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I got the idea from a Supernatural episode where the two brothers returned to their old home. It was gonna be about a person touring his old childhood home years after leaving it, seeing all the changes, but it kinda changed gears.
You dig deep inside, where you try to hide all the things that are ugly to your soul. Fear, despise, the bitter truth and the lies, just torturing you into a state of turmoil.
Listen to it beating. Don't be defeating. Release the weeping.
Raw and real and real and raw, you claw and creep and creep and claw.
Break it out. Shout out loud. Deep breath and sigh. Relief and then cry.
See it, feel it, make it, don't break it, you lose control, but don't ever fake it.
Remember my will. Remember my way. Remember the truth and live for today.
Spring clean your heart, and make a new start, to be the person you know you should be. Don't hold yourself back, from destiny, stay on track, and fate will bring happiness, you'll see.
she’s better than a gun cocked back with the hammer winding up for a wife-beater’s slap lips as tight as coffins nailed with finger bones
but colder than the corpse of a tongue inside i bury it the gravedigger of memories and hum the ashes to ashes rhetoric out of habit if i’d asked for a culminating kiss
and brought down necrophiliac name calling on myself they’d call me a masochist making out with iron maidens even
if i’d listened to her smoking Cheerio mouth i’d taste the blush of arctic iron and potassium nitrate lipstick she’d femme fatale an opening
from me to ignite the cold slug of a tongue blister lips give me what it’s worth in a scream hammer clang of concussion make her moan and shriek switchblade of a sound
“hold me” so i would original sin temptation like a stainless steel apple one chance to hold the warm gun red mouth in my forehead opening to the kiss same shape as hers drooling warmness swallowing bullets
staccato words punctuate apple-red stains in orchestras of hammers making the elegiac concerto organize its finale in bullet point contracts
sighs in the warm lament of a grey woman off the Pacific, knitting waves and birds across her shawl
weary of the remoteness of the sky, she’ll tumble in a circle to the grass and pirouette with leaves that flounce in cadence to the dervish strum of her ballet, rheumatic snaps as underfoot they keep her time
and drained by dance she’ll trickle a return to clouds, her old fuss and moan of being tired whispered in a yawn that washes out athwart the ocean
Secreted by a puzzle of leaves on which are written everyone’s story but my own is the path down to the old stage, surrounded by maples and worn out, some it rotten. Grey-blue bleachers hold the empty audience captive to a vacant play. Themes were migratory, a script re-written for the antics of the playground, for the dried-out grins of grandfathers who play chess in slow-motion, for a young mother with dreadlocks like rosaries and umbilical prayers, for teenagers hacking a white soccer ball in a ring. It’s been replaced with adlibs and keys to the exits of destiny, and though I was never part of the production my cue has curtained and though I have not the ears for this mouth, it still chuckles out the lines foretold by the piece of paper dangling in my face so everyone can see.
Sitting crosslegged with the long hair of steam tickling my nose from the green mug, little pieces of white peony and rosehip swirling on the top. Wonder if a child can long for childhood vanished in a swirl,
at Matt’s pool when we ran around and around and made a bathtub drain, it wasn’t dangerous then but the circles broken into a line, can’t go back except for now with the tea and my eyes closed
When did we get so old, it’s a question I’ll ask now, and sixty years from now when that second old age grows its long, grey hair down by back. For now I’ll miss when the tire swings at Winlaw made us sick, or spinning in the ring of girls with a blindfold of fingers
so when Melissa kissed me I wasn’t supposed to know it was her. When is a question that begun before I knew it started, and is doing laps on the dark lake of tea in my mug
rehearses love and sainthood snares eyes with girl-skin sashay on smooth yogurt legs, cold lips cadaverous with colors of alien fruit and tongues yoo-hoo mini-skirt winter squeals headlights to exhaustion, curbside promise after praying to business in the latrine
priestess showers in benzene of smoke orgasms screams at her god through beaten silence and cigarette lascivious prick asleep in waking fantasy next to her
suffocation of sheets force a lick through her thighs, the vixen whimpers through the sinister service and knuckles of paper crush the mattress on the ride to the wastebasket
I dont know what to call this but I like it and that's all that matter. More or less this is just random spur of the moment stuff i've written. You can try to make sense of it if you like.
