bernie the cheese
collapsed at the side
of the road
his measured response depleted
he watches as she folds up
her neat and meticulously spelled words
plied on silver tongue into her rucksack
and through such ******* ******* of kings english
she entices him ever onward where
faint lines can be sought
and yet to be found
that echo the face of true madness
its laughing sweating continence
painted with watercolours and
can only be seen in the reflection of
a mirror reflecting another mirrors image

her face slowly releases its dire grip
and her eye looses it screaming aspect
as she finds herself alone on the ***** alleys cobblestones
the battered dumpsters spilling treasures for the divers to find
she begins to hum a beatles tune from '63
and fingers the lace shawl hiding her deformed mind
trying once more to capture that vast lost feeling from
girlhood that dances a
dubious little jig on her headstone of the heart
singing 'lookie here....look at whats buried here'
she remembers his face but not his name
he drove a silver buick with a skull painted on the hood
his blond features engraved in the notions
his words mixed with foul smelling chicken soup
he was a soup of the day in her salad years

bernie the cheese
chews on the charbroiled taste of his
blowup doll lover's lips and tries to say
the three magic words
'made in china'??
his own words spent he casts about
in terror for a phrase or two to quote from
the masters of deception
who gather round in long grey coats
sinister eyes on the fruits of his labour
their wooden faces warped by rain
their mouths only a dim perceived line of
mumbles written in childlike scrawl
on the backs of closet doors
we hide here because we cannot see
therefore we cannot be seen
you cant touch me because i cannot feel
they gift him at price unnamed some loose parable
naught more that glib reprise of his own perilous straights
his is the beast that labours in their stead
he is their human face
she is but the road they walk today

Wish I were there.
Why?
I dunno, I just
love the highway at night.
Why?

There's something
about that light
green
red
yellow
specks of humanity
because,
in the end,
what more are we than specks?
Humans, moving
through the night
speeding
                 faster
                           and faster
until everything
stands still
under a blanket
of thick silence
and blurred stars.
And our lives,
our souls,
escape
through the windows
into the blur
of the green
and the red
and the yellow,
stretched in the sky
with the stars.
          ...

Oh.
Y'know?
Yeah, I know.

Your eyes; a dark abyss,
Your back to the grapefruit sky.
Your heart is a closed fist,
And i cant help but wonder why?

Yesterday,
Well I can't remember yesterday.
I was told I overdosed on sleeping medicine.
I was sick,
in the head.
I hate that I never feel "normal".
I just don't know how,
I need help.
I know she won't care so I will just bottle it up inside,
like I always do...

He stood up in his bed, lightning struck from the clouds of cigarette smoke above his head. Pupils large like saucers in his eyes.  Dead skin around his lips, bed covered in last night’s fries.  Forearms infested with cigarette burns, like ****** tattoos in Braille. Yet he smiles, and through the silence you can hear his lips crack. Eyes wide and brows twitch
**** them, *****
Little bill swings his legs off the side of his bed, the bed springs creak as he stands. On his toes, he heads for the door. Walking slow, sweaty footprints on the hardwood floor.
**** them
He walks into the kitchen, using his cell phone for light. Slides open the drawer and picks up the largest knife. A straight A student, who knew he was ****** in the head. Surely he didn’t walk into his parents’ room with his knife to cut bread. He stood over his father, while he snored in his deep slumber. Smiled and burst out into an uncontrollable laughter. Little bill ran his fingers up the edge of the knife. Stabbed him repeatedly. Stabbed him dozens of times and made sure he did it right.

You sing yourself to sleep in an ice cold tub,
Life is cheap and so is a gun,
You shiver and make love to your cigarette,
Tonight your going down wearing a tin can baret,
You know, opurtunity is a simple game of russian roulette,
And so you ponder life one last time,
The life youve just traded in for a dime,
Biting down on the barrel, its cold and it numbs your lips,
Its but an inevitable prophecy like the solar eclipse,
through the muffled silence; youre singing,
-"Please, don't wake me, no, don't shake me
Leave me where I am, I'm only sleeping"