no rest
for the wicked
or for
me,
no my
dreams keep me
tired,
no fire
has burnt my
bed yet,
no i’m
watching
laundry line
silhouettes
from:
the shadow box
of my head,
no this
isn’t pain
as much
as its
disorienting,
no i
need medicine
something to
keep me
awake
because
i forgot
to blink,
no it
makes no difference
whether my eyes
are closed or
open,
no dust
left
suspended in light
over the ocean
trenched
darkness.

for some reason,
i’m infatuated with libraries.
so many thoughts, so many voices, so many dreams.
all collecting dust

in one
quiet
place.

I knew you
You sensed me
You'd laugh
Uncontrollably  
I knew that
You'd always come back
Chewed
Spat
Lips of an angel
WIngs pearly blue
Smelled your fragrance
Wind blew
Sun lights here
Melting sweetly
Your near
I knew you
Claimed my heart
You knew that
From the start
Please tell me why
Your eyes lie
Deceived with a kiss
Judas!! Judas
Turned me to sin
YOu knew that'd
Do me in
Chewed
Spat
Lips of an angel
Demon attacks
WIngs filthy black
I knew i'd come
Crawling back

Murray

And again my heart pounced
over skin cold; that pleaded singleness,
with hypocritical beats I bowed to,
to her highness; to her petite shrill,
a debut in partial denial; unpleasant,
as i withdrew with foul felony,
thoughts raced through judging ethics,
while simplicity ****** away the soul,
into a contagious six holed drain...

And I locked myself behind blue bars,
losing the wall I built with sweated palms,
danced did I over viscous black waters,
embracing the world's false desires,
smashed them pretty birds withing their cage,
lost all sense of peace, I go hidden,
in awe of that ever pleasant voice;
I bow again; in silence I ask me
to plant me in her backyard,
water me with her sour scents,
sing me her sweet lilting lullaby,
and embrace me into our little concord!!

Where did the wisdom lay that moment?
that moment when I tasted drops of sweat...
Why would I **** that clown in me?
that played tunes from a gleeful cassette...
When will I lose my two shadows?
that followed me even while I'd regret...

(a puff o' smoke and some silence)

And again my heart, it pounced!!

You will hear thunder and remember me,
And think: she wanted storms. The rim
Of the sky will be the colour of hard crimson,
And your heart, as it was then, will be on fire.

That day in Moscow, it will all come true,
when, for the last time, I take my leave,
And hasten to the heights that I have longed for,
Leaving my shadow still to be with you.

We talked, once
I asked a mundane question
Hoping for more than an answer
But no,
You replied and turned away

Our eyes met, once
I smiled and blushed
Wishing for more than that glance
But no,
You blinked and turned away

We touched, once
Our arms brushed on our ways past
I whispered an apology
Pleading for you more than ever before
But no,
You didn't even look

Now there isn't anything much
We aren't even aware anymore
I still wish, hope, and plead
But no,
You won't even know I'm here

burning pages.
epiphanies procured through the pages of a book.
let's burn the already ones read.
i doubt the meaning of life is within the confines of the downed pink capsules.
the hollow shell of a human form.
i keep validating it. chemical communication has every place here.
the warm. hands clickity clackety against the keys. because they are home.
furiously scribbling is the one organic anecdote.
throwing a verse down is much preferred to THROWING DOWN. which is what human nature gives on the tendency to fantasize about.
let's not quabble over semantics here. (and let's not mention fantasy).
i'll check for justification in the mirror image of my face in the bottom of the carrot-stick bag.
no such luck, the soul ain't there either.
WANT TO VERBALLY SPAR, BABY?
i don't think you, nor i have the ability. (actually i do, it's more your well-being i'm concerned about)
erstwhile you sit and wait for the first attack, you should think into purchasing some pantene.
2.99 at walgreene's.
i've forgotten what i've started for. so let's not quabble over semantics here.
the death of white roses are never wept over. it's expected.
(maybe a vase in the corner is quite befitting of the lovely token of hopelessness)
it's like a catch-22, it's like fighting a losing battle.it's winning something like a full paid scholarship to plumber school, or finding out your best friend is a **** on christmas mourning.
merry christmas.
one should be cautious in stealing public property. the owner hadn't left it out for the recycling. you should have read the label.
and you:

i'm done.

...I've been dying to know









                                               What's it like to love?

Catching dreams
like paper planes.
Flying,
twisting,
falling, all about.
Blowing in the wind,
like grains of sand.
And suddenly
there's nothing holding you together
Anymore.