i don’t believe
like i used to;
if you can strike down
the gardeners
who will tend to the garden
when the sun beats down
when crawlers feast on roots;
when you strike down the gardeners
who will watch over your tulip field
Tag: Death
fading
loose colors
twisting the ends
slapping the packet against tired wrist
i can feel
the end
grasping against air
pressed against my throat
inching forward
bloody nails held vacant
wasp fingernails to the hive
only one queen
feeding criminal
breaking bread
with a criminal
feeding blood and salt
from personal pantries
critters self to self
feeding beyond fill
spewing bones
like seeds from popeye’s mouth
love won’t you be
free from their violent chains
hands and knees
they begged for change
and they got bills
leap leap
jump jump
let the past be past
jump jump
the slam behind
is the closet for the nines
fines build
lines fluid
jump jump
the rope
jump jump
the broom
jump higher
higher flyer
on a billboard
off the closest exit
in the old closet
jump jump
the old days
on my way
his words carried further
deeper
on my way to heaven
please please please
let me hold on to
all of my
all of our memories
soaring higher than sora
to a kindom where our hearts
never die
please please please
on my
on our way to heaven
comfort nightmare
take a minute and relax
was it that serious
she spilled a drink on you;
flares burst like the fourth of July
she’ll never forget this night,
four seasons passed
n as she woke from her bed at the four seasons
from her comfort nightmare
paddle boat
worry rocked the boat
sent lifeless butterfly stroke
to the bottom of the creak;
sleep sleep sleep
little baby
rockaway
trot away
fuck away
little far away down the stream
lifeless cocoon
and an oar.
final ballet
words don’t travel as they use to
blocked by mountains
scared of river beds
drowning in wastelands
bringing death, to her knees
singing her song
that sweet
last song
haunted love
where did you go;
the days creek by
following whispers of ghost
sheer cold keeps me still-
yield.
they’ll follow me-
they’ll follow me ’till
i become them
until that day,
i’d like to spend them with you,
the last swish of quill
before the creeks settle in
tomorrow night i’ll be back
with the brief moments of silence
waiting
Saint's Muse 