the starry nights let me remember
the shooting stars make me think
the bright moons do not let me forget
the flying fireflies want me to ignore
I cannot help but remember

I wish to have dreams
but wake up to nightmares
the darkness sends a shiver up my neck
the eerieness is like a demon lurking, waiting to invade
the quiet curtains of night scare me
the chirping crickets remind me

the sun has started to rise
but the light does not affect my eyes
because I have seen too much
I will not forget

i touch yer skin;
you touch my face;
we broke our hearts
in ev'ry place.

my ev'ry dream:
you felt them too.
my ev'ry bone
feels underused.

technicolour dream,
black 'n white scream.

it used to be naught
but primary.


I touch yer skin;
you touch my face.
you break my awe
in ev'ry place.

my limbo love:
i carry thee
as to Valhalla
you carry me.

i touch yer skin;
you touch my face
you tie my heart
in filigree lace.

we used them past
biweekly grace
my sleepless love
yr shattered heart
my shattered face.

round'n'round we doth embrace.

maybe this time
we keep the pace.

mybe you won't break
my filigree lace.

It’s a short walk from here
to Sneads Ferry Cemetery where
the bored to death are buried -
I go there every now and then
and read to them a poem by Lorca
the fortunate who died so young -
bled beneath an olive tree, a fascist
bullet to the head, no pain, I envy that
his fast demise, no boredom -
or surgeon’s knife to try to slice
away the little flowers of the grave
I would take his bullet any day -
before I’m bored, before the blade
before I claim a plot, or take up space
here in this ******* boring place.