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.