"snaked" poems
I remember our garden,
Wild and beautiful.
Flowers snaked out over cracked paths,
Overgrown orchids and unruly dahlias
Crossed calla lilies,
As they protruded through the jungle
Of luscious foliage.
I remember the smell of jasmine.
It hung heavy in the thick summer air,
Heady and delicious. It was the sweetest
Intoxication and my Mother basked in it.
She would sit for hours under
The old mango tree, cigarette
Smoke coiling around her
As she watched the sun steadily
Disappear behind grey islands.
I longed to reach out to her.
To break her trance,
And infiltrate her thoughts.
I wanted to her to take me with her
Into those private moments.
I didn’t understand it then.
I remember the tune she would hum.
Those long, low notes, penetrating
From her soul.
As I put the silverware away, I hum it.
I hum it in memory of my indigo life,
Turned magnolia.
How I long for that mango tree now,
A hundred years old. His strong
Arms stretched around me,
And my own private moments.
Through the double-glazed windows,
I watch my husband gardening
And wonder. Should I bring him a glass of
Ice-cold lemonade, like
The wives on American TV?
Jul 13, 2011
Jul 13, 2011 at 3:02 PM UTC
I am a crumpled sheet of paper in the hands of my predators
Their hands snaked around me, squeezing the life from my body, leaving me to collapse into their want
Too young to realize, too weak to fight back
………
He choose the game he wanted to play
and I became a dice he could roll around
in the palm of his hands
But this body is my temple, you lost my game and there will never be round two
………
My own thoughts strangled me as my body refused to listen to my brain
To touch my skin felt like fire burning through my veins, fire that ignited my predator
Hopelessly sinking into the bed that became an ocean, water drowning me and continuously pulling me further down
………
She destroyed my innocence where
“playing house” meant I played victim
and she played the predator
But this body is my temple and you
did not receive an invite to my
house party
………
They had the power to take my dignity into the palm of theirs hands and crumble it up
We are told when we crumble up a sheet of paper, you can never make it the way it was before
………
He threw me over his shoulder like a
rag doll and brought me to the place that
was once “my room”and is now “my nightmare”
But this body is my temple and not for you to play
with like a doll you received on a holiday
………
Words disintegrating from my lips with the ashes of consent and destroying my trust for any human to touch my skin
Circling the drain of intimacy
………
They strapped me down and taught me
that crying meant I was “asking for it”
But this body is my temple and
my words are louder than your lies
………
I wear the damage on my heart
My body used against me more than the number of fingers on my hand
………
But this body is my temple and when I
broke free of your *******
my temple grew taller than
your hands could touch me
………
I am a crumpled sheet of paper escaping the hands of my predator
Sep 25, 2021
Sep 25, 2021 at 11:35 AM UTC
To have them shipped across the sea,
sitting like ornamental drops
tinsel strung around your eyes
pocketed the tree
walking down sunset avenue
reeking of bamboo stalks and water chestnuts
looking for a place to submerge your treasure
with a rattling breath do you deflate
And the Oak trunk that grows unimpeded
hanging her branches
caressing the Spaniard shingles
the clay missionary tabs
touching the stucco with a golden blade
of sunlight
cutting a thousand little strips
to hang about the face
moving a thousand miles a second
stopped in place with the quiet repose
of a yoga state
humming and shimmering
yet let me be sweet oak tree.
And I wander through the canyon boulevard
between the rocky cliffs and the endless riff
of surf-rock echoed off skate parks
and riding the PC
highway hair bedraggled and snaked into next week
lingering bonfire on the cotton shirt
plant for plant
*** for tat
seed to breed
Now dance, you and me.
Insinuation
drooling salivary tongue full
bacon
pigging out on burgers
getting red-eyes from vegans
smoking plants
murderers
We squirt,
relish on the act of dying
all things dying
choking life second by second
dying to live.
