I want to kiss and take your thigh
Between teeth your flesh I find
And I gaze into your eyes
Just like I stare at your insides
And now religion's hard to find
Show me yours, I'll show you mine
Devour you in time
Every thought that screamed your name sublime
Not another second left to waste
The way I taste your pretty face
And swallow all that's left
I'd follow you until my death
Oh baby, **** me, make me whole.

Sacrifice the unwilling at the foot of your dependence
I'm sick of what I tend to see, all this could end for me
And what would I leave behind?
Besides the pretty corpse and finance woes.
Because my so called legacy seems like **** to me,
I'm not so sure I can keep up with what I want to be,
need to be so much better than myself,
and without some help, how the hell do I get there?
Pen to this page, at least I can sort a bit out
and shout shout ******* shout
without the open mouth....
Memories of misery from the future filter back into my brain
and I can feel all the pain, feel all the pain, feel all the pain feel
all
the
                                                                                                            pain
inside my brain in driving me inside and in ways I can't write I loss sleep at night thinking about a blue face wrapped in ways wrapped in waste wrapped away riiped away riped awy ripppeddddaway...y
                                                no more smiles
                                                      please

What am I and where have I been?
Time is looping once again
and folding back in on itself
it seems to be, or rather to me,
that the spiral theory is proving true again.

I don't know if I'm fully innocent,
or satan-sent or sinner's breath
or whatever the **** I am,
I guess I ain't frankly know ****.

Yet I'm dissecting sections of myself,
metaphorically in this particular case,
and trying to get to the bottom of this...
this medical-spiritual experience that has been
ripping itself forth through my reality
like a ******* hurricane through Galveston.

Perhaps with enough illumination
certain features of the creature called me
will come to light and brighten up my days.

Who's to say?
I'm certainly not.

I will fill you with shame,
And devour the taste in leaves on the roof on your mouth,
the roof of your being
                                       and all your insides
I             lie
   won't
Don't confuse the toilet lickers with the boot lickers
Don/t confuse the pigs with civility
Check under your seat, we're giving away tax burdens and SUVs,
bean bag bruises and shattered teeth

Everything's burning,
waste time on an edit and find yourself locked away by a prison state of grammar nazis.

These places
Lose faces
And shut down the blinds

These places
Lose faces
And lock and the doors

These floors
Abhor
Any trace of what could have been

These floors
Abhor
Any trace of what might have been

Shut down, find no trace of them.

(**** them) (**** them) (**** them)
Relax
The ending comes slowly

Relax
Don't forget to breathe

Their hands
All on me
Emptying my everything

I am becoming you
My first
The prettiest little corpse

Don't forget to breathe
wait WHAT came first//
\See me. bE mE/

a s
      phy
              xiat
                      ing

She holds
Inside
All your little lies
She holds
Inside
All the sins of mankind
Filthy womb
Inside my mind
Filthy tomb
I can't find
Filthy
My way
Filthy
Out of
Filthy
This place
Help
Suffer
Me
Help
Suffer
Me

The page
Grows longer
Every day
The page
Grows longer
In every way

Don't look
They can't see
Don't look
Or you'll find, see
See?
Seee?
Seeeeeeeeeeeeee?e
e?
eeeeeee?

He comes
Inside of me
He comes
The night filled with ecstasy
Then comes
the death of
M
e

Ripping limbs
All of them
Tearing away


Rend
Love
Tearing a hole
Right through

You don't need to know
None of us needs to know
We're held there with our eyes pried open and forced to watch as the end is televised
                                    and
                                            we beg for more
                                                                           like oil thirsty ******
     we
           alll
                  want
                             blood
                                        we
                                              all
                                                   slow
                                                            down
                                                                       to watch
                                                                                       the
                                                                                                 p
                                                                                                 r
                                                                                                 e
                                                                                                 e
                                                                                                 t
                                                                                                 y
                                                         car
                                                          w
                                                           r
                                                           e
                                                           c
                                                           k

How am I supposed to write when I'm content?
When my lungs are full, my heart beating rapidly to her rhythm.
I can't claim I'm a victim of neglect, or a victim nevertheless.
***** earth turns desolate so I live where it's fertile and ain't got to worry about sacrosanct.
If you didn't know me then you might think that I've closed myself off a bit,
You might think that even if ya did.
But honestly, I feel like Bowie retreating to the desert to hide away and let the whims of creativity take the reins without so much ******* interference.
Anyway, I left a message on your machine, sorry you can't hear it.
It said I was going for cigarettes and the rest is just history,
So would you mind mailing these dear john letters to the ****** I've bred?
How many little projects I got running around with legs of their own that I ain't even know?
My inbox keeps filling and I'm barely here.
Too many books to write, like literally, I'm backed up on a deadline and procrastinating in free-verse.
I don't like to rehearse what I do, nor do I really outline or heavily plan.
God exists in the unknown, so I do my best to let the unknown through and getting the **** out it's way.
How many people you meet tuck away fifty books in less than two years, paycheck cashed and disappeared again?
About time I get my name on some more of this ****,
Either that or quit,
And I ain't close to done yet.
Success isn't a ladder you climb, it's a cycle.
Innovate,
Change,
Succeed,
Or get down on your ******* knees and gag of life's ****,
You're choice.

Depths of depravity, you can not take from me
You can not take it nor can you fake it
**** around or get *****, kid.
Such a dog to me, to pet to play;
A kitten fed on ecstasy
Of chemical bliss contracting touch, you see.
Rush through me and take everything
But in these depths of sweet depravity,
We shall be as one.