Plum rd.

Viridian seeking.
Head discovered on chest.
Sage lands awakening.
Glimpses in emerald past.
Mirrored in ivy.
Soil for the river.
Heavenly clouded beads.
Around neck.
A soft hold on it all.




Garrett Johnson.

Waiting for you.

Dismal marigold.
Hovering at most.
Fear for vehemence.
Sepia perfume.
Palladium rug.
All I wanted was it back.
Salty mush.
Roomy in Autumn auburn.
Hepburn of copper empires.



Garrett Johnson.

Loved over there and here.

Went to the old house, you lied.
Danced all alone, you cried.
Loud and clear.
Tears on back seat.
Pull over.
Tired.
Not much in my life.
Only a drink and this song.
All calmed enough to lie down.




Garrett Johnson.

Goblins and Dandruff.

Torn from cerise faded dress.
Shirt underneath to draw no attraction.
Cuffed and lonely to the eyes from a distance
Entering the room.
Dead and staring to the top of the bottomless roof.
Not surprised.
Just thrown to a lone frigate and escape.
Lone and petrified in azure scapes.
And Left to sulk.




Garrett Johnson.

Rotten Gold.

Maybe.
A new.
Maybe.
An old.
Maybe.
The mystic.
Maybe.
The twisted of scene.
Nothing.
Nothing at all.




Garrett Johnson.

Ash flower.

Cold showers.
Warm hands.
Everything gone.
tell the self it’s fine.
When it’s not.
I’m not.
But i’m Ok.
Not the only one.
Raining tar.
Running in noire.
Fun times.



Garrett Johnson

One Riff.

Come down the stairs.
Take off that robe.
Get a chair.
Pull it close.
Whispering hands.
Silvery toast.
The best thing the coast could offer.
Was your hand.
Now.
We sit.
On the swing.
Conjuring.
The only.
Song We sing.



Garrett Johnson.