Monday, October 31, 2011

Passive Smoking...

There once was a time when I'd be dressed on this day...dancing and running down the stairs when the moon came up. Happy like nothing in the world could ever make me sad. It was because of you. Only for you.
They said what are festivals when you have none to share with..I say what are festivals when you dont feel alive, even if it is the celebration of all things dead?
And you left and I feel like the airs sucked out, of my room, of these four walls that contain me. In all its glamour it wont adorn a life or a mirror upon its wall, for what have I to see?
And the past haunts and its only dust, that infects my lungs and kills me but I dont have the joy of jumping around in the mud and creating it anymore.
Of rolling in the sand and into the sea like the world was free to be mine and mine alone cause I was a part of you, or you a part of me and we didnt have to split our property and live in isolation on two desolate continents or what could only be named empty.
I wish you were here, Id be at the cemetary today, possibly taking names..or dancing and chanting around a fire while i was dressed in garish make up and blood dripping down my lips. I sound possibly insane to any reader, if any reads this..but I know this would make sense to you.
So sad I want to gorge on someone's blood and kill them and I dont have the pleasure of being a vampire.
Only passive smoke my darling.
Happy Halloween.

Monday, April 4, 2011

Cold Showers...

In the cold light of the morning,
there you are standing up my dreams,
and I try to hold it just a second longer,
just to see you smile then fade away.

Trickling down my body like cold water,
not sure I could take it, but too painful to resist,
And i can smell the hope and faith mix in blood and soap,
as you wash it down my drain and cease to exist.

Looking into that ugly mirror,
I see a reflection of white kissed blue,
and when this ice heart melts in shades of red,
I  can only search for the fire that is you.

And in some unseen territory,
I imagine the source from where your light shines through,
but as fiction builds inside my lonely head,
wonder if I really know you.

Sitting on granite, chalking dreams,
theres a comfort this cold floor cant deny,
easing into corners, shaken, crawling by the walls,
with etches of my fingers beginning to seep in.

Looking past the grill outside my window,
couldnt find myself waiting for this day to begin,
and when Il smile like a child when an airplane goes by
Il still wonder if it were you
Il still want to go home

Somewhere I know I'm really all alone.


Tuesday, March 8, 2011

Underneath Her Clothes...

Underneath her clothes,
There is a heart, barely beating,
slow, like molten gold,
its virtue, rises and falls.
But is it her face that denies it?
Or her ugly shows through the mask?
the mirror cracks in laughter,splitting,
but nobody ever cared to know.

Underneath her clothes,
there is a woman dying..
But they only see her chest heaving,
not her running out of breath.
And she bends to clutch her knees,
hoping someone would carry her home,
lay her down on a bed to rest,
and for once not hop in.

Underneath her clothes,
theres a will that cant keep fighting,
arms open as she feels it drown,
body sinking in this well.
Underneath her clothes,
theres a child who wants protection,
but no-one turned out the red lights, Roxanne.
And you have no price, to sell.