Staring at neon fins lining the gravel lot
Koi flickering beneath the celestial night
Suspended pondwater
pondering
In surfce tension
the deep mysteries of life
Tracing the snake through the winding streams
we watch atop the rooftop
Gaia
Taking in the burgeoning
Ocean of incandescent tangerine
and Peyote-light
Cacti hidden somewhere between
the quiet slumber of mindless streets
aligned by formless hands
Drinking the mescaline
air
Twisting the nightly moments
as locks of hair
I curled them, slipping, within my fingertips
tracing the long winding road of Tao
along her shoulders
Enraptured by her sensual bliss
When I finally drifted along the clouded memories
of divine rumbling eyes
she disappeared into the sky
blinking along the Jet turbines
Never meant to be mine
for more than a night
Aug 7, 2018
Aug 7, 2018 at 12:25 AM UTC
Then snaked her hand,
Between the mountains,
Pleasures like delicious rains,
Caressing ***** grains of sand.
May 14, 2013
May 14, 2013 at 11:36 AM UTC
We sat,
******* the shreds
Of chicken
From our teeth,
In a cloud of smoke
From tempers flared
That burned to the quick.
The record spun,
The needle stuck
In the endless
Circle groove
At the disc's
Center, but
Neither of us
Moved.
We didn't change
The record,
We didn't
Shut the
Player off.
We sat,
And watched our
Fingers and toes
Evaporate.
We looked on
As the
Room dissolved,
We made no pleas,
Or any noise at all
As our world
Was erased.
In the eggshell light
Of our rebirth
The seasons passed,
With no attention
Paid, like
Sudanese children,
Left to collect sunlight
In the pores of their flesh,
Are ignored
By their God.
The air was a sea
Of vibrations,
Writhing and alive
In the periphery
Of our perceptions.
Do you remember
How it felt to
Be reconstructed?
Cell by cell
We came together,
Our blood vessels
And lymphatic tunnels
Wove through
Tendrils of bone
And wisps of
***** tissue,
Our nerves snaked
Their way through
The jungle of our
New-found existence,
A supercomputer
Materialized within
Each of us,
And they began
Discovering themselves
And each other.
We had arrived prematurely,
And our flames
Were snuffed out
In the claustrophobic
Incubators.
Here we now sit,
White noise
Filling the void,
Waiting for
Something we'll
Never see
Come to be,
But can't avoid.
Oct 26, 2012
Oct 26, 2012 at 11:54 PM UTC
Grandma's hands clapped in church on Sunday morning.
Grandma's hands played the tambourine so well.
Grandma's hands used to issue out a warning,
She'd say, “Billy don't you run so fast,
Might fall on a piece of glass,
Might be snaked there in that grass,”
Grandma's hands
Grandma's hands sooth the local ***** mother
Grandma's hands used to ache sometimes and swell
Grandma's hands used to lift her face and tell her,
She'd say, “Baby Grandma understands,
That you really loved that man,
Put yourself in Jesus' hands.”
Grandma's Hands
Grandma's hands used to hand me piece of candy.
Grandma's hands picked me up each time I fell.
Grandma's hands, boy the really came in handy
She'd say, “ Mattie don't you whip that boy.
What you want to spank him for?
He didn't drop no apple core,”
But I don't have Grandma anymore,
If I get to heaven I'll look for
Grandma's hands.
Jun 18, 2014
Jun 18, 2014 at 6:56 AM UTC
His long fingers clenched into their palms
His dark eyes were black with intent
Every elongated pause was an intricate harmony
gracefully accompanying the words
that tumbled from his cracked lips
He heightened himself and leaned in earnestly
Feverish want spilling into his rich voice
revealing the fear that had bloomed in his ribcage over the years
Fear that snaked up his throat and caught there
restricting his temperament
Fear that rose from knowledge of failure
Failure indeed lurked sickeningly
In the frosty air
In the purple autumn shadows
In the smell of hot cement
In the satiny pearl petals of the dogwood his mother had planted
He was a single smooth stone in an endless riverbed
Shaped by
the restlessness that flooded him
the desire that washed over him
the nostalgia that swept around him
Frantic to break out of the flow that was accepted by the crowds
Desperate for the peace that surpasses understanding
And in that moment
his finite experience and crooked path
meant less to her than the last of the cigarette she proceeded to flick into the breeze
Outweighed by her faith in the lighthearted boy trapped inside this troubled man's body
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 8:33 PM UTC
You snaked your way into my life,
You can slither yourself out.
