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
Tag: Death
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… Continue reading haunted love
closed casket:
i crave the peace trapped in a box of screaming wildebeest stomping around singing it's a small world after all, this is what they'll see on my final days death by Lion King, they'll laugh at that joke on their final meetup doing what it was intended, never want them to see the madness just… Continue reading closed casket:
Saint's Muse 