hosted by the Master of Masters.
In a Moment of ClarityUnder the two way mirror below each layer of the faded paint of a coffin, lied the liar laying alone and undead. Laughing in amnesia's grasp at his own reflection upon seeing himself through crazed eyes.I know the story that is told for the doomed soul, and how short it is will remind you of condemnations meaning. A guinea pig by his own curiosity laid flat in useless soils, his was a cliche tale of woe and an ending without twists.A turn for the worst will come with the lights switched on and the glass broken, and his first steps will be into a world without law or regulation, yet a prison all the same where the guards are inmates and the Warden was once near flawless.A hooded figure had come sporting typical black for the cliche fool as told in countless fables, and delivered unto Hell an unrepentant sinner for whom God had wept just like the innumerable before him. The fool will weep from now on.Biographies for these characters are fables tattooed on the golden calf upon which t
and it's gonehe filmed the street in one long takeonly a smudge of pigeons in the slantedyellow of poverty only gouache squeezedout of the subway entrance there was loveand brotherhood in equal amountsit was reserved and a little distant hethought always holding its wings upso as not to smear the feathers whyis it so afraid of losing precious oil to bay water?she who shimmered in barked half-whispersunder the weight of words in gun smokeharpooning outwards how does she knowthere isn’t a void around helplesslypaddling hoping to touch the edges of the pool?so he sat on the sidewalk that purred andrecoiled under denim if he can touchwith his hip bones its simmering cracksthen it has to be real doesn’t it? a strangershared a cigarette with him he hit pause
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