for we fall like moths at the strike of lighting.
and slip to earth for change.
we sit in 10 seconds of silence.
yet we never wish for years of action.
for we cry into the heavens--to God--in disarray,
false water in our glossy eyes.
for with magazines and a host,
atheists are our middle name.
knees soaked in kerosene and eyes used as ashtrays,
we are fire coated in and of itself,
for we burn midst tear-sealed lips,
and expect for the earth to revolve.
for we lay unclad together in bed,
whispering cloy gooeyness into ear canals,
and tie each other up with thorns,
for kink--we say--then you're brain has no mouth.
for we are sadomasochists,
emanating soulful breaths with heads tilted back,
at the thought of a bullet in our marrow,
and chuckle off--chuckle off lots,
at the red we draw from that hidden blade we borrowed.
they know not of what we think,
for we are madman in a cradle,
with large starry eyes, we look for inspiration--intention,
and--when asked for and found--the parents don't see those stars anymore.
for we are heartache,
and bodies with stones in our hand,
for they don't understand,
the power in corpses we seek.
for we are the heretics,
the verses in the Bible no one reads,
for when sought out and seen,
we bathe in the honeyed milk and spoil it.
for we are selfish--even if we beg not,
we are hypocrites--even if we needn't be,
we are labyrinths--even if redirected,
for we are killers and everyone knows,
all we need to do is bury our weakness 'neath the meadows.
Just know that sometimes we are beings who choose not to do anything.
