flies swirling,
eyes are pearls
reflecting empty sky.

fragmented.
light imbibed elsewhere.
suspended end-of-all-things.

it all makes sense when it didn't;
didn't do the math right.

rite.
write.
left.
right.
we all march towards death
like it's our mother;
God waits anxiously by the
proverbial ****-soaked bedside.

"I don't make promises I cant keep.
which is why I won't make promises ever".
I found a home in that,
so thank you.

I heard you live in my city now.

crowds or people
between us.
my lonely has arrowslits.

the pharaohs sit as dead
as the rest of us.
I've shared the glitz I've gathered.

nothing matters
and you know it.

She died drunk as desolation
played her a gentle hymn
with flies crawling from under her tongue
and leaving her to her grave.

My tears made spots in
the dirt on her face,
we were in love with the chase of
highs we no longer attained.

Like sunken bug bites on her arm
with cuts all along her thigh,
I couldn't keep her from harm so we
cried through the nights as our highs
damaged us as much as the lows.

One day she moved no more,
having begged and beaten on the door
for too long till her hands were bruised,
and her soul failed her after so much disuse.

I've drank the finest of wine
Down to the bottom of the bottle
Only to witness an ocean alone
Barely surviving my own hands

A fire burned through my viens
That was blew out by the wind
Breezing through the leaves
A calmness that sits with me
Before calmness dismisses me

I walked across the tallest blue sky
Where wide winged birds soar high
Til promises of white clouds turn grey
And so there I fell with the rain
Dripping through the lowest gutter

Many times I was buried, lying in dirt
Like a grave, needing no help
Finding the dark inside of myself
But I always rise with the blades
Of the greenest fresh spring grass

No matter what feeling I catch
None of them seem to everlast

de-focus.
being alone as a kid
in a parking lot is poetry later.
de-focus, please.

hope is deep, i know.
the lack of it is worse.

treasure leapt from an ocean
i've never tasted on the air.

surrendering.

dirges meant to be learned backwards
shuffle on into the dark unknown.

we ask worlds to spin on our tongues.

we are always unfulfilled.

we hate the word "we".

we use despair as a currency.

we are disgusting.

do you remember those dirges?

I do.

With the your naked form resonating
in my memory and the taste of you
still on my tongue, I could plunge
into the darkest of pits and smith
flaming swords from any excrement.

You never left me and I will forever die at your feet, smiling.

So, can we dance?