transfused: bleeding finger tips over your tan washed drum kit dragging your worship like a rotting corpse. early on sundays to meet before wandering eyes can undress my wishful thinking;wishing and put her in wolf fur. i am sorry for missing our date not one to do that but i can't promise that it won't… Continue reading igor
Tag: Literature
heroes rising
trouble is they have been here on the street singing for a nickel 'this is art' blaming the system for paiting a red 'x' on the front of their backs
who are you
power to the nightmare calling Julie; she came with a Cape caught in a turbine and gone calling Julie; just a name i read in a book someone across the globe reading a book with the name Tyler.
silent auction
i do not remember the last thing she said as she walked out with crumbled panties and a ripped ticket stub
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
twelve seconds
solid yet transparent single father of a blister memory thorn the size of a skyscrapper over twelve seconds large feuding over many coins or a six month contract for a home overlooking a fence and some kids walking home from soccer practice flipping coins n sipping pop
borrow
they drink to forget i write to remember those are always the first two things people give up
playoff game
we lost. we were barely playing, showed up late cussed each other out finished strong too not show up when it mattered most; it's not all you i know the ball could have been better not perfect, just better we were never perfect just humans showing up each game playing for our lives
memory is a bloody river
chances are you'll forget; the long nights the honest hours the weakness; and remember our last fight.
Saint's Muse 