it will be a very long time
before i stop thinking of your lips
every time
i hear the word
*"kiss"

"Don't leave out the graphic details."
Oh, trust me. I won't.
The gruesome, disturbing, intimacies.
The bone-chilling, hair-raising fragments.
It's almost too much to bear.
But not quite.
This vulgarity is just enough to keep them on the edge of their seats.
Every tiny, twisted moral of the story.
In between the cracks, find shining slivers of redemption.
Only to immediately cover them up with rotten deception.
Good, ***** flair. Scummy additions. Sick annotations.
Keep the masses rollin' in.
Complexity, concentration, then chaos when they want more fear.
The blood-curdling, stomach-churning truths.
The disgraceful, distasteful deductions.
We've come to the conclusion they crave this coagulation of ****.
Dark disdain eating away at the corpse of wellness.
Vermin, pests, gnawing, slobbering.
Choking on the bones of prosperity.
The decomposition of this life is what they love.
Flies, gnats, swarm. Maggots clump.
Crack, rip, slurp, gag, choke, ******* die.

Work of art
never be mine,
you don’t have a heart and I don’t have the time.
Inside of my mind is where I’d turn to,
but you've devoured it.
Drift back to me and I’ll crawl back to you.
False notes wisp past blades, it’s nothing new
The sky turns red but we’ll still call it blue.

A failure to measure in self efficacy
the lion drags its mane
to sweep the floor so hopelessly
in an effort to hide its shame.
The quagmire consumes the wicked
but devours the righteous all the same
down in a hollow, sick, twisted
giving in to the weight of pain.
The gravity of this grief
plants us firmly in the grip of apathy
pray the despair be brief
delirious, at the hands of atrophy.
At the bottom of the well
is a gate unto immutable madness
endure this path through hell
and emerge from the infinite sadness.

Alone in what was won
Resist the call of a stepfather to son:
to my kingdom, come.