Staring at gravestones
Wondering what it is to
Exist, no longer.
Smell of sulfur,
Feel of bone;
Still as water.

Am I a good person?

Underneath all these layers
(The layers of an onion)
[Like Shrek, full of layers]
-pretty sure the onion quote is dead-

I don't want you
to remove my layers
to find a person that
isn't the same on the outside.

Onions are perfect
because with each layer
they look exactly alike.

If you took me apart
we'd find the person
I think you want me to be.
(If you took me apart you'd be a murderer)
[Don't try to find out, organs don't talk.]
-The mess would be such a hassle-

I wish someone could tell me.
It's all in the way,
these layers
they're all that we have.

All the acrid smoke
And dust of the world
Fills my lungs
Burning
Burning like a fire
I can taste the sulfur on my tongue
And feel the charcoal sticking to my fingertips
I look around
And all I see is a wasteland.

If I
told you
what it is I want
like you
ask I tell,
would it matter much?
Matter at all?
You forget
over
and over
we've ever had this talk
so if open up,
spill my lair for you,
how I am I to find the confidence
in spite
of the fear?
And I
ask you
to give me a hand.
Explain
what it is
that will satisfy.
You agree to air.
Close your eager eyes.
Wake. And forget.
Until it happens again.
Every single bed time.
Til I hit the grave.
Pinpoint.
Comet style.
Crush the earth.
Leave a bitter hole.
Never quite sure if
I'm hurting myself
or hurting someone else.

If I got a headache
every time someone wrote about natural beauty,
I'd have an aneurysm.

And now I have one more.
Headache.

I'm still waiting on the aneurysm.

Shower, you
touch me, still,
hotter than
clumsy fingers.
Clumsy advances.
In the water,
I see shapes
rising in steam
built by the
confidence
I can manage,
alone with you,
when I sing.

. . .

Lights out, cast a dark net.
Got the      yellow lights outside,
though,
catching my plans
on the
unbalanced heel,
but the      assisted glow
just makes my. . .
my aura cut out
a visible,
protective shape.

More than this,
in the music,
wearing my skin,
proud, yet naked,
I
      bravely emanate.

Oh ((oh)) Oh ((oh)) Oh ((oh))
I won't live forever.
Oh ((oh)) Oh ((oh)) Oh ((oh))
I just want some      infiltration.
I just ((just just)) I just ((just)) ((just))

I just --
wait. It's no meager thing.
I'm no meager thing.

Come to think of it,
I've strung a string of selfish lovers,
since the first lover to covet my heart.

Enter the present,
I'm of the morose understanding,
the cutthroat waters of the waking world. . .

Temper the mind to take,
raze, and ****.
Take
        Take
                Take

Temper the heart to quake.
Quake
           Quake
                      Quake

at the fulfillment
of practical demand.

Quake
           Quake
                      Quake

on bended knee,
in dream,

for love for free.