Bruised hips and lips
dragging themselves desperately
endless sensual friction
*******
smacking
crude, raw
stay true
to the muse of our generation
we were never taught
to share what we're given
precious garbage
spewed out of consumation
a spiral of artistic fury
the scratch of losing your voice
the voice that once
harmonized with lies
washed out external flame
burn bridges you've never crossed
for fear of humiliation
embers branding sin
into skin
slick like sticky fingers
groping bodies for a grip
to pull yourselves out
of the hell
called introspection
you are a moonlit chaotic mind
on the roots
forming roads to that which we lost
I've held my muse
kissed the lips that mumble
my melodic lullaby
Jul 29, 2012
Jul 29, 2012 at 5:29 PM UTC
Bruised hips and lips
dragging themselves desperately
endless sensual friction
*******
smacking
crude, raw
stay true
to the muse of our generation
we were never taught
to share what we're given
precious garbage
spewed out of consumation
a spiral of artistic fury
the scratch of losing your voice
the voice that once
harmonized with lies
washed out external flame
burn bridges you've never crossed
for fear of humiliation
embers branding sin
into skin
slick like sticky fingers
groping bodies for a grip
to pull yourselves out
of the hell
called introspection
you are a moonlit chaotic mind
on the roots
forming roads to that which we lost
I've held my muse
kissed the lips that mumble
my melodic lullaby
the first of a very long series. sort of an abstract portrait of my recovery.
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