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 6:15 PM UTC
Sky Afire
It started as a tendril snaked
And quickly caught my eye
That beckoned me to come partake
The bright majestic sky
From turquoise into indigo
And all the shades between
With molten lava spreading slow
As far as could be seen
With orange and corals juxtaposed
Against the deeper blues
And silhouetted trees in pose
Amid the great bamboos
The clouds were piled in tumbling flow
And darkened as they fell
To charcoal black, blood red aglow
At meeting with the swell
And as the skyflow met the sea
And seemed to melt within
The sea took on its vibrancy
And flow began again
And as the skyflood reached its peak
Engulfing and aflame
It seemed directly to retreat
As quickly as it came
The ashen grey began above
And slowly spread below
Till all was left in pumice drifts
Within its final glow
And now the show has ended
With the sky once more a sky
And the clouds and sea appended
For a witness such as I
3 Oct 2000
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 4:06 PM UTC
October fell in early July,
And it shattered in the form of memories.
We drove to Tennessee
You 18, just graduated,
Your girlfriend, the same.
I was 13, naïve
We drove to Tennessee
And I say “we”
Because I wanted to be just like you.
We drove to Tennessee
With 3 CDs
For 2 days
And 2 of those were Queen.
“It was summer”
And thank God for the AC.
The cool air
Made my un-cool comments
More room temperature.
Your girlfriend
Who became you wife
And my best friend
Listened to me
And laughed
And nothing else mattered to me.
We drove to Tennessee
And when we got there
“hey hey” was the sound track of the moment.
We drove to Tennessee
And I can’t remember how long we stayed
Which room I slept in
But other things from that summer
Became “a part of me”.
The 4th of July
Cracked with Pyrotechnics
And pop cans
And beer bottles
And thunder
And soon we found our selves
“caught in the rain.”
You were both 18
Grown
Mature
And all of this was demonstrated
By a dancing, and galloping
Through puddles,
And sheets
And drops of rain
With all of the other teenagers who weren’t 13.
I stayed inside
Warm, dry, and miserable.
My youth displayed
By a can of sprite
Dry socks
And too much eyeliner.
You all started chanting,
As if God himself had asked you what you wanted.
“Keep it coming!”
And I went to bed early.
The next day
Just like the sky
Things became clear.
We 3 turned into
You 2
And I.
You two went off,
With all the other teenagers who weren’t 13,
And I stayed behind,
Played with the children,
And went “walking” by myself.
It was summer,
If not evident by the calendar
Then the heat gave it away.
The next next day
You 2 were still gone
And I was left to be pitied.
Sympathy snaked its way
Into my three blueberry pancakes
Made just for me.
Into the play station
Where I played out dated games
When others wanted the tv.
On to the receipts
Of the clothes,
The earrings,
The movie ticket
Bought just for me
And just like me
They had people trying to get rid of them.
We drove home from Tennessee
With 3 CDs
And 2 days
And 2 of those were Queen.
The other
October Fall’s “A Season In Hell”
Guess which we listened to?
Guess which I remember.
Nov 18, 2011
Nov 18, 2011 at 10:23 AM UTC
Do not abort words from love's womb;
she will choke herself
because she could not be a mother.
Stitch lips together. Let silence,
nothing,
be purity.
Words end.
They
are hot and furious, oozing
sores relishing in their own
blood.
