I crawl to bed , a silent dream to a melodies' prayer,
off I whisper, my begging, to clouds.
and you know the sound of sin.
happy he is, the fruitful snake,
the life that terminates at a humans gaze.
soundless sarin. gaseous respiration
out of necessity at the manufactured devil as he smiles
his job is complete
he always gets his mark,
if you believe.
its always hands that strangle the throat.

Silken sad scenes of sorrow,
a picturesque portrait of dreams.
oily and carbon and straight.
lines narrate pigment projections.
sad in itself, and its watercolour whim.
the artists vision will not waver.
The self portrait must always be finished,
to display the man.

tears,
from a mermaids chains.
in a cold wet human blanket.
she rolls and tumbles to be free.
from what she is.
free and fantasy.

Brave he is.
The Knight.
Sleeping gently,
In his bed of wine and ******.
And fear.
At the sword at the neck.
The bright slash to break the daydream.
Armour flashes to flesh.
To bread, the fleshes armour.
Starvation Steel Plate.
The rebellion is hungry.
The armory will provide defence.

Don't shut the door to the noise.
The room is crazy loud
White walls and blank.

Hanging high
Seeing sky's
Stop the twitch
Happy for now, for you.
Me myself and I.
Eye balling Rotten white
Sad. A shame. Travesty.
Fickle in its burden.

Gemstone vibrancy.
See the hole
It's deep
And funny
And shiny
Enticing
Black.