Helicopter water ballet
And Charlie's on the grid

Front and centering feng shui
Choreographed in the fields
Where ****** sticks to kids

War is the fashion
That never wears out

Smell its smoke
Sickly sweet and orange
In the early decay of morning

What's left after suicide?
Physically, just a boring stain
And ugly mark, the only thing left
To remind us of the pain
The blue stain on the kitchen table
The brown splatter on the wall
The missing rail
On the stairs from the fall
The hole in the roof
Where the fan used to be
It ripped out the ceiling
Guess those forty anorexic kilos where too much
The made up bed that hasn't been slept on for months
The soulless body in the hospital bed
With a plaque that read
John Doe found by the river
A few miles from the bridge
Had a pulse in his wrist
Some big red cuts too
He wasn't dead but he might as well have been
He stopped being alive when she left him for heroine
So he walked to the bridge they used to run over when they were kids
He looked into the muddy water
And wished he'd given her one last kiss
He thinks he could have saved her
It's too late now anyway
He climbs onto the railing
And pictures flying away
A hundred miles away
On a dust filled mattress
Sits a young girl pretty enough to be an actress
Her hair is greasy and mattered
Her skin is pale and dry
She takes a deep breath and puts down the needle
She picks up her phone to call her guy
She doesn't know she's too late
The last priceless seconds have passed
He's falling through the air, he's going pretty fast
It's too late
It's over
The story just ended
He didn't pick up the phone
So she picked up the needle.

A mashed banana car crash of a morning

Messy and awkward

Words won't heal

Actions are not enough

To **** the silence

Anger heats the room

To a cold simmer

Resentment boils away below the surface

Occasionally something will bubble to the top

The elephant in the room

Lurks, as you dance around him

The clock ticks

Showing it is way too soon

For the building blocks of memory

To start their slow repairs

For now it's just a band aid

On an open wound

So deep you could drive a bus through it

The smashed embers of words that hang unsaid

And the ones you should never have used

It will settle but never leave

Someone will bring it out

Like that ugly Christmas china you always hated

Sad

But you will all learn to live with it

Eventually!

Gallantry badge stitched to rotting cloth
as the skin sinks and the bones fade
and the love made is left to reek the bed
where sexless wife and lonely daughter
   Lay their head's arrest.

In due time they both tan, sag and crackle
Under weight of the sun.

That dizzy cyclops that roped forth
homecoming boats and ships stands
five years from being defunct; rusted
to the hue of a coppice
and hardly the attraction it once was

But oh well— sighs the sailor, too old and bankrupt to care
for approaching poverty— the money has been made and my life spent

For others (his Sister, his Niece, his Brother)
They lack the ability to sigh;
the closest they get is the occasional stormy wind
that cracks the surface, blows through their teeth
resembling a crooked lullaby,
Revolves the bullet lodged in their skull;
O occasional stormy rain that beshrews the water
clogging their lungs and, in due time, The leaking muck
that’ll pluck and sharply snap inward the casketwood--
directly against the bullet gathhering mold in their heart--

Their souls have been spent.
One less soldier wouldn't have changed a thing
(The result was a certainty propagated
   as a contingency)
And if G-d bare'd witness his eyes no longer sting,
  His grievances had and his puppets dead
Following a suffering in his name.

If Thy Kingdom holds true
They bare witness now to the lighthouse
In it's chipping hue, it's trivial dock and visitor
Silhouettes—

All held in place and burning; They disfigure
Under weight of the sun.

everyone tells me
to trust you
to communicate how i feel
to not let these other women ruin this
to not let me ruin this

but

how am i suppose to do that
when i haven’t trusted a single soul
since the age of 7

how am i suppose to when
the last time i trusted someone
they violated everything about me
and took every ounce of my innocence

how am i suppose to do this now?
i’m lost

until your lights come undone
And the sun deport its creators
And seek you instead;
Every person you came to love was already dead and they shoved their corpses and broken teeth down your throat like a blackhole branch and nostalgic chaos
cremating all the bodies they’ve occupied, but still it tasted too familiar to your common sense that  you let it.
Or is it okay as long as it's spoiler free, and less relevant to your story standards, and case scenario?