Threads get darker
when wet
with tears, salty sweat,
spilled water on a date,
beer slopped, slurred state.
Color is characteristic,
evidence, not mystic,
of time and results
of the feelings from insults
not spoken.
Here is a token
to show you
this is your cue.

The ballerina's legs
are broken, still
the music keeps on
playing.

The Devil pulls my puppet strings
And makes me sway
Looming hell approaches and sings
Reeling me into the decay

A fiendish demon shrieks melancholy
Another one screams fear
I am young, and I cry folly
The creatures taunt and jeer

The brazen fire whispers
Songs scary and bleak
My skin burns and blisters
My hands are trembling weak

Please, close the carcass gates
Please, chase away the beasts
See all their flesh-laden plates
See their ****** morbid feasts

I see this place so dark and eerie
I hear the demons moan
Please hold me, I am weary
And can't brave this alone

This is sick to admit
But when your hand brushed mine
Last night
In the most innocent way possible
I swear on the headstone
Of the mother
I really never knew
That it was the most alive
I've ever felt
In my entire life

It was odd
That second felt like a lifetime
And a nanosecond
All rolled into one

And if just a touch of your hand
Could make me want
To live just that much longer

Imagine

Just imagine

What a kiss could do.

Slip and swim
into
spiked super sleep  
slippery stereo
sound
Senses seduced by silence
stolen solitude
And shuffled sedation
Suburbian escape