trust is something sharp to hold for someone important in a perfect world we'd never bleed over one another chrome blades dig into each person who lost grip with their loved one in a perfect world trust would be dull significance is in the blade filled inside of the atoms are the affections, promises and lust we carry a perfect world is plastic empty atoms hollow and dead on the inside contain nothing I rather take the blade than poison myself
Evolution has chosen jealousy To be an intrinsic trait for us all Even at the top of the world, Novels and songs are written About how much easier life is At the bottom of the *****. Perhaps this is the reason For the routine poisoning of ourselves Just for a break from all the monotony To finally be someone else If only for an evening. Drinking and smoking To celebrate to become Someone else… Nobody, in this life, wants to be themselves.
like the blood that seeps through the holes n gaps in my skin i patch it up with paper and tape but what lays underneath calls every blade to my skin i try again to keep it away but it causes a hunger that's impossible to satisfy in any other way
a statue quietly lurks in the corner of my mind, waiting until all is calm. when the dark shroud falls over the blue sky, the statue comes to life as a vicious, fang-bearing, red-eyed, gnarly demon. the demon pulls a dream apart with its long, pointy claws, injecting the shreds with poison until they tangle up in each other to become a tight, infectious knot that can only be untangled...by waking up.
Hear the Eagle's painful screech While those with delusions preach Poisonous tears of rage and sadness Spineless bow to feed their Madness Ants drowning in the Sea of Lies While laughing vultures from East arrive The Eagle longingly looks towards the heavens The Eyes intently stare at sheep armed with AK47s A spectacular clash of two camps with strong will The Flawed Experiment of a Shining city upon a Hill
Written November 6, 2020 in the chaos before US election results were called
she wanted little-girl-wanted to be loved without barbs so much that when she snatched them up from their cage she squeezed the life out of them.
she tried to be gentle smoothed silken wriggling bodies with light fingers, soft words but they trembled at her touch thrashed escape from her grasping hands even as they dozed in her brother’s palms so again and again she caught them by the tails with sudden fists round rushing ribs from huddled corners, piled dens and held them tighter and tighter to her chest wishing more than anything they could be enough to fill her fractured lungs as if love can be pressed from hearts like wine from grapes as if she could drink without tasting poison
they died young from her venomous heart
she buried them under the loveliest stones she could find.
The knife I take down my throat To vindicate my thoughts Of ruinous infection, Deceives all sensation, All thoughts, and ceases To exist myself, Until the blade conceals, And the only tell Of even its unsheathing Is that of the daylight Pouring in through Windows of which I had forgotten, To strike the flower I left out alone in the open.
The scent of the previous day Made aware though permeation From the bottles Left open To fill the air With their intention, But lit candles Will once again Flush the awful realization, As the day sheds colors To the night, And when the music hits, And the temperament Fills veins with built and bottled-up Stresses, the candles will smell great As the chaser takes away the sting From the blade, And the flower, unconcealed, Let without any pressures Or internal guilt, Finally able to be myself, If only for one more night.