There is a corrosion/a groove
In the persona I've come
The mirrors in my eyes are shattering
Around a turquoise salamander;
His laughter made his presence
(Orphaned in the depths of the
Came rebirth, at the foot of the petrified tree.)
Constricting the shards of shattered mirrors.
Fracturing my skull as memories try to escape.
Allow me to introduce you to the scene:
Empty rooms with padlocked portals
Absconding the identities of the small town
Crawling through it's empty corridors;
The syrupy melodies, of muddy songs,
I see the earth raining into the clouds.
The bone marrow
Injustice bleeds through the Kevlar canvas
Calling out to severed limbs
(of porcelain trees)
On secluded islands, crowded by
ten-thousand concrete angels.
"COME ONE COME ALL"
"PREPARE TO BE AMAZED!"
Cries the vulture on the Master
Of ceremonies shoulder, as he circles
The empty bleachers in Padlocked rooms.
Erogenous melodies now;
Creak through the cracks of the hardwood
Floors, whitewashed seven times over.
Is the television too loud, masking the tune that's
Cascading through the room?
The nocturnal sun goes to sleep at night
The grandfather clock awaits Its final
The overwhelming smell of bathtub
Moonshine, awakens the vanity,
And drowns royal dignity.
Tell the truth,
You have heard this story one million times now.
The ending is ALWAYS THE SAME.
And yet the tape is rewound
And fastened to our eyeballs.
Exile me to the severed skies
On sanctuary walls,
Eyes bleed euphoric denials.
Lamp posts illuminate
Mile long, azure compromise.
The nyctophobic light bulb's
Light dwindles after a while.
Silk suit sultans stand single-
File beneath hemorrhaging tides.
Immutable cocoons wrap
Thighs around their sunken smiles.
Your words claw out of my eyes,
And fall translucent into the clasped palms
Of my hands.
Listen, listen carefully to the muddled sounds.
Hear the tiger's paws trample the dusted paths of
The vacant streets;
The arcane acres of blotted ink
Sitting beside the ruminant hordes,
Choking on a drawer of silver spoons.
We see through the wall's hole;
A soothing fire raging, yet we cannot touch
STAND IN LINE, take a number
Our turn will be coming soon.
Be the street lamps beneath the redwood's shade
Be the porch swing on the moon's surface.
Be Atlantis, lost and found.
Out of mind, out of sight
Standing stoic, in the wrong kind of light.
Windless ceiling fans,
And vibrant shades of black
Do not look now, but there's no turning back.
While the masses read
Books with empty pages
A voiceless storm across the sky rages.
*I'm probably not done writing this one. I feel like there's room for more in here. we'll see. Let me know what you think so far, I haven't heard from you guys in a while.
There are painted gardens on my bathroom mirror
Like a surreal window
To the eye of the storm,
A skewed camera lens flare blinding the mountains.
Let's bathe in the hot springs of
And reminiscence of forgotten tomorrow.
I can't see you through the haze,
I can't remember you through the vuja de.
I can't hear you through the silent crowds,
I can't feel you through the concrete clouds.
I can't remember pleasure through the pain,
I can't listen to your voice to keep me sane.