I want to carve my arms in the pantheon of gods, inhale flames, and exhale smog.

I want to breathe in acidic dreams, in ping, to the great unclean one.

I want to blot out the sun, in the shadow of the one, and only enemy.

I want to eat the flesh, of the brilliant, and the best, resilient to the test, of monotony.

Fill me up, of all the stuff, that dreams are made of.

Drain me out, in the altar of doubt, and arm me with the love of your deities.

Plunged are the drifters, into cinders, born to ash,  amassing, the blisters, of level headed listeners, in lesioned legions of the crass, who crashed in rash plagues, of pressed pariahs, burned in the churning melting pots of the bomb, and they sing the songs of the gone, while withdrawing, and unlearning the yearning to see, the unhealthy teething, of lost beings, gnawing on the beams, of lamp lit eloquence, fenced, behind closed doors, just living the dream, in blind sentiment to the cling, of the embarrassment in, smearing the sediment of the king, upon the all being, and all seeing, in the fleeting feeling of falling from the ceiling of his revealing thoughts, leering in the steering of the searing plot.

Exhaled

motionless,  in this, fervor of unearthed notion, upon an ocean, of allure.  Birthed of worth, in potions of piety, thinning the stream, and depleting the anxiety, in the pure pleasantries of personable enemies, tempting me, to play to the poetic subtlety of society.

A reminder of futility, in the withering agility of fading days turned night, decaying in the leaves, of dreams, shriveling, as they drop into the crisping frost of lost light.

She said, I had a way with words, as I am murdered, with each remembered murmur, of i love you.

She was a blurred image in the foreground, unaware of my persistent thoughts. i wanted to take her, place her, in the center of my unconventional pedestal.

Once told of words, in worlds, waning with my will.  

Old and trembling,  emanating, the serrated slurs, serenading the sanctum of binary stars, singeing the seams of sleeves, and revealing the scars from afar.

Distant stars born, of the storm.

Whirling waywardly,  in the wizardry of windless cities blowing away,

Wading into the wetland droughts of water houses, unsettling the doubts, anchored on land, in a flood of mans,  love.

Drown

In the shallow nouns of, the haphazardly hallow, in the hollers of happiness, hugged in the hellish habitation of holograms dancing for the sun,

Long after the run, ...   ended,

In the stunned patience, of forever.

Death is in the favor, of moving on.

Not am i gone

yet.