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Cry out your bitched eyes
of a bleeding state surprised
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Looking around its so absurd habits in life yeah what have you heard?
Eating your life and spitting it out
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4 veins cut open wide.
given no time you have to decide.
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crush the petals and stab into you
a thousand years drowning in tears
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An 8 story building: My blood running down the wall.
Regurgitated by the tortured sky I ask the reason why.
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to not be expressing, that is truly grand
fascist and senile, you come to understand
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Frozen in the tortured skies
the blood runs slowly down the wall.
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The aspen cares of the juvenile distillation
reflect the archetypal bliss
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alive and broken and slaving inside, please let me sleep within you for a year.
Flowers turn their backs and writhe in disgust, a wraith comes in and blinds me with fear.
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You find your thoughts and self within the writhing of copulation but not of that of procreation.
Still framed in disgust and latching onto a permanent fault, others pass by and obliterate with a single look.
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Flowers in bloom, yet a visage of disguise shields us from that which we would love.
In a request for silence i extol myself over perilous mountains.
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Chasing after time and combusting the mind.
Swiftly caressing a hatred born in confession,
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scaled shards of glass, attributed for film inspiration. basking off crexed shadows.
a green pitcher negating portrait views never fading into the sunset lest a stairwell.
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Exhumed by the tusk of frustration.
Begging for silence and screaming for a void that i can never elate myself upon.
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regret, recall, the turpitude.
Of the day that wastes and collects the shards of your broken dreams.
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Empty are the words, I breathe out so cold.
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Scored in death, twenty thousand to one
Fifty million faces, bleeding under the sun.
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Five straight limbs, transference into the phyx
Captivated, falling down, into the abysmal Styx.
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my own self annihilation. at its peek...
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note the duran duran props. :]
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Drilling into my brain, I enjoy the pain
Information meltdown I require a figurehead
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Lined paper, a flagrant deception of combated wits. No one understands my poetry. No one likes my art.
They say, “Yes its good.” But their words fall apart.
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At night we have dreams
And why? To stitch our seams?
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I’d dangle ten stories for you.
Shattered bones hidden in a shell that you drew.
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To death, we'll razor our throats
Then we'll hide the scars with our coats
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imagism will forever be an imipramine, an imino imidazole
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I bite the wood
that cracked my head open
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Screaming wind
In my face
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Mutually exclusive I'll forever be
Until from this restraint I am set free.
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well it may sound absurd
i want to be a wreck for you
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Harum-Scarum, Rip-and-Tear 'um
Still 'um, Chill 'um, then Kill-and-Fill 'um
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A dream that you fall into
You hang on to the facts, but the truth overtakes you.
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The order of life we seemingly compose
Is indeed false and ineptly a prose.
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Instead of always hiding
I now can turn to you
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