the darkness is back i tripped my load was heavy and i trembled the darkness is there behind the curtains in my things in my mind the darkness cool calm and causing a vortex of loathing into my self the darkness i hear you but i’ve got to get up now i don’t want them to know
going slow like its some strategic necessity
no matter what you do
they come back at you
pitiful
yeah on your own
the way they talk about you
yeah
i might know what like…
although ive been right here
i see you world
but you don’t see me
my words clear as a bell
you can’t hear
look
here i am
see?
it’s the little poisons she thought as he spoke about trials foisted upon him as a child by the needs of selfishness and delirious desires of unbridled women his skin pocked with stab wounds stitched up in classic county hospital overworked student staff he groaned in self pity he’d forgotten why he was there in the first place we spoke for 23 minutes more then parted as patient and professional
i have walked in the magic and slimy entrails of the night you can sniff the carnage reapered dreams collected bodies bought sold butchered put back whole on the cool objective table of community tax payer yet the sheen and cigarette scent of your rugged lips captures what is left of my imagination the face ive worn the whole day through with guilt rage pain and embarrassment in the pores cracks a useless smile thinking of our bottom halves entwined twisted and penetrated in a vortex of denial and after all of these years that calloused touch of your hand intrusive through the strands of my graying hair
i like the beauty of my last slice of bread soft angled fresh complete i like its humility and the nourishment it feeds me my days are short the nights slip through my lashes and my mind but the blessings are endless when horizons are gone words are rationed and wings downtrodden
it continues the heat the history slow as fuck although it was a good day WAR spilling the wine through my ear canals petrified by the bullshit of LA but i love her the only mother wife side whore she saint i could die for otherwise i too lust and look after those unwitting complicated boys of Porciuncula in my day dream i fancy i am like William Allen or Johnny R pragmatically im just a xitana malvivida
dull the sky amid smog sin cocktail
thoughts blunt against my skull
drink without soul
noir talk lady cries
her man is always right
yet never is he there
crescendo music hear her cries alone
on the sidewalk
on a night like this which is all the same
my glass runs under still they eyeball my keys
do gooders young and haven’t lived long enough
to feel to feel to feel
words less spoken 