Love is a Memory I am the callus over your fem sole, vestigial voracious roar where once we were lions Nostalgia, now froth from our breath and seasoned lips.
Sunlight and Torpid Bliss.Carless nature. Pessimistic likealabaster columns,tinctured into azures gradation and penumbra façades.Thoughtless as wings to strumthe vocal air,nor whim of its limbs.I care not about darkness aged onto the grass;Not for all the quiet hoursof its greyand thoughtless, memory.
The Pole of Two ExtremitiesI am all thatyou left in methe sea is our dying dreamalone you cast me adrift to shore unwanted of its memoriesas promises to be unmade.We could have had it alleternallyenthralled from that shit you called a heart fathomless and dark forever I crawledforever I'll fall (break...)Let me find youlet me hold youlet me love youlet me kill youChorus: 2xLet us have the oceansLet drift an endless, past let drown the shallow love and lies where once, I followed your guile, deep and endless fathom-Like falls from the earth.break....... For lovenever meant to beWhere it ventured deepand held too tightlysmothered depths that dreamt so highly, dreams it crushed, the abyss shone brightly. I'll be where you cannot breathe Until a final brea
Bordom has its Songtimeassortedits long hand shadowssoftand lapsea gobbet busy of monotonoushymnsconditionwound by thesteady whirand puckered lip
Nigh the Solemn, Memory of YouSo I walked into the night Kusher inhaled cinders from marble and glass Until my corner is dark. Recluse and Saturated Into the stars, where you become but a brief trajectory within an infinite vacuum and we separate like pride from passion.I saw Venus, Prominent and incandescent as if passivity had other virtues to palpate into the cold void like careful calculations of an ominous plane and far too vain for my naked eye. I saw mars, an infernal love and fool flame The reckless and willing destruction of its own self-possession. I am that crimson and fervor, corona ejectingfrom my spherica
The Wealthy Count too Much"One."He lifted another stack..."Two."
Differences1.Someone once told meThat my mind was poisonedBy the white man.That I was already deadTo my people.2.I don't believe a human beingIs inherently evilOr wishes harm on someone.3.The beauty of being a puzzle pieceIs that we're equally importantBut remain different.
there's something fatal about coughing up verse.i got written up for writing poetry on the desksat school.i don't think they liked the language i usedwhen i wrote how my heart was beatinglike headboards against the walls of people fuckingat 3 am to the sounds of joy divisionwhenever you read me paintings at dawn.they were going to send me to the counselor,but i said my therapist probably wouldn't like that,so they just let me go.but this saturday, when i'm cleaning lives off of every desk in school,i'll just be thinking how much i'd rather be sitting on your roofand laughing when we argue about rimbaudand sighing as we start to die.
The Owl's RiddleYou come and ask me,but you don't always understand my answers.You meet me in the night,but I'm not a bird of darkness.
renovationsmy mind looks at my bodyand says, "i don't like whatyou've done with the place."
Venom QuillVenom Quill 9/26/14I'll tattoo you with a poison quillall the venom I will spillSo all the misery you imbuedwill permanently stick to you.I cannot find any timewhen you did not feed me lines.So I will etch on you all thepain inside my skinuntil the message sinks right in.
WineHead on a patisserie tablewith a wine-scented napkinthat I scrawled your name all overin the hopes it might necromanceor just romance youto this place, at this time,so we could be together againand although the guitarist knowsthat I'm broken beyond blueI keep reaching for the bottlein the hopes it might recreateor just replicateyou.
to the ghosts with you, my deari came not to be kissed,or to have myself cradledin the curve of a throat,but to be broken,to be diminishedby your lack of affection& over indulgence of sexualization.but i,uneducated in your intent,found myself left entirely whole& incapable of the furyi had sought to sow between theridges of my aching ribs.
short history of the universe(what it's like is anne sexton quoting van gogh about sometimes having a terrible need for religion)Genesis:A lake slams into a bus and a city is unborn.Enter an ocean of fog and then desert after desert stacked above the hills.Then you get drunk as fuck near the tumbling skyline,and this god damned room burns like prayer in your chest.Then many missing scientists reappear in your brittle beach,and your satellites in relapse all bending,and what it's like is some kind of disaster, honestly;the arms and the aerosol and the linen and the light.And the rumble forwarding the sovereign wreck sayingsurvive yourself like you've survived me;saying the game-changing theory was that everything is always moving,always,and same for the carousal shadow bleeding through the mountain in your dream,same for your silence and the sudden red rain of witnesses.And then what unconquerable continents,what strange forecast occupied via gate via wind and wave-multitudes of sick yellow branch
muddy waterthe sun rises late now. or hardly ever. or belligerent carmine on the underbellies of plants.a shot of sleep to the head, a boxing glove punch.the metaphorical rooster crows with the awful clamour of its lonely breath. the thing is, i can substitute the body.the thing is, the slit is a fantastic shade of orange i saw god but he says you still need to get a fucking jobthe thing is, i am bathtub water and rotten leaves.and the taste of power on the morning wind, a wet newspaperwith the headlines of a presidential divorce.there is power in the young eagle hissing at passersby from its trashcan throne.i know one thing:
A White Wedding Your flowing gown ofWhite Lies.