Tuesday, November 15, 2011

11/15/11, 4:45 am; A Story.

I suppose it doesn't matter to reason
dirty and drinking from puddles
who is this 4 am saint
offering only love from a cracked hand
outstretched after such a journey.
Free of you at last,
we who spent the last week
rolling and fucking in this
painfully fresh glow
of cardboard burning and you singing
songs you never wrote
as if I am to believe you.

This is me!
I am fetally warped
and lying until you speak
with open door
and no more dying but to die!
This is excitement of life and love!

One boot in front of the other,
this is where it all goes wrong
so explain to me please
the look of mad joy
on my face!

and it will be your lesson,
not mine,
in the mean


Dancer's body
to drive me mad,
clean house to spit
down my prudent throat
and I will
like the virus
I know
No doubt,
I have played the weak card
far too fucking long.
My lungs are borrowed from dragons,
and I learned my lessons
in Hell.
Fuck you
fuck you
fuck you
I have plenty of hair to burn
and your stars
will mock you
and your worry
will smother you.
You never
should have
let me in!
Fall back on safe boys.
Safe boys, safe boys.
They don't know how to kiss
your legs.

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