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Out of the womb suicidal,
fashioned a noose before I was born
and came out hanging from the umbilical cord.
Three shots and I'm free.
Five cigarettes filled with regret.
Two miles home.
Three more hours of being awake,
then comes time for dreams.
With a steaming gasp of passion
I listen to his name fall from her lips.
The creaking behind the door,
god, the creaking.
The rhythmic slapping,
an applause to my final act.

The weight conforms to my grip,
the weight of life and death,
and I release the magazine
to study and admire the lead pills,
all in a neat little row.

Each one of them carries her sentence,
and his sentence,
ready to write history in blood,
punctuating each line
with a bullet hole.
I dive and I sigh
where the sea meets the sky,
in the horizon reflected
on the surface of her eyes.

We're carried away by
a tepid receding tide
of the memories tied
to this time and place.

She fades.

The moon calls me,
whispers my name
into the vapid night,
I eventually came.

Yet it's never been the same,
basking in that forgotten light
illuminating my opaque pain,
it's just not right.
You've got a painful grip
on reality, with those
sun-burnt palms from
waiting with arms wide open
for someone to come back to you.

The sky unfolds before
your dry eyes
in layers and miles
of deceit and lies,
as the sun becomes the moon,
smiling borrowed light
down upon you.

Ridiculing your commitment.

Mocking your hallucinating mind
with illusions of grandeur,
and false relief,
in the face of the great grief
you hold so closely
to your heart.

I love you like this.

I love you when the curtains are drawn
and the light pours down around you
like an electrical hurricane.

I love you in the morning dawn
waiting for love to ground you,
while soaring through the pain.
Why, o why?
Must she be
so hard to find?

A woman, depressed,
with scars in her mind.
A woman to **** and to feed,
wanting things I can buy.
A woman, without need
of a meaningful life,
never to be a wife.

Why, o why,
do these women
only want happiness?

I just want someone
who is ugly inside.
I just want someone
to wallow with,
someone with which
to share all of this
beautiful anguish.

Why, o why?
Why do they hide
the pain inside?

Can't they see
that their sighs
are more pretty
than a fake smile?
Can't they feel
the weight of
of the skies?

Why, o why?
yeah, yeah
no, no
yeah, YEAH, yeah
noooo, no

yeah, yeah, no, no
yeah, no, yeah, yeah
no, no, no
I have time
I have shelter
I have food and money
I have love
I have hate
I have so much nothing

I have nothing
I have vast collections of nothing
I have nothing stacked to the celing
I have nothing draped upon my body
I have nothing in my heart and mind
I have an immeasureable wealth of nothing
I have nothing in my eyes
I have nothing

I have so much nothing
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