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 Nov 2016 More than Man
taia
the bewildered man
stumbles through his strict routine
say, cherchez la femme
excuse my heteronormative haiku, believe me, i'm not proud of myself. this was based on a show i was watching.
I filled this room with books and madness

Peaches and potatoes fuel my hysteria

My walls scream of crime and lost word play

Paint peels for moments like these

all the artist ran for Canada

The news suggest chaotic times ahead

The sanity service did a clean sweep

So this space may fill with normalcy once again

But conventional contraptions make me panic

So I spit madness into the sink
it pools at the bottom
Metallic and delicious

My ant farm fell into a state of disrepair

Little lives snuffed out by my latest episode

My plants still shine green
only because I fear for oxygen

I glued my fridge closed after one too many whisky drinks

But I have a back up so I'm not sure of my current state

I hide the vices knowing there is more
always more

I trip across rooftops

Chain smoking to displace the sting

Avoiding the moon I once took for granted

I've seen tides shift
I've seen moon fueled strange
I love a freak nation

My neighbors all think I'm crazy

I don't mind because I hate welcome casserole

I am an ambassador for insanity and I take that responsibility seriously

Still

I may be the sanest creature on the block

But only I know that....
Last I could remember was my sister,
Running towards me with a sharp blade and blood blister.
Vacant mornings and bed of plain routine,
2 years past since the loss of queen.
Neck eternally stamped with a razor knot,
Thoughts nevermore within vengeance plot.
But sobered up, I’ve seen it all before,
No sister nor blister, a schizophrenic lore.
Time sits slouched,
Whisky supped from a shoe.
Space takes his place,
Beard smothered in brew.
Hope sprawls eternal,
Smiles, on the face of the few.
The night is masked,
Casked honey dew.

Amber obscures,
Procures,
Distorts the view.
Glazed by a hazy
Feint green plume.
Time takes a sip from
Weathered worn out shoe.
As space wipes his face
Hope yawns on que.
The night is released,
At least for now, until
The fall of the morning dew.
What is it that we do?
Sewing metaphor to rhyme without reason
Mashing reason to metaphor without meaning
It's all so pretty in pretend
Ignoring ugly reality
For beautiful fiction
Why worry about tomorrow
As long as you can **** today away
**** poor but drunk rich
Pop another pill
For fake thrills
Sacrifice the truth
For pleasant lies
It's easier to feel numb
Than heart
Broken
Silence rings,
with a depth that echoes
into my hollow self.
Causing this clockwork heart
to continue beating.
Even through the absence of.

My fingertips still tingle,
from the need
to touch you.
Unable to shake desire,
or the want,
of your body under my palms.
I still break,
every time the wind
whispers your name.

I couldn't catch,
in my delicate hands,
all your tears.
My prayers whispered heavily,
fell with to much heart.
My eyes wept  sincerely,
filling mason jars,
That I  sealed with empty apologies.
I like pens that bleed
Ink that smears
Girls with scars
Broken parts
***** clothes
Stained sheets
The hint of blood
The taste of lust
The smells of love
Nights through morning
Mornings to night
Suns that sleep
Moons that dream
And all the pretty
You hide underneath
Those pretty
Pretty
Pretty things
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