you talk about flowers;
i want to shoot myself in the head

you talk about the sky;
i want to slit my throat and go to sleep

wanna' talk about the love gone sour
or how hard are whispers to breathe ?

gonna' talk about kings and cowards
and how them wolves wear the sheep ?

how about the sad things by a lonely hour
ghosts and tears they bleed

doused in flames of ink and its power
where the emptiness sleeps

beyond the everglades

so when are you gonna' dig deep
and turn to a different page

like back in second grade when
everybody made the same mountains,
a triangle, with river maybe a beach

when are you gonna' pretend
you're in a spaceship not on an
old ugly *** wooden seat ?

like all them other poets
too broken to weep

open your mind
there's an ocean to blind

and dead lines to complete

no hurt or violence to teach
happy childhood so good
got no stories to preach

only apples and peach
deep down where your sugar coated
hands cannot reach

don't understand a thing that
comes out of your tame mouth
your ******* doubts out loud
creep the **** me out
and i'm about to pick a creed

maybe we're just a generation of creeps
too eager to swim and hardwired to speak
too tired to think we're machines
metal and fire we're only wired to repeat

not go out of way down the road
with bag full of ale and smoke
enough to make a pained man choke
they say tragedy is comedy plus grief

in dark i know one cannot read
only the owls
but it's clear that you cannot tell
if it is a wolf that howls

clear blue skies from hell
when hounds prowl

what it's like to spell
when you're filled with nothing
but a void and a voice with two hearts
and halves of syrup and bleach

and yet you're so full of salt
and then you fill yourself with walls
mannequins and statues and dolls
watching the dead space
as the dead pace in empty halls

as the head breed


for gods sake there's so much
to hate and to forsake
the happy times cannot even compete

stories can never be complete
they take a life of its own
monsters and demons only reap
where they are sown

the mind can only lead thus far
every heart has a mind of its own
eyes that only read at the dusk hour
right before a new sun is born

and you want to talk about flowers ?