Your stairs shrieked like an infant at midnight and your walls haunted my dreams. Still you housed my hands that touched so tenderly your floors, your mold, your crown. Your windows stared: eyes on a hill. And I wonder what it feels like to be seen like a monument in a ghost town. You housed my head so constantly swirled, maimed, losing consciousness. You housed me so fiercely, intensely, with a love that sang my restless soul to sleep. Everyday you kept me in your arms, your womb. You framed all my sunsets, my stars, my endless sighs. It is time to let your walls collapse, your doors forever close, but I have left my heart underneath your old, old bones.
an intimately vast space spread out in small pockets where once a treed horizon dared to peek out into view now walls enclose the square feet so precious to the privileged few real estate, though nothing real about it at all, built on dreams and promises unfulfilled you can plan your OXO lifestyle advertised on billboards of temptation on the roadside that passes what looks like a battlefield, nature making one last stand of liquid mud to repel all boarders, but to no avail tarmac veins snake and harden making new arteries to a future braver infantile world of possession and greed
It is fascinating to listen to the world wake up in the morning. It’s as though everything is still and frozen in time that even the birds are hesitant to start their morning songs. But then suddenly, as the first stretch of daylight crawls across the lines and rows of rooftop houses, you can hear the whole Earth start up in stages. First the signaling of the distant trains, their own morning song in a way I suppose. Then the rest of the neighborhood follows suit in a chorus. Car engines rattle on to melt the ice off their windshields and they too, groan and moan not yet ready for the daily grind. I picture people sipping their coffee while their kids quickly and hastily brush their teeth to make it to school on time. The buses stagger in lines to greet them at their doorsteps. One by one the birds unruffle their feathers in the treetops and begin to rise in song. The streets that just lay undisturbed moments ago, pristine with a thin layer of 4AM dew, are now bustling with car exhaust and scurrying street cats who are simply trying to get out of the way. And you in the midst of your tossing and turning murmur something in your sleep and I wish I could lie here forever.
Snakeskin, Crawled into it and it felt good. Real good. Good enough to live in. Forked tongue slips in and out; Poison drips, fangs cannot be contained.
Eating all, choking on frogs, going for bigger prey Until all is gone, gone, gone - Lining up to pet the snake, feel the skin next to theirs ******* out brains to fill craniums with crap. And the world has gone mad, bad, and sad.
Houses are like little cages Little cages that is trapping Every little incidents inside it; Trapping every little shriek Trapping every upsetting stories; One wants to tell It locks everything inside Houses only shows you what you want to see; It only displays what you wish to see; It shows you what a normal house should be.