How hurt are you,
Brother how hurt are you.

Are you tired of your fruitless attempt of falling love
And chasing sunsets,
How hurt are you.

Who hurt you brother?
Who hurt you?

Was it a pile of rubble
Or the midnight train,
Who hurt you?

Are you dead brother,
Are you dead?

You have died a thousand times in your heart
And shot a bullet through your head.

unzip my flesh and trace my lips
hath Lucifer
I give you this;

genteel hands that choke my neck
tongue in ears
how could I forget

your lustful eyes
that I would kiss

unlock my heart,
666

My mind isn't at ease
It has sailed from Salisbury to Atlanta to eclogue of Greenwich

What has religion defamed me into,
I seek the meaning of life;

I had a tree back in the Indian Summers of May,

It had dried and summoned poison in recluse,
It is dead.

I'm terrified

There is no escape

Salem Witch trial

Burnt me at stake

I'll never again find a love so consuming,
Like swallowing pills and rainbows and paper clips;

I hope to find my grave in a playground;

I hope I can fly kites, in the storm
With little hints of sunshine, blue and ice
Precarious green ribboned dolly,
Have I lost my mind?

I'll never find a love so consuming
Come may the sands of time

I have a crazy *** appeal,
My fruit of time is in-between conscience thoughts and no protection

My threats of sanity lie between lust and your timeless ticks of sweat as they drip from friendly lines of maturity and trust
Whom should I trust?
Am I your friend?
I have no friends

I chew the base of my thumb like you lick the insides of my brain,
Another worldly combustion I feel nonetheless to my ulterior motives
As I ride on your pink pony of sweet faith,
My sunsets drip on your flesh,

My love is like a fly sitting on your neck,
licking off sweat
As you close your eyes and tilt your hair,

My boom breaks into a million Constellations

In all seriousness, looking woebegone in a plight to chase hyacinth in a pile of snow,
regardless of synecdoche of your embarrassment;

In a four-wall Angry **** soul of doom,

We are laying on a pile of Cacti,
Fibonacci sequences of nature adding thorns
To miniature quilts and houses,

You dig and get more cacti,
And you bury yourself beside it.