And there in, so much spoken
In a world ruled by the broken
Aloud, and silently, we scream
I prefer not reality, but the dream
Here, in this world, apart
The norm, is to bury ones heart
The echoes, of the burdened, so loud
And I, I would stay in the clouds
My heart honestly, is non-existant
And reality, I keep, at a distance
Time, bares no weight with me
All of it consumed, by a forgetful sea
Memoirs, of a time long since past
I remember, Forever, never lasts....

It's far into the a.m. and I don't sleep
Cant seem to get you out,
Of my head
You're there
Still
The undead, rotten thing you are
I'm going to have to **** you,
Again
As I've murdered your memory hundreds of times
It stinks of death
As did your decaying heart
I've drown you in whiskey,
So many times
If I ever did love you,
You killed it, with that first bruise
When we were 16
All the makeup and lies
For shame
For ignorance
There are still blood stains here
They seep through the paint
My blood
My never ending, waking nightmare
I'm dead you know
You killed me
Maybe not my body,
But my soul
I feel nothing,
Save shame, rage
I'm going to have to **** you,
This fear of you
Your haunting memory,

Somehow.......

And I'm already dead
The dead never sleep.

They met, amongst the green of summer
He liked her slight stature, gold hair that matched his own
Brown skin, changing eyes
Vows, and time
Made them forbidden to each other
But still, they watched
She carried drinks, smiled
Waited,
He was there upon an evening, alone
By the water, where the honeysuckle grows
She didn't speak, just kissed his lips
His hands, trembling, touched her face
Laying herself up for him, he took her,
By the water
Their bodies swaying in rhythm with the waves, her hair, undone
Falling around teacup *******,
Sweeter than the scent of the honeysuckle they laid amongst,
was their sin

Mr. Bukowski,
Well, does that house next door still,
make you sad?
With the two kids and all, in bed by 9
And the absent mom and dad
I need to know
And Mr. Bukowski,
How fair the ice cream people?
Do they vote still,
For a cruel man?
You didn't vote,
Nor do most of we
The insane
But,
Do you carry a vote now?
I need to know
And Mr. Bukowski,
How the hell is Cass?
She's kept me awake
Many nights,
Is she still beautiful?
I bet so
And Mr. Bukowski,
What of the girlfriends,
You didn't wish to see?
Do you see them?
I need to know
And Mr. Bukowski,
I miss you.

It is the way you look at me
that caught my attention

Left me wondering what
is hidden behind that

I may not have any idea,
let me tell you
that for some unknown reason
I have loved it

I saw a Stone Lady looking my way
With her eternal grey eyes
She held a stone water jug
She was staring intensly at me,
So I asked,
Stone Lady, what hidest thou in thine  unblinking stare?
To my utter amazement,
She replied,
Eternity,
You temporary thing.

I've discovered Hell, and the truth is,
It isn't a place you go, it's a sickness.
It resides within your bones
And its scaffolding is made from trauma.
The only fire you'll find is from the white-hot flashbacks
That leave you drenched in sweat that smells like smoke.
No-one lives there except you and your enemies,
And your enemies are fragments of history, unable to be killed.
Your mind is the devil that subjects you to punishment
That you can't help but be convinced that you deserve,
And escape is a notion kept only for tears;
Everything else remains trapped.
Hell is being held within the cage of your own body
And killing yourself trying to break free.