Buttnaked babies in the swimming pool
With little wings, on their shoulders
Don’t drown in your drool
Make the water, a little colder
Scream and wail
A little louder
Eat your kale
A little prouder
Float or sink
Dip your head
Below the drink
As I said
Shred the strings on which I dance
Every tremble, something in my blood
Makes me fall at every chance
Ate the barrel, gave it a shot
I wished to free my thoughts
They’re now no longer mine
There’s proof how I hard I fought
In between the lines
Buttnaked Babies and a Sawed Off Shotgun
May it not have been in vain
There are demons on the run
Chasing Kurt Cobain
Mar 24, 2021
Mar 24, 2021 at 6:50 AM UTC
Sights worthy of immortalisation
A play of wonder
A canvas of colors
Clouds of cotton
A woman’s elation
Caught in thread
She hides behind the storm
Indigo waves washing over
With them soar the starlings
Clouds with a life of their own
Soldiers of the sun behind the curtain
A symphony of luminance
In their final hoorah against the twilight
Soon the dome will be covered
By a blanket of black
Interrupted by startling beauty of her own
The migration of the great
The truly unattainable
So foreign and so far
A universal similarity
The unforgiving muse
The twisted reality
That beauty in a single moment
Is so easily erased
Should we not know how to paint
Mar 24, 2021
Mar 24, 2021 at 6:48 AM UTC
The dancefloor is yours
How she rules the court
She is no stage dancer
In the theater of war
Mar 24, 2021
Mar 24, 2021 at 4:03 AM UTC
You cannot **** a choir
You cannot **** a flock
You cannot **** a cause
You cannot **** all of us
Mar 24, 2021
Mar 24, 2021 at 4:02 AM UTC
Cease your storm
For all you found
In all that snow
Were empty hands
Something blue on your finger
And gears hanging from your ears
With your neck held firm
And your head slumped back
Chase the smoke that dissipates
Like sifting sand through your hands
Those auburn eyes the shattered glass
That kept stabbing at my breast
An acoustic guitar that never sings
She plays best on broken strings
The girl who drank the fire
In an attempt to thaw her throat
There's no sense in running home
Into arms that never cradled
A house that stood unstable
Only to escape on iron horses
Gold embroiled in the fractured
The scars that make the porcelain
Come to die on sober nights
To the cold touch of the pyre
A pocketbook of memories
Categorized by melody
From happiness to melancholy
Lyrics carved into her gravestone
I am yours to wander
Theirs to have their way with
His goddess to impress
My own to love
An acoustic guitar that never sings
Comes to life, trembling
It may be overshadowed by violin
But Experience is best played
On broken strings
Mar 24, 2021
Mar 24, 2021 at 3:56 AM UTC
Held in arms of Hazel
Struck with a whip of glass
Rocking in my porcelain cradle
Waiting for the storm to pass
Care to crawl away
March after the tabby cat
Beneath the autumn glaze
The mountainside falls flat
It's best not to hold
A child of the wild rarely rests
To stay ahead of the cold
Milk dribbling from mother's breast
Knelt over my teacup cot
Heavy head heft over
Summer's kiss left to rot
Chocking on four leaf clover
Drowned in shallow streams
That little hands couldn't cross
Alive in distant dreams
Tucked in tight blankets of moss
Mar 23, 2021
Mar 23, 2021 at 5:15 AM UTC
Caught in the midnight streetlight glory
The deprived lay bare, shivering in the streets
Wrapped in blankets of steaming yellow snow
Out of sight is far enough to remain out of mind
Only the white right is entitled to authenticate their rage
Lay your broken child to rest, in their welcome grave
Paid for so generously, by the Imperial NRA
Who knew schoolchildren and congressmen
Bleed the same, to a disputed death
So afraid of the wicked, social state
It's okay if we make our prosperity pay
On the backs of blacks, we made our beds
But it's not up to us to pay them back
Those we sent to fight for us, lay awake in torment
Who could have known, that the greater curse was coming home
We don't have the time or the mind to treat you
If you had laid down your life for your country
At least we’d call you a hero on your tombstone
We have become oversaturated
In who’s name disgraced
To the point where we condone the genocide ‘abroad’, online and televised
Where the blind have truly led the broke, to the ledge
We'll always be okay, should the right price be paid
Mar 23, 2021
Mar 23, 2021 at 3:55 AM UTC
An ill attempt to hide
The stars are worthless
When they're kept from sight
Like a phoenix
In a birdbath
The seductive skylines
Another ripple in the pond
Lost in their own lives
Am I insane to believe
The gigabyte afterlife
The conversational kindle
Nurtured or Nuisance
Shall we stay estranged
Not entangled
In some universal umbilical
The neon fever dream
Cacophony of screaming screens
Drawn to the dystopian
Premonitions from the past
The Future is so Victorian
Mar 23, 2021
Mar 23, 2021 at 3:54 AM UTC
She collected whispers
In jars on her desk
And stuffs her pockets
With mumbles
She wears a necklace
Of marbles
Crazy Cats Eyes
That see in the dark
She cries crystals
That she later places
In a row
On the windowsill
She had a scrapbook
Of flattened leaves,
Butterflies
And razor blades
She played guitar
But only ever acoustic
It better captured
Her emotions
She would not sing
Instead she opened a jar
And let some lost soul
Whisper along
Mar 23, 2021
Mar 23, 2021 at 3:49 AM UTC