Blank page
soon to be filled
with
all heart
needles in each cell
burning in all
muscles
sleep in all eyes
testament to having
all given up already
cliché
action of morbid
sadism
this place, *******
that place, worse
“Nothing will change when you get there.”
People don't.
Places don't.
High buildings,
they are not sails.
To distant lands
where everyone is in love
and time is perfect.

Instead.

It's gutters, toxic.
It's sewers, pollution.
It's ******, it's *****,
It's an emetic given ******,
as one force fed ****.
It's lonely.
It's alone.
It's time.
It's empty.



________________


­
It's loveless, callous, wrong, degenerate.
Empty,
empty,
empty, again and again.

No these buildings only
house the soulless vessels
of dead.

They are death.
The lights.
They are the city dying.
The skyline.

A skeleton.

Bleeding out
the last
blood in
it's marrow.

The City is dead.

I wanna live in the ******* movies,
I wanna cry every time I get kissed,
The tears will taste such of salt on the breeze of the sea,
And nothing will lose it's saturation or contrast with time or wear.
As promised.

And one day I'll get married, and I will be her prince,
And small snow angels will grace a cake,
With identical caricatures of our likeness.
No lackluster no filler.
No omission or revision of courage,

My life's the movies and I never lose.
I'm a hopeless romantic and i get right every word use.
I always know what to say and nothings to chance.


My life's stuck in the reels,
I get a second chance and the splice is just so.
My children I push on carousels with doppelgangers of animals.
No one even questions.
They are mine.
They laugh,
It's in sepia as they spin around; and love it and they never die; and we live fresh air; and my heart never plummets.

Like a meteor,
Like blasted Orion,
Falling down from space.
My life hangs on the bandolier of that sky giants frame.

We are the dust of romanticism's books.
We sit on the pages and speculate every hook. Every line.
We fish hooked in lines of lies.

My life’s an 8 1/2 by 11 of all the pain I've ever felt.
My wife’s a scar that shreds my heart.
My children smiles are fake lines, I part.

The problem wasn’t the lie of love.

The problem was that I believed.

The problem follows not the roses petals.

The problems the thorns I eat.

My anguish, pain, hatred, and sadness will live forever.

My body will mourn and wail with the sunset of dusk on the grave of loves hoax,
For eternity.

My arms have been.
Cut off.
Feet.
Nailed to the floor.
I don't know what,
But I'm doing it wrong.

I feel so much.
At stake.
Like stakes through the heart.

I am grief incarnate.
No one's died.
I feel like all,
the flowers.

I'm sitting in a gravesite.
The ceremony was beautiful.

Was it.
0nly held.
And was I.
Only to be put in the ground.

I feel petrified in dirt.
Then dismembered,
De-powered, and swaddled in earth.

Can't move at all.
My brain's been eat out.
Imprisoned in this bed.
Being swallowed,
Whole trying to keep.

My insides down.

But it doesn't work

The king is dead.
We fed him knives and liquor.
Anything to seal his fate.
That much quicker.

The king is rotted in the media.
The fly cored out his body with maggot young.
Bled the liquor out with a funnel and dug in the carcass;
For blood rusted cutlery.

Calm and focused.
I lose my love for his liege.
As he ***** all the women, made our children believe,
He's the answer to questions,
In the ether still linger.
I burn up the vapor, with his name ghostly whispered.

The empires dead, we are red in the face of the answer,
The king wasn't there, now his bodies a phantom.
And I’m not shoulder deep in his blood from shoveling
But shackling myself in a corpse wrapped for posthumous reverie.

The sovereign lives!
He is you, not me.
A shackled neck for every broken king.

Self ownership ends, with the plows yolked to every sheepish smile, pan the lens.

The brain flows top down in the system of men.
This grey matter cage is forced through the gin.
Our corporeal visage is saliva in the face of the Prometheans before us.
We are the ******* if we don't roll fates stone,
And our eyes aren't picked out.
We should burn in that fire that so melted the wings of Icarus.


I'd rather my entrails eternally settle everyday in the belly of a crow, than be a stone with rested moss shaping the kings carved throne.

Encrusted with Slave Carcasses.

Lonely, Sad, Men.

I wanna be remembered for my lack of integrity,
my pessimism, and my doubt.
"The life of man, solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short."
Is the fine point in life.
Se la vie - de la mort.
Such is life-as in death.

Such is life of Death.
"Life's horrible at best."
Well **** that thought,
and die in your chest.
"You sir, are a *******."
I'll never be as famous or as bright,
or have shining achievements as adorning night lights.
Sconces.
Crowning my mantle or hiding dusty walls;

But you’re dead now and your body was all
The end of mans night has come, I see an endless morning.
Not as a prophetic insight; but as a lonely mans ending story.
The prosthesis of the heart.

This empty ***** bottle,
has been cuddled and swaddled and squandered.
In my ***** it seeps to every dame between,
a dad and not knowing her own preponderance.

I ****, I ****, by the ****** of my hilt,
of the sword of unrighteous, self help,
and filling their wombs with guilt.

I've never helped anyone all of my life.
Though they would tell you different mistruths,
of their positional view, so skewed by proof,
undo, that I sent them through.

It's  a fun house of lies and mirrors shaping figures,
of veneers, so botched that plastic surgeon quacks wouldn't own up to
the scars.

I ferment peoples living.
I turn drunk ****** into angels.
I mask charlatan as queens,
and poison my own gut with the fakes in my head.

Crops die.
Crust subdues verdance.
Chronos rhymes the days and night.
Course subjugation to penance.

But now I seethe my own head into my throat,
and end in ink wrote as prose.
Killing beauty. Art.
**** Art.

Today is.
Death.
Tomorrow's not life,
nor living,
breathing nor breath,
oxygen's just a molecule,
it causes no spark,
except in molecules charged,
with dividing and subdividing,
and rejoining and conjoining into something that can use it.

happy flights :)

I left my heart in a dumpster.
My life in a gutter.
I shutter when i whisper,
We once loved one another.
As cold naked in the alley,
Under street post lamps.

Dark and damp, dark and damp.
I lay heaving cramps.

Everything is ugly its all grey,
As dust storm in the dead sea,
Every blink,
sand will fling,
to my eyes in my dreams.

The dust cant cover up your trashed out corpse.
Holes in your neck and feet,
I listen to your voice.
Save me. Save.

Longing and craving.
Save me. Save.
Death for today.

This desert of the city behind the pizza parlor.

I haven’t left this spot since it happened.
In between this depository for waste and my own waste of space.
Phantoms **** themselves, picked on by rats and freegans, and murderous ruffians of soul.
Everything here in this xeric hole.

Kills. Just kills.

No. Save me. Save.

I couldn’t my darling now your lost to this ****.
And with you alone my body shall die.
I shall lay with it here under this deadlampost moonlight.

We lay exhumed, tissues being destroyed by fungi,
destroyed and hungry, dead and corpsing,
mute, yet singing.
exalted, grieving.
love couldnt save us, yet the powers that be,
neglected our bodies,
lead our essence to become one with the streets.