After 12 seconds, the clock slaps me
" Earthling, what're you doin'?"

Me: "Oh, I'm killing you, immortal. And you?"
Clock: "Just, revolving 360 degrees since B.C.
            Now what if, I **** you?"

(Took off the battery . . . then saw another clock)
You see, nothing stops it. No one. But,

My body ached
I felt bruised
Stretched to the limits
I felt physically abused.

My insides were moved
To different locations
It felt unreal
It was a surreal sensation.

My back hurt
My bones shifted
I felt sick
The pain persisted.

I felt like being ripped
From the inside out
They watched and waited
As I continued to shout.

Oh! The pain!
Oh! The discomfort!
I lay there out of breath
As I pushed with all my effort.

One last great push
It will soon end
I screamed
I shouted

Then stillness
Silence fell
My head plopped back
I felt like I was under a spell.

The silence was broken
By a piercing wail
It sounded like an angel
And you were unveiled.

Nothing ached anymore
There you are
My little angel
My little shining star.

It was all too easy,
The way you smiled,
Like a ray of light
breaking through the trees.

You brought shadows into light,
but it's just me again down here.
I wanted to give you glory,
but there was nothing you could do.

It was all too easy
to make you smile
that beautiful smile
and melt the ice in my heart.

There's something about two in the morning
that gets the thought of you running through my head
Im not sure weather to be delighted or frightened
Even though the thought of you can be so exciting
You're the one who made my thoughts turn into death
Yet, i love you in so many ways it hurts
But inside i know it's not as worse as living with your curse
Your blessing is something I'll never forget
But a girl like you is a devil in a dress
Dressed so nicely
It can remind you of picking flowers on a beautiful summers day
A girl who's beauty never failed to amuse me
A girl who's behaviour never failed to confuse me
But with just the slightest touch of your lips
I go on a bigger trip than any other drug i could have ever done
Shrooms and acid can't compare to euphoria you make me feel
But with every drug there comes a good and bad
The only bad thing about you;
is that you're the best drug i've ever had

i’ve been known to be reckless with myself, i’ve been told that i’m not sure of how precious life is, and the preciousness of it is exactly what made me play games with my heartbeat.
my fear of death disappeared at 13 when i discovered how my skin was made of paper and i could draw fault lines and create a spectacle of fire dancing over my veins;
i lost worth in myself when i lost the desire to nurture myself anymore.
i let you play with my hair and dance your fingers along my bare back, and convinced myself i loved you even if it sounded like an apology whenever i said it,
and it did nothing but show me that i’m flesh, and bones, and scraped knees.
it’s easy enough to see what you are when all you have to do is look, and at the same time, i’m doing all i can to flee from it.
you flew out of my veins in a jet of crimson cobwebs and i can’t take looking at you in another photo with that pretty girl you held hands with a few days after you left me and knowing i’m not going to be the one undoing the threads of your conscience tonight.
something without colour is sleeping in me, and its less frightening when the voices in your head tell you that the horizon is going to sing for you in the morning;
until every chord and ballad turns orange and you get to see the sky paint how much it loves you.

Forever whispered in depth it arises
between the meaning on the horizon
I catch a glimpse of history and fate within a breath and heaven's gate
For which it denies the spirit that is alive
inside the mind
between the eyes
mastery within another with limitless bounds
it dances it sings alive in hollowed ground

Can not wait, can not take, another sigh, another taste

Within these walls I feel the scream
aching
breathing
eternity
and so mote it be that with each breath it takes
It cannot deliver, the promise it cannot make.  
So nature will take what is rightfully hers, no longer asking to confer with the dancer on the river of the moon.


Will the stone ever speak of me?  Of dreams, of life, of possibilities?  Will it convey my song, my smile, my dance, my style?  
Will it whisper, will it scream?
Will it stay silent, no truth gleaned?

Brother and brother, lover and lover, creating another, over and over
its haunted dreams of fate exist within every take.  
Can not be,
let it go,
let another reap and sow.
Blazing alive in eternity's sigh so that it may peacefully lie within the reach of the Oneiroi's sleep.

So nature will take what is rightfully hers, no longer asking to confer with the dancer on the river of the moon.

If she gathers enough sticks,
she'll be able to get the fire going real nice;
enough to see her hand
in front of her face for a change.

She's been scratching around in the dark,
wide-eyed and ravenous,
feeling the ground for wood
for what seems like hours.

Her fingers start to blister and sting
from the friction and the grinding
of her begging and pleading
for just one measly spark.

It's been like this since that day
when everything was still pretty nice
in her podunk town where she
was known as the black sheep.

That day, that day, in late April,
when she raised her hand up
stuck out her thumb and
blotted out the sun.

She woke up with dirt under her nails
and pulled a lock of hair out
that was starting to mat.
She went to sleep with dirt under her nails.

She went to sleep hungry
and now she chews on anything that moves
in the umbra that couldn't be too far
from where she used to live.

Dead leaf blankets-
"Are the trees still alive?
What did the forest smell like,
sound like, at high noon?"

"What were colors?
Light-lovers and their shrieking tears
filled with nostalgic longing for
magical, pretty un-black; privileges".

Sanctum in the murk.
She walks tonight, but not far.
"I am the mother of the moth,
and the sudden ritenuto".


) o ( ●

There is something breeding in the underbelly;
whirling and churning like an epicenter of ******* trends.
Someone found the formula to turn a profit on karma,
while we were distracted by viral beheadings.
Powder white moths opening mental portals
through the dazzling lights of self-immolation
while I trudge block after block through the snow
wearing slippers because I had to storm out.
The classes continue, the mail keeps going out, coming in,
and I'm obsessing over a splinter of worry; unavailing at best.
I keep thinking of how nice it'd be to see Seattle  
and to stand near one of those Sequoia trees I've only seen on Google.
I keep thinking of how I'd like to see The Grand Canyon
and to to walk in the Arizona deserts with no socks or shoes;
the heat of the fine sand sneaking up between my toes
while the sky beats my pupils with that astounding blue.
Why am always alone in my fantasies?
Why is it that I can't handle the day-to-day?
Am I really even searching for answers,
or am I begging for what I want to hear?
My maturity and stoicity are rubber ***** bouncing on a line graph.
I can't go on bottling the venom that pools in my gut.