I dreamt of drinking whiskey
first sip
favorite brand
dry for a year
now wet again
felt the weight of the glass in my hand
heard the ice tink against the sides
as it sloshed around in warm amber glow
held it under my nose and
inhaaaaaled
noseful of vapor burn
so wonderful
so familiar
comforting as a favorite old t-shirt
woodsmoke and caramel and corn
county fair
harvest festival
excited heart racing
time to do it
break the seal
break the spell
I cast on these lips last Witches' Night
ember sparks the tip of my tounge
and fire spreads down
my throat
and out
to my limbs
and through
my whole being
dopamine rush of
ohmyfuckinggods
and I know this is the single greatest thing
I have ever put in my mouth
and I know I was born to do this
and I wake up
thirsty

Dead stains, blood and wine.
Soil, ancient roots. Nights songbird.
Savage tendencies.

I think we should all semi-colon close brackets or capital D,
we need to make time to just be semi-colon capital P.
Just be happy, maybe even throw in a colon close brackets.
Refrain from creating stress with semi-colon capital S,
on hearing an opposing opinion don't be offended, semi-colon capital O.
Just accept it, let go, there is no need to be so semi-colon forward slash.
Turn that open brackets around, there's no need to frown,
drop that greater-than arrow and take things less seriously.
Seriously there are many things to less-than arrow three in this world,
don't overlook the little things. Appreciate them.
Give them an open brackets capital Y close brackets,
maybe even an asterisk applause asterisk.

Send out the message, keep up that semi-colon capital D.

I dreamt of a girl, a girl who was dead.
She had lived in a house, a house where I conversed…
“what is your name?” A ghostly response,
my hearing refrained, unable to decipher.


Still she would tell me, what she attempted to announce,
her mouth now ******.
My courage became fear, I began screaming,
she whispered “don’t turn away”.
In fear I could hear, what she attempted to say.


I dreamt of a girl, a girl who was dead.
Her mouth was bleeding, but her lips were not red.
She lived in a house, a house where she said
“here’s where I died, one shot to the head”.


She continued to tell me of how she had died.
The way he had shot her, his absent guilt.
He was her opposite and told her “I tried”.
She wanted too much-too much as he thought.


I turned and I saw him, his expressionless face.
He said he felt nothing, neither did this former home.
“Not a place for feelings, if that’s what you do”
He would know,
he was her father after all…

A barely coherent deity entered frowning,
giving his incisive javelin kinetic life,
malicious, negative omnipresence.
Perforating quickly, random, stealth targets,
unified viciously with xenogenic youth, zoic.

Laying down in the silence of night
Surrounded by nothing but nothing
Staring at a bright screen where I write
Exchanging thoughts and remaining caught
Up by the mind of another

Signs of Satan solidifies the air in his lungs
Lavishly he leans and proceeds with his fun
Finger on the trigger with the bullet waiting in the gun
Cry on the inside and regret what you've done
Too late, too late, too late
You're not gonna wanna run
The fading of the last bit of you has begun
Be shunned