The stars are falling from the sky
The moon no longer wains on high
It's grown dark and cold
For the sun has been sold
Darkness reigns
The demons run free, they're the few that remain
Human life is over
The Jinn dance on the clover
The lion will eat the lamb
The light no longer stands
The cloven hoofed one rules this world
The one with the horns that curled
The Banshee no longer screams
Everyones already dead it seems
The shadow men walk to and fro
With no particular place to go
Only the creatures of the night thrive
Eating off of the dead one's hide
Vampires slowly die
With no human blood supply
So demons, ghost and Jinn
Is all the company the cloved one has with him
What a sad creature he has grown to be
How he begs for the light to see

Today I'm a ghost,
the cold air whispers through window sills
and hot tea warms up my cup,
with a sip of mediocrity left in my mouth.

Today I'm a ghost,
the thoughts of you fade away
as imprints of blank space are what left remains.

Today I'm a ghost,
my skin pale white and my face numb,
I'm left with nothing.

Tomorrow your ghost leaves
and I can no longer be a ghost with you.
I'm not a ghost, I'm just alone.

You broke my heart
And had a part
In my early grave.
Yet you stand here and wander,
In a never ending ponder
Have you come to your conclusion?
Your eyes are scared
But your face holds a scowl
As if something is haunting you.
I forgot, I'm a ghost!
And I poison your dreams!
Maybe that's why.

Today I saw the moon and fell asleep
When I woke, I found myself in the ocean, very deep
I swim above and walk myself to home
Filled the tub and washed myself with foam
Then I changed the sheets so I can sleep on fresh
I’ll clean tomorrow and it won’t smell of flesh
My dream is dreamless, it’s quiet tonight
Until I feel something next to me, it’s little and it’s white
A rat
So small and fat
I’ll call it Cheff
It’ll be my BFF
We’ll fly together in the house
Like ghosts, me and the mouse

The universe that i know contains infinite infinities
The more i travel the more i see and more you think

There's an abyss of abraxas in dylan dog's comics
Here's an enstraged ghost of che on the motorcycle

We made it plausible for the pagat ultimo's elegance sake
We seek for the most Beautiful to crash us like soft waves

The immortal Beauty is the terror for the mortal passangers
The immortal Elegance is shown as an unforgettable life's style

You want the depth, you play games, cast spells, and reinvent
You want to become a persona grata, the gravity ***** you in

Today i thougt how nice is to draw a bit for a change
Today you didn't like to have hollidays from a belief

I have to acknowledge the worthwile sands of time
I have to succumb to universal subconsciousnesses

Mine unimportance is a hanging shall on a tied stallion
Mine thoughst fly high as two falcons toward your star

Thine tea is served with blood, sweat, and entrapement
Thine turtle is a giant alive planet, a colourful mounted

One

The Stardust Inn had no sails of silk.

The wooly sheets chafed his sunburnt face. He couldn’t sleep with all those demons glaring at him. The ***** maids never washed the blankets and they stank like dead goats. Nobody ever cleaned his room, or bothered to replace the soap, or replace the dead lightbulbs, or fix the faulty ceiling fan.

The potpourri made the goat smell worse, somehow.

Dead goat. Dead flowers. Dead people. Dead tired.

It was hard to mend a broken soul, surrounded by such paper-thin walls. He’d lay listening to men and women shuffle horizontally, sweating and thrusting themselves raw beneath the scratchy sheets in the bed next door.

A cockroach scurried away across the carpet, over the bare foot of the Ghost where it sat crooked upon a chair in the dark. He always wanted to tell that Ghost, if it’d just fix its posture it might get some rest – but instead, never said anything at all.

The woman next door out-moaned the wind. He looked up at the Ghost, and the Ghost at him with large black eyes. He could almost hear that tortured spirit say;

“Now you know what I’ve had to deal with.”

The man beside me, he spoke in staccato sentences – as if his lips had forgotten the shape of words.

He said he’d been walking a long time, with a hungry thumb stuck out into the road, grasping for the wind beside passing cars. With tired eyes he watched them move on and blur into the faraway horizon.

He’d spent many days out there beneath the meat-eating sun, hoping to find himself in the shade. By night, he slept beneath blankets of stars and dead leaves.

A ghosted-out drifter upon the loneliest roads, appearing only in the transient headlights, and then gone.

I asked him where he was headed; he said it wasn’t what pulled him, but what pushed him instead. There was no beckoning light. He said the shadows, they snapped at his heels, and there was something in the deep lines upon that weather-blown face, like country roads – and I believed him, and kept my foot down upon the pedal.

He said a lot of things, in that strange, broken way. He said a lot of things for the longest time, and then for a longer time still, said nothing at all.

I’m not sure which was worse.