All he dreams about now is pale bodies wrapped in fake silk
Piled on the floor of his small apartment in the place he escaped to find his real dreams
He carries out symphonies with a single broken guitar string and a pen with barely any ink
He traced the words Help Me into his forehead until blood was dry and cracking in the wound
He says the funny thing about that is no one even noticed the scar afterward or the mess in the bathroom sink
His fingers are cloaked with Nicotine and his good friend Jack
All he wants is a little extra cash to get through the wasted nights
His mouth is always cranking into harsh smiles to show his perfect teeth
On occasion, which happens to be more than that, he spills truth from his eyes
and he lets girls stay the night
He is just wishing of features to be caught up in
He is just tired of giving up his dream to cure a thing people think they are required to never feel
His loneliness drives him to do horrific things
When I look into the mirror
Sometimes I see beauty
Sometimes I see ugly
But it's times like this
That I see hurt and pain
I try to understand
Why do I feel this way
Trying to get through
Yet another day
Get It Together!
I tell myself
Which is easier said than done
A battle is in my head
Bcuz I keep listening
To All the lies I'm being fed
Over and over and over
It Goes on and on
I can't shake it, Stop It!
Please Stop feeding me
You see the reflection in the mirror
looking back at me
is strong and positive
So don't hate me bcuz I'm BEAUTIFL!
They say you’re mobile now,
but like a cartoon, the
ghost of your outline suspends
behind you on the road.
How long it hangs before it is the
same stuff as breath on a cold day,
only God knows; and He
cannot be found for looking.
You have read every rule the
great poets and philosophers
have etched. Your technical
grasp of love is paramount.
But to the quiet tremble
of the skin, to the warm and
unfearing heart, you are the
sweetest of novices. Go, drive away
and read no more of love.
You have studied enough.
Go drive away until you
remember why you ever
coughed the ignition into life
in the first place. And take
it as a sign that the reverse
gear refuses to play along.
her words laid out before
me like a feast of the fanciful mind
and her inner demons like ravens of the soiled soul
hold themselves at the ready with wary eyes
her words spill in slow honey
smooth on the minds tongue
and leaves an aftertaste like mull wine
leaves one lightheaded and without inhibition
i become a drunkard of her thought
forever lounging near her lips in my mind
waiting for the intoxications to begin
my own words come like the unshaven behemoth
like the fair maidens foul brother
my conversation a meal with dance of the clumsy attempt
each step has a sticky note of scrawled apology attached
like new lovers trying too hard
being overly tender with eachothers words
her heart has spoken its mind
and she feels childish recanting its
written in stone meanings
so she follows
silently behind with her head hanging low
trying to be picture perfect
in the pliant girlfriend role
the inner demons like ravens of my own soiled soul
each moment spent like a misers coin
harpie fingers oiled grip
on the narrow metal
slipping ever so slowly past the eye
each day i sit here and watch as the sun settles
like dust onto the deadpan horizon
each day i pray fervently that i find
a better phrase than the one i live
The raw sunlight pounding on my neck
Throbbing air, painfully cloudy
Wooden lips that rip my tongue
Hands that grain pieces of deception
Clattering roots, with pounding bones
Polluted words giving me blisters in my head
A blind stillness, captured me
Portions of creations, harboring hate
Callous and raw fists fluttering
Eyes trembling into my skull
With a sadness that I shall not have at all
Helicopter seeds descending from tree houses
resting in ponds shadowed by shaken needles;
—I awoke from a dream this morning—
Forests in fiery oranges plagued by pine beetles
a man fishing in the dusk, a sole fish he arouses.
—such a dreamin' I had me—
How about them men in the mountains, hermit'd, high, isolated,
with pens in ink, pensive, draftin' a'lookin' after their suicide notes:
—it was nonsensical, such nonsense—
I can feel my bones aching,
my finger bones aching.
Don't you apologize, fish, for biting bait
lest the others hear that I commiserate
amongst the fishes in the lake water:
"She could have a mother; she could be a daughter!"
I feel that boom; I know that boom:
That's Thunder's yellow rumble a'stumblin'
'cross the oak-wood floors of my room–
That's naked, nude clothes strip'd.
A pile and a bundle,
my bones are aching.
That's a candle left burning,
that's saints speaking in tongues,
that's men hung like curtains on rungs–
This world is getting old, times are a'turning.
That's a taxi cab afterlife, a mail-order wife,
that's pills on the floor of a Motel 6 in Reno,
that's forty-four hundred lost playing keno.
We can't always be lucky, who calls that a life?
My joints are a'sprainin' aching
with the preempt of a storm.
That's writer's block and cramped hands, cramped hearts,
that's a hovel heated by an oven, heads found in hot ovens,
that's the hillside and the glens past where the track bends but
just before the dens of monsters that I swear I left behind that night.
—dreamin' a'dazin' and days in always let my demons out—
That night I hid another razor in the rafters thinking,
"My thoughts I'll bury."
I ran away to sell maps of the human heart en Algérie.
Drapes of madness cover the sky
As fiends run and cower to hide
Nevertheless they prey on the young
As the young go to sleep
When the light breaks through the village womb
The delirium burrows to sleep
Oil paintings of bride and groom
Made for fiends to keep
Friends of fiends mope and mope
Lamenting in fear; they cope and cope
Hence their gentle persistence
To shy away their evil
Sky shifts from orange vigor to madness
The fangs of loved ones feed off one another
Fiends run and cower to their only Mistress
Deep within the sappy dark cypress
When their bodies frolic with need
The pale eyes of love dance and feed
Luminous they are in front of black cloth
Draping the beautiful sky