Free the tormented soul
that lives within me.
Free the monster so that
I may sunder its anger
and find my way to its
heart to ease the pain
and suffering of the
tormented soul.
Allowing me control
before its to late.

one of Lorca's best lines
is,
"agony, always
agony ..."
think of this when you
**** a
cockroach or
pick up a razor to
shave
or awaken in the morning
to
face the
sun.

chalk candies
all printed thereon
different names for the same thing:
a cry for help.
all different colors,
different lies,
but all leave that
disgusting aftertaste you get from candy hearts,
which is precisely why they're not a staple of my diet.
they're good for throwing away in puddles.

there goes one for emily stein.
there goes one for denira queen.
there goes one for jilian quandison.
one by one, letting go of memories.
there goes one for spirit newberry.
there goes one for krystin bullard.
there goes one for tandra wood.
one by one, loosing old ties.

there goes lucy, and grace, and sarah,
long gone.
the box is almost empty.

here's one for kimberly rhodes,
the one i should have held on to.
here's a deformed one for nicole watson,
and a few for  the rest of my detritivores.
here's one for anne folderol,
truly folderol,
and a few for the others i could save from low grade lowlifes.
here's one for lisa noble,
two years older.
and at last, one for candice coyle,
out of reach.

i'll keep the box.

Tell me, kid, you got a life?
Because I'll buy it off of you!
Name your price!
I'll trade you all my thoughts,
my chords, my words,
for that life you've got.

Tell me, kid, have you a lover
past your hand?
Name your price!
You want memories,
secrets, lust?
I own it all, and all could be yours!

Tell me, kid, have you a friend
past yourself? I'll buy him off of you.
Name your price.
I'll give you some supporters,
some labels, some renown.
What do you value? Name your price.
I'd give you my soul for yours.

Oh, hell! Open your gates,
let your demons out!
Let new ones make Satan's company!
Drag sinful beauty in by the ankles,
hoist her high, broadcast her *******
screaming,
she pleads to return to the sweet plain of id.
Smelt her soul, and ornament your gate!
Oh, hell! Oh, my heart! Oh, hell!