The walls bleed blue blood,
Like a Reverend who cannot
Make love.
God will smite thee.
My sins are on these walls.
All the loves and all the might
Have beens are whispering from
These walls with the best secret
Of all: love hides in the chaos
Of the waves inside your head.

Close your eyes and feel, don't see,
This love that never hides.
It's in between the ripples.
Look!
It's her smile and those hazel eyes you
Lust over.
It's the skin that was so soft you
Knew it was the devils work.
It's her laugh,
Oh god,
That laugh that kills you every
Single
Time.

****.

It's the way she caressed your soul
And whispered, like a bandit
With a bad secret: this is love.
This is home.

Why didn't you steal this memory, my bandit in the night?
Like the gold watch on the night stand, it has worth.
The important things have more worth than all the gold in the world.

She,
Those blistering June nights when
We would kiss.
This IS home.
This was home.

I pray to the shadows and I tell you this.
"You're already home were you feel loved."
They leave me alone now, those shadows, with their lonely smiles.
They have their pain.

I have mine.

Thinking of you is peace on earth.
You exists in the balance of my heart.

within me and in
The lies I say.
"I wasn't awoken because of her eyes,
Her essence of calmness;
Her."
Ahhh.
I've put you up with the God's now.
They're now your protectors.
Grab my throat and choke sense
Into me.
This is death in the present.

Those butterflies flutter freely in
The meadow,
Each with a piece of you on it.
It's the butterflies I vomited out tonight.

Ah, yes!
My breath is back, you had taken that too.
How may I rest when you roam in the
Distance of my mind and my heart?
Those two winding intersections are
Blocked off now.

Her,
The her that can't,
Won't,
Shouldn't expect love.

It's a suicide of sorts, this love.
It reciprocates death in every
Which way.
Run
Tire tracks over me and love me still.
You are romantic in a time that hides
It so well.
Almost ready to both buy and sell.

Holy hell and her.
Reach down my throat and
Pull yourself out of me.
At this rather mature age,
I cry and this thought:
It will die, this love, and I.

Still, run.
Run to and from my
Needle point confidence of you,
Of myself;
Microscopic love.

My veins flow in spider webs now
No order, just chaos.

I smile and die.
I smile and die.
This is love.

I can't get your eyes off my skin.
It's my new tattoo; your tongue.
I can't escape from my best sins.
Your skin is my new warden.
Yes, ma'am
No, ma'am.

I had thought these days
Were over now.
I buries you under my coffin,
In the Arizona night.

No.

These days of love are back;
I'm dying all over again.
Holy hell.
I'm dying I'm all over again.

Now, now, child; the stars will
Take care of you.

If anything, we
Are the words that we never
Pull out of our souls.

There was a subtle, but yet aggressive tone,
In her voice.
This woman wanted to run away
And up into the stars.
She wanted simpleness to sweep through her veins.
That's the life blood she needed.
You can't have life without cracking
A few eggs;
Without dying a few times, in this, our only escape from death.
Life.
Life itself is the escape she longed for.
The type of life in which it's OK to lie and die, every morning, and smile over it.
Lie to herself and to her
Universe inside her head.
Oh how it rest there, subtle, yet eerily aware of it all.

You know when people say,
"Take the bad with the good?"
Well, what then?
What do I do with the bad
That I carry?
There's blood on my hands.
What do I do with the bad
That I carry
When it has become stitched onto
My skin?
I'm aware of the bad.
I have married and attempted
To rip it off my flesh, but I simply can't.
What do you do with the bad
That you carry?
The divorce just won't stick.
Only the bad that I carry.

It wasn't until the end when I realized:
I need the bad that I carry.
It's the one covered in fresh, bleeding
Lilacs.
It's the one that spews from my innards
And cries:
It's not all so bad child;
The bad that you carry.

There's the genius.

There is a hurricane in me,
Leaving my organs,
My soul,
My essence in shambles.

I am in the eye of the storm now.

I can ready myself
For the next
Barrage.
Put up those palates
With rusted nails.
Scratch the linens on my organs.

Bleed, bleed, bleed!

I am in the eye of the storm.
The calm. The calm.
I can rest. It is a respite
From all.

You'll be back though.
I know this.
I won't be ready; I'll survive.
You might **** me though
With your god like winds
Devastating my insides.

I'll never be ready for this.
That's the point:
To be ready for anything means
That we know nothing.

My hurricane. My selfish tongue needs you.
You need me.
We need each other.
The calmness of death.

Die, die, die!