Death looks lovely wrapped in silver satin,
Strung on the back of a Chiavari chair.
Pools of mahogany
they exit me,
Everyone will know what went on in here.
But he smiles through his teeth,
alcohol, rope, sliced and seized
an accident you see, Gentlemen.
She had a mind of her own.
Politics, a tricky game
it's easy to forget which way you came
when your only intention is to rise up.
It's a wonder to see the trail of bodies
that hold up streets paved with gold.
He forgot about me or so it may seem,
no sun to nurture his seed,
a dance of political schemes with a woman as she.
Even after death, I don't give up so easily,
He can hide from the blame, but he can't hide from his dreams.
Feb 2, 2014
Feb 2, 2014 at 12:24 PM UTC
I haven't heard from you in months,
all the while I've been existing in a day dream,
letting caterpillars place their cocoons around me.
Leaving no space for breathing.
And with each one that comes and goes,
I'm always left feeling the same,
Their kind words stabbing into my back,
So silly, the reasons we endure pain.
You're no stranger to my lonely tide,
a person with which to sink,
I know you'll do the right thing.
I know you better than you think.
Oct 8, 2012
Oct 8, 2012 at 4:20 PM UTC
Prison is a germ.
Infections and ****** hand towels,
place it over your mouth and breath.
He talked about a place and described the images he's seen.
Then he admitted he didn't think of me.
I've been ripped from his memory.
He cut me out with their dulling scalpels.
He poured liquor over the wound and
he stitched it at the seams.
I've dream't of a father,
sons and ghosts; it's all the same to me.
I've been scrubbing your genes off my skin,
it's the only way to stay clean.
Sep 3, 2012
Sep 3, 2012 at 2:21 PM UTC
He tried to teach me one night.
Not the first, not the last.
We've tried this many times over
and I'm just as frustrated with myself
as I was in the beginning.
Strumming nothing,
Why am I so easily angered?
I loath his naturalness and the way his
fingers desperately desire to fulfill
the spaces mine fail to be.
Just when I think I hate him
enough to move locations,
I can hear him in the other room,
playing a song for me.
Aug 29, 2012
Aug 29, 2012 at 8:54 PM UTC
I could tell them that you're dead.
Pretend you're not around, watch your ghost jump
billboards, flying out of town.
Keep the night behind you,
Keep your hands over your head.
Don't tell me to miss you,
don't repeat what I said.
Bewitchment and trials,
or whispering in bed.
Keep the ocean moving,
hope that the river remains calm.
Tell me everything that you hope happens,
and again, remind me why you're gone?
Messages in bottles,
paper stitched in the center, written in a song,
your words make me feel better.
I don't blame you for not liking anything you see.
Worms of disgust, hate, and deceit
crawling inside of me.
Aug 22, 2012
Aug 22, 2012 at 4:37 PM UTC
Everyone stood in line.
They waited for hours,
as I watched them dissolve into the tiniest particles.
The train comes late this time of night
and it isn't worth the time.
You could say it patiently,
whisper it, scream it till it bleeds dry.
Beg them to give up, go home,
they can save themselves,
they can be fine.
The roads are closed and
walking is never what we had in mind.
When you wait in vain for memory lane,
you won't see it till you're blind.
Aug 22, 2012
Aug 22, 2012 at 4:21 PM UTC
Breathing's easy and it must
be the familiarity or the contentment,
but I can't help to feel at home.
I walk pass the buildings and I
greet each one with a smile.
They know me, I know them.
An officer used to sit outside,
people restricted from the little bit of peace
it has to offer.
The fields are bare, empty even.
The benches reach for your legs as you pass.
Cling to human life, full of appreciation.
I go because we both need it,
company and conversation.
Aug 22, 2012
Aug 22, 2012 at 4:11 PM UTC
Wearing out your welcome,
old news on new terrain.
******* life from the bodies of boys
that you believed served a bigger purpose.
We all get bored.
Restlessness is a chore and I do it so well.
Make the parents proud that you're living in their
hell.
Aug 22, 2012
Aug 22, 2012 at 3:49 PM UTC
Your time on earth filled with religious sacrifice.
You didn't curse, swore to serve heaven
by spending Sunday mornings at a pew,
while the world recovered from Satan's Saturday night.
You've been with the same women,
that lost that spark so very long ago.
Satisfactory health, breakfast, lunch,
dinner, little league, bible camp,
suicide...
Confession. "Those thoughts aren't allowed"
...maybe life isn't so bad.
But I heard the sinners have more fun?
I'll live longer blessed, while they die young.
I'll continue in safety hoping heaven isn't a lie
with no vacancy sign.
Aug 22, 2012
Aug 22, 2012 at 3:46 PM UTC
There are mornings I think the world to be such a sickly place.
The people with their selfishness and constant need to pretend to care for others.
A society of scorn.
So many people and so many possibilities but we are all dropped into the filters so many times.
Wrung dry of our individualities that by the time we are kicked off the conveyor belt,
we are not ourselves.
Aug 22, 2012
Aug 22, 2012 at 2:15 PM UTC