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Shrapnel and SlagWhat I wish to say
Kept all restrained
The molten flame
Caged in throat
Thermite and spoken pyre
Reduced to slag
Tears of mercury
I'm all but used
Less than no one
As a discarded novelty
End of Daylight...Slit my throat, cut me down, tell me I'm worthless.
I won't stop you, I want to disappear.
Make it sting, make it burn, let me suffer.
Don't stop till I'm numb, carve the flesh from my body.
I know I'll smile as the last drop of blood leaves me.
Let the night take me, leave me for dead.
His Story.In what was a beginning
There was man
Many of man,
but yet one
He was a curious one
Pure and innocent at first
He pondered the meaning
The meaning of the order
The order of the behaviour
He extended his fingers out towards the sun
and unlocked the door
Out burst forth the mystics
The sybils, the muses alike
Surrounded and enveloped him
with cloaks of His splendor
Covering him with blankets of truth
And drowning him in love,
He found it curious,
The new feeling reciprocated,
He sang this rapture to the world
And let the masses know the way
He drew the spirit that became the word
His word of love and law and life
Her ocean blue, the submerged star, and 5 AM.Swimming to the bottom of an infinitesimal ocean of blue and green and white and light, three, maybe four drain spouts (positioned at regular metered intervals). 3, then 4, to 5 in the morning. Swimming with the one I love.
Swimming to the bottom of an infinite ocean of blue. The sun's subtle caress playfully peeking over the treetops high, over the picket fence higher. A curious light shines bright at the bottom, the loving eye of the bed, the urchin, the abyssmal seabed. I dip my head beneath the surface and proceed closer. I dip my head beneath and slowly float towards the star.
Swimming to the bottom of her ocean of blue. Four walls, on
UntitledCigarette in hand, scotch on the rocks in the other.
Ceramic knife on the countertop. Lemons freshly cut, squeezed over the tracklines, rabbitholes in his right arm.
Shattered bottle in the corner. Remains of a rag, burning sensations licking at the doily, stinging on his injection sites.
A bead of sweat, rolling down his brow, his neck, his chest. He takes a drag. Another bead. He reaches behind him, a familiar wooden vestigial tail, finished and framed around steel.
He puts the gun in his mouth.
Days of the DaffodilsWinter didn't last forever, like I had
hoped it would. I wanted to see my
breath as I exhaled To hear snow
crunch under my booted feet as the
snowflakes danced to soak my clothes
and my hair.
I would return home and embrace the
odd sensation of my numbed and frozen
body slowly heat up again as the warm
hot chocolate burned my tongue and raced
down my throat. I love hearing the fire pop
and the windows crackle with the dropping
temperature, as if they would burst at any
However, Mother Nature and I did not seem
to agree, as the next day, I awoke to birds
chirping outside my window. The ground was
no longer whit
SparkWe used to love so dearly
the ring on your finger was proof enough.
But good things don't last forever, and are often spaced few and far between.
I should have known
I should have known
Endings always come too soon;
like when you finished that book, then stared at that last page.
You read that last line over and over, searching for a hidden meaning
A perfect paper airplane.
Glories upon glories couldn't patch this up
let alone a good sewing needle and strong thread.
The most skilled set of hands would puncture a wound the dot of blood staining this patchwork.
When something is truly lost&
SuffocationHer wings are broken,
clipped with the broken promise:
"Tomorrow will always come."
Lies weaved themselves into the walls
and are showing through the peeling wallpaper.
Written from floor to ceiling by a monstrous hand
are tallies Counting the days