Organisms,
dull black embryos, eyeless
until
roiled on red tongues;
spluttered, screamed, snaked
out into being.
They heal themselves to death by the hemlock of Time.
Dying is a definite thing - words are not
immortal, not greater than us.
Not love.
Autopsies reveal varied, unwanted truths:
either
heart splintered too swiftly
or
poison turned flesh to gore,
cell by cell.
Do not abort words from love's womb;
you are wrapping the umbilical cord
around your own neck.
Sep 4, 2015
Sep 4, 2015 at 5:41 AM UTC
i had a dream last night that there was water in my lungs.
i could feel the ocean wrapping careful hands around my limbs,
caressing my thighs with soft seaweed,
my hands with gentle current.
i could taste salt on my lip,
the way a first kiss with a new lover settles and stains on the skin above your tongue,
i could taste the care the water was taking in taking my life.
taking it's time, the ebbing ocean snaked across my midriff,
hands on waist, wasting away at skin with salty touch as sandpaper
scraping away at my sense of self
i dreamt the water changing pace from calm glass coffee table top,
held flowers and coffees and your feet and mine,
overlapped and intertwined
and into
undertow,
pulling your hand from my waist
and your salt from my mouth
i dreamt that i saw nothing,
felt nothing
but your salty sandpaper hand scraping skin across my collar bones
as you pulled your coral reef body away.
the glassy water turned to pavement
and you left me in rapids under black ice.
i had a dream that i was trapped under ice,
with children skating on top
and i couldn't hear or breathe or scream
but i could feel their skates on my insides
they cut my hair with their blades
and as they spun in circles above me
i spiraled further into the depths of an ocean
that felt more like a fire.
i had a dream last night that there was water in my lungs,
and it hurt less to breathe then
than it does now that you're gone.
i never thought about how it would feel to cough the water back up,
until i realized how much it hurt going down.
and i was never scared of the ocean
until i saw it's vastness unescapable
it's arms
unrelenting
and it's love
everchanging
and i realized nothing's everlasting.
i was never scared of drowning
until i woke up puking the water i drank before bed.
and realized there was nothing more in my stomach
but salt.
Dec 18, 2015
Dec 18, 2015 at 9:58 PM UTC
My last Thursday class is over - my class-week is over.
Looking back at the science building we’d just left,
the hallway looked dark, like the throat of an animal,
the people snaked out like a tongue, the archway
seemed like a mouth - I shivered and looked away.
Lisa laughed, and my senses returned to reality.
The clouds on high, hung like fresh linens on a line
being dried by the sun in its Egyptian-blue heaven.
The air smelled rich, clean and ionized and ever
the inventive stylist, it periodically rearranged my hair.
Leaves rustled, sounding like a buzz of conversation,
as they rushed from place to place, as if late to class.
The breeze was working hard, in jerky flourishes,
like the strokes of an indecisive artist.
The afternoon seemed as bright and brash as a shout
as if it wanted, no demanded, our emotional attention
and I gave it, smilingly, ready for the weekend.
Nov 9, 2023
Nov 9, 2023 at 3:41 PM UTC
Those words are now meaningless
compared to what you mean to me.
Where I thought that there was no way to feel deeper,
you prove me wrong.
I am ice
and you were the cool breeze
that keeps me from melting and evaporating away.
No four letter-word could ever measure against you.
I was eating cigarettes for breakfast;
now I subsist only on the health of you.
I was dreaming of the day
I was born,
strangling on an umbilical noose;
you have slid your pink life-giving cord into my navel.
I was writing my suicide note,
but you came and lit it aflame,
blew away the embers,
wrote a story with a happy ending.
I dangled, atrophied, off of an edge,
my chalk-outline superimposed over the gaping black.
Your hair, strands of raven steel,
snaked their way through my fingers,
held me long enough for you
to pull me back.
You held my hand,
guided the crayon it held.
Where I saw only a blank
page, you showed
where the lines were and created
a piece of art beyond
anything the world has ever seen.
