99 cent wars, rooftops, Gibraltar Screaming "god bless the fabulous" Christs;

In the eyes of years
Man is king only over that which breathes,
So let's throw hugs in the air,
sit on flowers and vanish to Cook stones on the hips of Cleopatra
with all of December's left footed children

For through the cried ***** tears of furry German banana caskets,
Eternity awaits
In the failures of our greatest triumphs,

So let's dance

After all, Psychological Wednesday societies
Are only good for curing Xbox manifestos and Tuesday sanities

And if we died one day,
it sure won't be yesterday.

it's a misgiving feeling the thought of you leaving*

An airport terminal stretch of time
between the metaphor in my head
and the rhyme of your feet
stepping quietly on up ahead.

You said you'd be back within weeks,
business takes days, it's a climb
to the highest peak, you said
whilst walking through the gates.

It's a misgiving feeling
the sight of you leaving
you bag in tow down terminal's row
passport control, doors out,
disappearing

Last time I checked blood was blue until it hits the air
Monkey see
Monkey do
I'm just a lonesome primate like you
Spinning on a pebble at the edge of a forgotten galaxy

One day father taught me to make a fire
Blowing air into the spark
Oxide

One day my father taught me where the throttle was
And I tore up the dirt road that led to the house

One day my father taught me where the trigger was


He beat the fire out of me
Until it raged a flame so fearsome no man could stop it

When I was born he let them cut a piece of my **** off
And branded me a first born son

I guess I'm learning how the seasons change
Leaves fall like lingerie
From the marble shoulders

Twenty two times cursed
But I feel the same
Needle has me feelin'
Right as rain
Don't need no ******' body

But I still got her picture in my pocket
Slap full matchbox made me wanna burn it
Snapped and pinned tight upright
Until I saw the morning light
Said goodbye now I'm feeling there's hope
Shaking winter from my shaggy coat

I was born ten thousand years late
And I'm just a tick off of happy
I know a place downtown
And a girl named Chelsea
One night we sat at a booth
After her shift
Drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes
I bet we could be happy she had said
Move out to the country and finally be wed
But she has her ****
I have mine
I love you
You love me?
Well, that's just fine

I wish there was a better way to say I just cut myself again
a tidier way,
something that makes it sound less morbid and a bit more romantic
like barbados
like *** on the beach
for the irony of sabotaging a fling of intimacy for myself
sabotaging swimsuit and short-shorts season
I don’t want anyone to touch me
or even look at me
anyway
so it’s all in my favour
with
nails that are painted colourful like clowns
and there’s a red and white polkadot bow in my hair
personally, I think it’s kind of funny
that when people look through a kaleidoscope, all they see is
pretty colours instead of shards of broken glass

I lit a candle in an empty concrete room

the floor is concrete
the walls are concrete
the ceiling is concrete

the candle is wax and wick
and I am skin and blood and cartilage and bone and hair and nail and water and guts and sad

I lit a candle in an empty concrete room
the yellow light of the fire makes things look tenebrous and cryptic
there are tiny cracks in the skin on my hand like a million piece puzzle of the ocean
tiny cracks between tiny triangles and diamonds
they make my hand
my hand holds a match
the match lights a candle
the candle burns
in an empty concrete room

concrete reminds me of falling off my bicycle and scraping my knees
and dungeons
and the weeds that grow in the cracks of every sidewalk

candles remind me of Christmas
and yoga in the dark
and my step-mother hoping her house smells like home
and calming down

I lit a candle in an empty concrete room,
crying bitterly at seclusion
my heart pounded to the flame’s flicker and a heavy thought tumbled into mud,
thickening it
it dried and I couldn’t cry

I don’t mean anything to this candle or this concrete
but there is something about a fire in a room built so rough and quiet
that makes me feel like
my voice is heard