lately, whatever had come
was to be held in regard,
for they all came
with swords hidden like arms
and venomous words as sweet as the sky.
though i find it quite fun
to fool around
laissez-faire
where fantasy comes to the world
and infinity becomes,
Intimacy spitted by the universe ~
ephemeral feelings now rather ecstatic
of Fleeting Faces carry the same sound of solitude.
{ a galaxy to be told,
never whole }
but when it's over,
the colossal weight of whatever lies behind the door
recoats our hands, our teeth,
as names are forgotten, light is gone.
it wintrifies
and we
continue
- gently down the stream.
Apr 1, 2018
Apr 1, 2018 at 10:27 AM UTC
we ignite in ovation.
applaud to the blood that twists
and tangles with the wind.
now fiery whispers
ablaze the ******* breeze of death.
a divine show finally came to its end.
hindered by a bullet
our dancing clown
bleeds freely underneath.
kaleidoscopic glasses and tired masks
lay shattered inbetween
i fired with my laughter
before choking with fake teeth.
Mar 30, 2018
Mar 30, 2018 at 10:16 AM UTC
I purge the city out my lungs
for it keeps tasting like blood.
broken pieces cut my throat
and I cling to the stones
while bruised and lonely
for the bridges were eagerly burnt.
I heave the city into my lungs
for I lit my skin to get some fun.
Always flying with the clouds and laughing with stars
while the moon dances to my voice and I giggle to the void.
will it ever stop burning?
Mar 29, 2018
Mar 29, 2018 at 11:45 AM UTC
underneath the wintry sky,
merciful sight.
will it ever burn that bright again?
sometimes I wonder
if the white landfill
fooled my heart
or if bliss actually lingered around.
guess She covered my eyes
because I recall
he used to gently glide, between the clouds.
no falling pieces, no frowns.
recall it was warm
at sixty under zero by default.
but back in town
with liquified sorrows
and wild flames
he looses control, calls me by names.
wise owl smashed to the ground,
hitting its head like a clown.
it resonates of bitterness and death -
never thought a mirror
would be such a mess.
relucntantly I wait,
lovely snow come recoat the graves -
of 99 cent dreams
and drained bottles of pain.
Jan 1, 2018
Jan 1, 2018 at 10:52 AM UTC