You are my life-support system,
Holly,
and without you,
I wouldn't be writing this.
Aug 24, 2012
Aug 24, 2012 at 3:50 AM UTC
***The third stanza can be read in several ways. It depends on how you read it (as two collums, one full stanza, etc.) Hope you enjoy :)
The headlines would never see Truth.
She is too truthful.
Their lies would never believe her.
She would scream
"Beautiful land taken away."
They would shout
"New zoos opening!"
O' humans,
You have stolen me!
I am your beautiful prisoner.
This dark place will never be a home.
My people will dwindle down.
They will become the ice caps on this warming planet.
People will disbelieve all they want until they see the impact
"Too little, too late."
Down to the bone my loves will gnaw on what they can.
Mother Earth Is the World
Food Supplies Gone
Water Supplies Down
And Father Sun Forever heating up
Can everything truly be done
Because people wanted to have fun?
Humans are you so shallow
That you let vanity corrupt untamed lands?
I used to be Africa a land of beauty.
Where even the blind man could see me.
I used to be Africa a land of love.
Then you took my people and made them slaves.
I used to be Africa a land of resources.
Then you took what you could
And stole the rest.
My sticky molasses was not strong enough to hold me together.
Instead I stuck to more places than could be counted.
The number grew until there was no more to hold.
Coming together became a chore.
I lost little pieces here and there.
They started to grow like the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle slowly becoming connected together.
Slithering snakes snaked their way up smothering my breath.
Snakes with innocence for faces and trust for eyes.
Soon my land was used.
Minerals and gems taken.
Goodbye darling tanzanite.
Food and animals taken.
Goodbye Quagga.
Impact has come and people now try.
They start to help Mother Earth.
Reducing, reusing and recycling.
They're efforts die as they see they cannot bear the tide.
They live with a history rooted in fame.
Now it seems their lives cannot be filled more with shame.
They stay under waiting for their blunder
to take its toll.
They have no misery in what they see.
They do not care about my history.
I start my flame
and light the embers.
I no longer an smothered
The humans are.
Mar 25, 2013
Mar 25, 2013 at 6:25 PM UTC
*
with
layers of
of timely geology*
carve me well...
*granite
hardness
hollowed
deep
&
through
such cannons
rivers
run...
flowing
snaked
in
fingers
scratched
across
an age of
dust*
- floored-
*with
mouths of
silence
open
in
blue
shallow
depths
of
breath
&
abandoned*
~buried~
***finds
***
Jun 7, 2013
Jun 7, 2013 at 4:04 PM UTC
Pain's accretion--black snaked with royal purple--
therewith and more of, in cold case of less--
pain inexorable.
Fear's favorite pet spoilt with handling.
Pain's redemptive quality is repulsed by plain
sight, it must mobilize malignancy, purloin the
jury, condemn, palm hope to hopelessness.
Fixity--its host must remain in firm attendance.
Enough is ready...a ripened type of monologue...
the crosshairs of silence.
To grow demented from overstimulation,
breaking the same news to what needs dying.
Fetal position suffices...warm, a spinning vinyl
record scratching toward dawn.
The woodwork calls a name--as a woman hoarse...
with labor pain...rebirth.
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 2:02 PM UTC
Linking the spotlight into the dark score
Rutting out the jagged envelopes that
Refuse to be opened, clinging onto their
Sticky tape with a passion; Don't ask me for
Release, I'm shuttered up, swathes of emotive
Blankets worn out from their duty to keep me
Warm; to blot out the morning light from
Penetrating my skull. Shame.....sorry self
Introduced to the firing line. BANG....the snaked
Tongued 'Medusa' who entangles her mind
With vipers, serpents dishing out their forked
Shots of maggot infection, generating wormy
Warriors burrowing into the ruby red warmth
Chewing and bubbling neuron to neuron
Exploding at boiling point into a vast mix up
A collision on course, snapped in two, vibrating
With sheer panic, wrapped in destruction.......
