Sleep me. Solvent skin smoldering with a calamity of touch. Far away and staring at little gods in their torn dungarees. The street outside her window. Broken crayons in crippled hands molest the paper. Memory is the cruelest kind of love anyone can give.
The streets are a secret she's never told. Pathways converge in rabid jousts. Take the door off. No lock can keep me out. This numbness. It makes me strong. It makes me weak. The darkness spreads its leg to give birth to another dream. But I'm still here. Awake. And searching for my dignity.
Trace me. Like a corpse. I'm almost there.
Wearing each other in this cold remorse. The anarchy of a thousand orgasms invading my judgement. Leeches. Sucking. Vigilante lovers build their forts under my skin. These little wars keep us busy.
These little wars become big ones waiting on a winner. Snakes without venom still biting.
Friday
12/07/2007 12:37:00 AM
Sad Labels:
acceptance
,
manic
,
nefarious
,
suicide
| Life Poems |