The one
We don't know them, we try to touch them
Bones covered in flesh
Flesh covered in sheets
Crawling out of beds trying to find the one
Bones covered by fresh flesh
Strains of hair from heads from beds stretched on your bones
The lipstick marks of femmes burned on your neck
and the sound of moans ring your ears
Juice from a dumpster
In an alley
in a city,
leak as you sweat
You never loved me
now you are free to be
Do you realize these scars on my arms are permanent
I don't want to love you
But Your touch melts me and my heart is ice

Oh how a good feeling is peeling off my skin

I must confess your caress brings my sorrow less
Sins win
Oh good feeling won't you stay,
Like cigarettes this feeling;
Pleasurable and some what addicting
Say you don't smoke menthol but you'd kiss it.

Menthol lips,
Swaying hips;
Good feeling please be lit.

A sense of being wanted
Hoping this Is not a furthermore trick.

Where did they all come from?
These activists Once were pacifists.
Now they’ve turned ravenous for fair
Political practice.

And it wasn’t no accident.  They’ll
soon beat down in their heavy handedness.
Demand the mess is cleaned up.

As they scream :

" this wasn’t what we dreamed up”

These shoulders of mine are growing tired from my not growing wings
the anchors on my feet start to blister
Mister time is taking a ride
alive i am
everything is so very bland now and days
the polish is chipping off my claws
**** the feelings and knowledge is chipping from my head
why can't i write no longer
why can’t i feel no longer
did my hands fall off
did my head fall off
who am i

if it wasn't for the thrill or to even remotely feel
i wouldn't do drugs they ****

let me wash down those happy pills the hospital gave me
with a swig of numbness to my emotions only to make myself stable
to not feel
to not self sacrifice
to follow the systematic process that takes “time”
waiting and waiting for my wings to grow