Utter bilge.......built this bridge
So I'll knock it down..............
to start anew
And so I smile.......
Jan 4, 2013
Jan 4, 2013 at 8:10 AM UTC
Whilst I was riding
early last eve
a peculiar thing happened
you'll scarcely believe
just to the left
out of the corner of my eye
I caught some motion
it was a surprise
the squirrel was fast
along the fence top did he
run along at breakneck speed
I chuckled to myself
but it did keep pace
it was clear to me
it wanted a race
A race it would be
man versus beast
defeat by the squirrel
was not to be
I could sense the challenge
in it's beady eyes
down the boulevard
we did fly
A man did approach
I veered to the left
he looked astonished
the squirrel just leapt
over the branch
that suddenly appeared
I took the advantage
and increased my speed
half a block to go
then the fence it would end
me and the squirrel
were neck and neck
racing for pride
who would be beat
we increased the pace
hearts setting the beat
then it happened,
a scrabble and a squeek
the squirrel had crashed
into a tree
the poor little guy
didn't see the branch
that had snaked across
his narrowing path
the end of the race
it happened to be
but defeat for the squirrel
brought no pride for me
I laughed to myself
and shook my head
and then I thanked God
for all he had sent.
May 16, 2013
May 16, 2013 at 8:34 PM UTC
I went on a walk today
I took a different route than I usually take
Snaked through parts of my past i usually avoid
For the sorrow or the nostalgia they bring me
Past the elementary school I went to in the 4th grade
Where i made friends with bullies and wore sparkly shoes
Past the house i nannied in for probably a week before i disappeared back into the bottle
And, by accident, really, past the house i later had my first one night stand
But it wasn’t there
It had been demolished and in its place lay a field of snow with a sign announcing a new building project
I was struck with a surprising delight
The idea that part of my past was literally bulldozed felt miraculous
It occurred to me for seemingly the first time
That things really do change
Things leave and new things take their place
As sedentary as my life has become
It’s hard to believe that anything takes on a new form
Across the street from the empty lot is Liberty Park
A park i’ve avoided like the plague for the past few years
I can hardly stand to look at it
But after seeing the remnants of my drunken hookup destroyed
I felt compelled to step onto the park’s outskirts
A flashback of walking with my ****** to get smokes came
And i stood as i watched myself slink along the grass with him
I saw the way she couldn’t breathe and couldn’t think
And i hugged her and she stepped inside of my body
And we walked
Then sprinted up the path
Saying goodbye, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye
Jan 10, 2019
Jan 10, 2019 at 3:39 PM UTC
Her puffed pink lips wrapped
around the **** of her freshly lit cigarette,
hollowing her cheeks and sinking her eyes
as if death breathed her in and exhaled her out
as the smoke billowed out her nose
like an early 1950’s ad for Camel.
Her blue eyes were never opened all they way,
the black lashes heavy from the piling layers of mascara
she never washed off and under-eyes caked
with a yellow-orange tint that sat deep
into her sinking wrinkles, but the way her painted lips
kissed that cigarette made my heart yearn for a faster beat.
In and out, death bathed in her every breath until
nothing but the brown paper, stamped with her lipstick,
remained. Her two fingers opened,
the cigarette still coughing up smoke as the toe
of her battered converse pressed it against the earth.
She waits a moment, looking out into
the busy streets of the city, until the itching of her fingers
is too much and she leans into her bag to pull out another one.
Through her heavy lashes, peaking over the basin under her eyes,
between the strands of her golden bangs
shown two bloodshot ponds that swallowed me whole.
The voice that snaked from her lips enticed me,
it sounded shattered and homely, rough and soothing,
as she leaned in and whispered
“Got a light?"
