how childishly we make
  mockery of time
how foolishly we fear
   its passing
the common cliché
  of turning twenty nine
    over and over
until we find ourselves
  making the same joke
   at thirty nine
     and forty nine
       and...
as if ever new decade
  every new day
     isn’t a privilege
        a blessing
something we are
  not guaranteed
    not owed
     not all given
there is nothing to fear
in accepting our mortality
in learning that death
will greet us warmly
in knowing that it is
  the same with
    our last breath
      as it is with
        our first breath
each one a gift
   that can only be given
     by the passing of time
why should we
  fear the unknown
    the unknowable
to such a degree
that we allow it
   to take away
     to distract us
from the gift of this moment
  the every present
    passing of time
it will all pass and be gone
   in less than
    the blink of an eye
an eternity come and gone
  in the breeze
no matter how long
or short our lives will be
   in the end
     it will always be
      too short
        end
          too soon
let us enjoy each breath
that time allows us
gives us
as children do
gratefully unaware
of how childishly
we will grow

At 22:00 she would come out looking
for him
Would call out his name
and eventually find him by the
sandbox or the slide
and would dust him off a bit
and take him home
and feed him

As she’d put him to bed
she’d kiss his face, sometimes
his mouth
and he’d ask, “Why did you do that?”

and she’d reply, “I don’t know.
But did you like it?”

And he’d either nod or say
yes, knowing that it’ll make her smile
and then she’d cuddle with him
until he’d fall asleep
and whisper in his ear that she always
wanted to have a little boy
just like him
and that he was making her unbelievably
happy just by existing in the same
room with her

She was the best neighbor he could
have dreamed of

She gave him all the attention
his mother gave to her bottles and
her guy friends

and everyone was very happy

I can feel your little bites, like parasites
breaking down effervescent days
into still, silent nights; prying porous flesh
with the scent of death,
lingering in cratered moonlit breath.
Is this where i was meant to be led,
repeatedly fed, to these hungered hands?
again, my feet scrape this familiar path
wearing down the dirt that buries me,
internally. covering everything that hurts,
so i can never be allowed to scream.
split my lungs and let them seep,
release all i have held in when i breathe;
weak waves and shallow water
my song is carried, but still, it falters.

feel my microscopic actions and
minuscule movements
as i crawl between your flesh
robbing you of nutrients;
trying to survive and thrive, like little
parasites

Creepy crawlers, horrors, and lawyers
keep enforcing these busted borders.
They're stalking my chalk lines;
exploring the fine folds where time slows
And my songbirds carry broadswords,
so it's good morning, Deathblows
every time the pendulum tolls.
My silhouette is wedged between
two threads protruding from my neck
and Beelzebub possessed the helm just
to twist my alphabet into a triple threat,
so when I speak the receiver has
to navigate an end-game quest.
But I promise I'll do my best
against these wretched guests
so long as you heed my request
and enjoy yourself no matter
where the road lays etched.

-SLuR & S.K.G.

I like the way god takes his time to pull the knife out of my spine.
The tingles climb my vertebrae, all fun and games, with bony snakes
clutching to broken ladders. Huff n’ Puff crowned The Magic Adder.
Blow my house down, and let it fly away; The Kansas view was lame
and I’ve heard Oz is all the rage. There’s no place like a broken home,
Sticks and stones held together by thin worn rope. Deliberately
place the frail bones and mark the way to the white rabbit’s stagnate hole.
I’d let myself fall.. slip through the fingers of your disfigured gods
And they’d watch me twitch and crawl, erratic, like a dying insect
So close to death but not quite there yet, I can’t seem to find the way
Crush me with your weight, I love how it feels to be completely erased.

-SLuR

Been real before,
Now we're otherwise
or elsewhere.
Do you remember
all the time we spent
waiting to score?
Evening simmers
so sweet dusk
could hear her.

Yeah we knew what we were,
The world had nothing over us,
With less stress we were better for it.
We breathed in and I could feel how close
we were. It was real
and we were the best,
What was it that left us breathless?

the ashtray was looking more
and more
like a sick hedgehog
  
and her yellowed fingers
added one more quill to it
  
she sat back in her chair
  
work wasn't in the best of stages lately and
her office looked like a ******'s
trailer. You could
scrape the nicotine
off the walls. In fact, she
would get nicotine under her nails if she
just scratched her skin
anywhere
  
But otherwise she was
a beauty
and that was a problem. Beautiful
women have the worst
luck in marriages
  
The husband left and the two girls went
with him
They were sick and tired of her
habit to consume more cigarette smoke than
oxygen
  
And drinking was also a problem
though not nearly
as big
  
The worst drinking has ever done to her
was to make her lose
the driving license which she never
bothered to take back
  
The real problem was,
as always,
a lack of money. If the **** phone didn't
ring soon
she would have to **** someone
for a pack of cigarettes
  
Assuming she could still
****
someone with her body rotting from the
inside. She was fine with
breast cancer
but now lung cancer joined too
and it was by far nastier
  
Still
that was all right
It doesn't take a healthy body to pull
a trigger
  
And speaking of triggers
She opened a drawer in her desk
took out the gun
studied it
  
Not loaded
  
She browsed through the drawer
  
Only one bullet left. One single bullet.
These things cost money
too
  
**** it
  
But it's like they said back in
the mercenary camp
The last bullet is always preserved to be
used on the self
  
She loaded the bullet into the
gun
  
A life lived well is one
lived without regrets and without
ever asking for mercy
or feeling sorry for yourself
  
At 39
she had that. There was nothing
else to be taken
away from it
  
She put the gun to her
temple
  
Smiled
  
"Except for a final smoke."