blood rush through my veins
restless bound to wandering
i the seed of Cain
a haiku
Addiction
PTHH SERIES <8>
PTHH SERIES <7>
custos placitorum coronae
sorry i haven’t been by in nights
ive been on the high and drunk
running after your unrequited children
do you know how hard they live
the chance to win is really small
walking with your zombie children
we’ve learned a lot about the battle
whispering strategies into starving ears we crawl
above the city and her walls praying
dusting lime on dying children
time my only mother
time you have been my mother
a neutral righteous witness teacher priestess
self infliction my addictions there you stood
clocking the hemorrhaging of life
you not a crying virgin
me not a prodigal child
time your love is always tough
heavy handed in my thoughts
wasted in my inner voice
you continue to birth me
unto gray colored spectacle
time a savage fighter woman mother
slowly through your passing hands
do i learn to howl with pulsing throat
all of my passion all of my rage
you guide me through this valley
in front underneath above and behind
the shadow of man
where i sit betrothed
to another day of tumultuous blessing
vidrio y vala
ahora estoy cansada
nadie me mira
puedo cruzar el tiempo con seguridad
a través de este camino
y disfrutar
de que estoy rota
en pedazos
cada uno de los cuales
es una bala gitana en mi corazón
https://www.instagram.com/p/C6pqkukr0Cg/?igsh=MzRlODBiNWFlZA==
broken heart tanka la girl style
the poetry in
your deep soulless eyes like a
gg allin song
to think that we both wasted
one another for so long
with you
at night we hold our knees tight chests broken
we wish see light while dark slips by unseen
the road moves fast we bend to it alone
the day its stars do smile at will between
your soul sore hands do beg for any mercy
our arms in flames scream out stop now unspoken
her eyes dull knives blood shot tits dried starving
with you i die in vain no chance running
haiku for unit 213
the
last
day
he
smiled
and
stood
quietly
to
feel
God’s
rainbow
bless
him
still there
long gone are the days
my black back pack torn on the left side
my pencils and pens leaking poking into me and each other
between the barely cracked calculus and English literature text books
hid my shame
granules and grams of daze
smoke screen of reality
that monument to beyond desperation
magic and inaudible inside the halls
carpets the only witnesses
to the end of that road
paved with bad intentions all the way
men and women have become a mush
in the gut of torn illusion
bile dripping from its fangs
a smell of the bottom line of nothingness
lingers in my eyes as tears collect like astonished ladies
my right Doc lost somewhere on the 8th floor
my spirit mortgaged to the deceiver
who at the end of the spectacle
is not the one to blame
there are no rhymes roses stars or razor blades
just a fleshbone ghost out of place
words less spoken 