Oct 13, 2015
Oct 13, 2015 at 11:03 AM UTC
The once lively river dried, now it’s bare
Its sweet, flowing song gone forevermore
Life’s pleasant melody just isn’t there
And won’t be there to drown within fate’s shore
For I shunned hope, I shot down all of love
And cringed whenever all my problems came
Too scared to face all of these problems, tough
Regret I, for it shan’t e’er be the same
The river dried, the rush I cannot hear
Of azure streams as they snaked through life’s land
And o, ignored I every step from ere’
And each problem and every helpful hand
I stayed inside, abhorred the streaming glow
Never answered my door for hope or strife
And repeated such foolish folly though
Each day on after, each day of my life
Eventually I faced comeuppance, mine
For I deserve this pain and woe and strife
For I shunned all of bitter hap through time
For I had shunned all of the haps of life
Oct 19, 2013
Oct 19, 2013 at 2:59 PM UTC
I have yet to find a word that describes the beauty in which an object unravels.
There is, however, infinite words to express the madness one must possess in order to fall in love with destruction.
I do not know why the ruins of hearts I've never known stain my hands like the tar from a fire I never set,
Or why I feel like an arsonist everytime I try to wash the ashes from my fingers,
But I do know that I have said more prayers for the chaotic than for the sick.
I know that while the English language has yet to supply me with a single word to sum up why I find hope in endings,
I can describe in detail the way the walls of my bedroom burn like they are being ravaged by the flames of my psyche,
And how I have never felt more at home than when everything is crumpling around me.
When I try to explain that I have never felt safer than when my ribs were tearing in two,
Please do not deem me insane.
As if the concept of the deterioration of my own brain has not fascinated me since the first time "we're all mad here" snaked it's way through my consciousness.
I am a white rabbit,
Setting my pocket watch ten minutes fast,
Just to see who will run with me.
Digging holes in my skin,
Hoping someone will fall through.
And if I am mad,
Then you must be too,
For we are all just spilled ink,
Dying to turn blue.
Apr 17, 2015
Apr 17, 2015 at 8:41 PM UTC
Can you pour music into my soul?
Can you divide the lines between forgotten and unthoughtfulness?
I am strange.
Strange is my name.
I go by the titles of ****** God and the Devil.
Acting as one being, I am all powerful.
My words cut through like ice upon the ground.
Melting into your very core.
The common withdrawals of my life tend to create an atmosphere humid with lies and deceit.
Propaganda.
I am the overlord.
The great being that coincides with the path to destruction and sexuality.
A ****** moistened by the spit of a politician.
A reckless behavior, known by my cunning smile and grinning mouth,
I engross myself in the knowledge of good and evil.
The later being the most interesting.
Did you ever hear the story of mankind?
A dwindling pack of rats scurrying through life with the will for wealth, drugs and ***
A greedy coin collector locked inside an attic.
A basic complication.
The worlds most renowned contradiction.
A magnificent art of bones and skin.
A neck, a support beam in times of headlessness and ill-being.
I will forgo my judgement as a walk-on to Heaven's door.
A key needed, I use my snaked tongue.
A crime so easily forgotten by those that are rotten.
No longer holding back, my flames scorch your heart.
A thumping paper bag in a locked chest centuries old.
Can you take the distance, mile runner?
A treacherous land this is,
Filled with snakes of every color.
Nov 16, 2011
Nov 16, 2011 at 3:41 PM UTC
And as smoke snaked from between your lips
Like the angry ash of inactive volcano,
You said “They’re all a bunch of crackers, no good, no fun, no nothing.”
I smirked as I tasted Parliament in your gums.
“That’s enough now, let’s party” and we certainly did. You (featuring
me) hit up every street and every open door; we heard
the Music bleeding in the road, shaking the feets of the young dead.
As their ears crinkled,
their mouths dried,
And their halos melted,
I thought I heard you humming Satie.
But you were only coughing up nicotine
In rhythm to the dying song of an overdosing art student.
Feb 15, 2010
Feb 15, 2010 at 9:43 AM UTC