So here they are again... once again looking down from the cliff of dreams... wondering where they went wrong.. to have ended up here..
Lost from everything else... isolated in the center of a mouth of darkness... no one will bother you... no one will save you... except the man in the dark hat..
he's the man who will let you know... when to let go... of everything you have gained so far..
Let if fall... let it slip from your fingers.. watch it drift into the dark pit of oblivious nothing.. never look back.. only turn into the new fate that awaits you...
Where have you gone when i cant find your heart anymore? have you decided? When will you? Will you ever? Should i quit this endless game of loneliness?
The only fact that remains is love.. pure and blissfull... that fact lives in all who have touched the flower of companionship... When it has came there is nothing more that can be procured from the human heart...
here they are again... standing on a new cliff... a cliff that is made of bronze... There is no climbing down at this point... too steep... surely you'll die...
but that's the thing... it'll come soon enough...
The crowd wears black cloaks covering the crevices and crates that time has placed upon them...
Regret. Guilt. Is that all that holds us back? Or is there something else?
There is something else that holds us back and that is faith. there is only one person who decides the fate of the world. and with the push of a red button the perks and promises will all be washed away in a engulfment of flames.
flesh?
My only friend lies at the end of the road starkfully driven into madness within his own mind... finally there is a connection between the two wandering. finding. wandering. lying. wandering. grasping. wandering. dropping. losing.
Now the paths intertwine finally the crows come down preying on the finality of deadly untrust
I found the salt. it was under the table how did it get so far underneath?
Wishing i was here in the crowded blue looking at you above the land of the lonely souls in the crowded blue standing next to you
Where have i gone to come so far away from what i want alas, there is a reason for everything
I just wish the answer would come sooner In the crowded blue I want to meet you and leave the world behind me and have you next to me in the crowded blue ill lose myself in your beauty and never fall down no, never fall down
HERE....
COME....LISTEN TO MY WORDS CHILDREN
I WILL NOT LET YOU DOWN LIKE HE DID
HE IS THE DARK..SOULLESS END OF THE WORLD
I AM THE TRUTH
Land of pink trees and lilly pies what happened to your nose would you like some fries? of course, you arent like me you want onion rings instead
BUT ALAS.
They come without notice flames. a baby sheds the tears of innocent lack of knowledge a old man sheds the tear of relapse a woman sheds her coat she puts on the armor and fights against the wind
impatience lead them to this village stone walls crystal skies ironic contrast between good and evil shattered innocence imputed before a snake he strikes venom.
Can you play checkers? Ferris Wheel. Can you plat Monopoly? Falling. Can you play Scrabble? On the crowd. What a sight... the popcorn and cotton candy mingle with the seeping blood and bone fragments. an ironic scene.
Drift around in my mind. Get lost in my words. let them flow over you. take control of you.
Manipulation. Popular faces. Bumbling talk show host Screaming rock star. Calm soothing lady at the booth. hanging from strings. Manipulated.
Screams of daggers before the initial plunge into the flesh. Is there never regret?
SUDDENLY.
A BURST OF LIGHTNING BRUSHING PAST THE SHOULDERS.
This is where it's at at the end of the cliff. looming over the sea of merciless lies. Silence above.
Go ahead and take the picture. But don't take the frame.
numb hands. It's cold in here. the finished product could melt away.
sneaking in the wilderness. lost in it's love. Finally someone takes your hand. finds a special place to put you.. on the mantle of happiness.
Face reality.
I used to wear Spiderman PJ's to bed every night, then I woke up one morning and said to myself "Self, your to old for this spiderman bull." So I went to target the next day and picked up some Wolverine PJs cause man, that guy stabs people. C. Walken