I kicked the radio - I admit

Hey, remember when you crashed the truck and
lost your phone while trying to replace a tire?

I remember when you stole the sun and used it to
warm butter for your popcorn

The radio's just a tinny audio ****-up, blasting bad rock
on bad speakers

That wasn't an insult.

-- It was my own **** fault

Clawing eyes out, drawing blood, kicking shins in,
busting skulls on hardwood floors

Just a tinny audio ****-up

Broken radios, trucks, bones, hollering calamities

It's a repeating pattern, I screamed. The clouds listened and they began to cry for me - I was all dried out

Summer sun will do that to you.

Oh, carry-on bags and Aeropostale apostrophes,
mere fabric catastrophes

It's a half-waltz dance to a song with few words,
all of which are in garbled Italian

It's a murmured What the ****? and a
high laugh

Tripping over your own feet has never been
so elegant

There is hope beyond a papery pharmacy
that is stocked with ink and sheepskin

The clerk is finicky and silent, and elixirs evaporate
as you browse the papyrus shelves

There is hope beyond this paper pharmacy,
so abandon poisons crafted by pen-laden fingers

Hear the bugle call - the woods shudder

Beyond the eyes of glassy sands and
blue elm trees, blood pours in fountains

It soaks stone,
cracks granite

I seek him out, picking through faces unknown
to me and oft seen of you, seeking scents unfounded

Swipe, the blade goes, flinging at the end of my arm,
and the skull goes flying true

Show yourself,
take what you want

Steal my words and my craft
and my beauty

I am more, I am the
killing song

I will rise above the waves and
slice their heads from their bodies

Rending flesh,
rendering muscle and sinew

Veins of sea spray down ******
rivulets, and there is nothing left

So, may we
start again?

Here, this is my haven place:
My light-rain windy dew-bound place.

There, that is my chaos place:
My flip-turn shattered axle flaming place.

Now, where is my solace place?
My hidden-thoughts mystery space?

Taking a look inside is harder than it looks
when my eyes stare out into the world and not
back within.

Glimmering, beset by glittering ocular retinae,
I see the ghost of my whispered solace place.

It is more than I'd ever hoped for.

please go and
sing those songs you
used to sing to put me to sleep

there are echoes and they
aren't satisfying anymore