Lines and lines and lines
upon skin, upon life, upon reality
lines I can see with my eyes
overlapping everything.
The world becomes a spiral notebook
written with dialogue
Yells, and screams, and whispers
crowds the page
Dreams becomes colors to splash
and stain
to overpower, and disappear completely
Black and white
becomes the paint on my palate
and chisels and saws as my brushes
To chip and chip away at the walls
that keep me locked
up
This cage is more lines
preventing my words from
ripping the page
that has become my world
fragile, stiff, uncomfortable
Something to hold me as I stay still
My eyes become just a line,
clenched into the dark
to not be able to see the world
that has begun to fall apart
My mouth will become a line too,
just another in a world of circles
To stay closed for words I know
will destroy what I have carefully built
around me
Lines and lines and lines
to distract me from the curved ones in
everyone else's eyes
lines and lines and lines
to carry me home when my knees give out from below me
So many lines
I cannot see
for lines over lines over lines
scars over top of each other
it stings
but I know I won't fall apart

eyes dazed by magenta blaze

            skin torn by piercing thorn

                      blood drop tickles zinc hole in morn


she knows her season is done

               a petaling head will droop under afternoon’s Sun

                         abundance is a prime piano note

                              •¥¥•

frugal the piano notes sound

                 her head ***** at midday

her season embraces her

                   with blood bleeding through as blush

her skin translucent calls

                       magenta gaze closes lids

There is no knife that cuts my skin

Just too many bright reflections

Good words are screaming from within

And blood might help confessions

I’ve read so many similar words on here

In some weird way that fills me with fear

I can understand it’s romantic, I guess

But for once in my life I wish to hear less

Little red drops, they won’t help the pain

Big chunky bracelets on your wrist

It makes you feel like you’re insane

Yet still you remain, and still you insist

I see young old skin
Fearing to feel
Paint wearing thin
Truth in a ring-pull

Deliberate distraction does what it must to retract us from us
But none of this has stuck

The privileged pretend, the poor attend
And stringed ones will strive for their view of amends

So shoot off their judge wig as fast as they send it
Use humour to poke, laugh like a blanket

Lie between the meadow and the edge
And wink at clowns with the mask of death...

Life’s just a riddle that none of us can answer
we’ve got some leads, we’ve got some clues.
Still the answer eats alive like a cancer,
and the treatment is something I’m like to refuse.

It was raining
as always in September.
They were complaining
about what; I don’t remember.
Reputation staining,
or maybe full dismember.
In need of some training
or my tempers need to be tempered.

It’s true you can never go back home,
being on your own doesn’t need to mean being alone.
You can gift the people silver, gold and chrome
and they’ll still ask you how to skin a bone.

Life’s just a puzzle that’s missing a piece;
you can try your hardest to fit in another,
or you can accept it and leave the picture incomplete,
and spend the rest of your time left to be frustrated and suffer.

It was a cold December,
some would say you could smell the ice.
I only seem to remember,
the nerve of those celebrating, bleedin’ Christ.
Start a fire but end up with embers
I think a spark or light would be nice.
So I go in search of vendors
but they’re charging far too high of a price.

The nightmare had a nightmare of its own
never learned to share even though it’s full grown.
You can gift people blankets and tapestries that you’ve sewn,
and they’ll still ask you how to skin a bone.

Life is like a flower
it blooms out until it drops.
Each day hour after hour,
until time’s ticking then stops.
For treasure I still scour
moving so fast my steps are hops,
and the floors filthy; needs a shower
but I think I’ve broken the brooms and mops.

It’s true you can never go back home,
the path is covered by weeds and stone,
and to each town and city you roam
there will be those who ask how to skin a bone.

my nose runs
Not cause I’m sick
It happens everyday
Because I pick

Dig my nails
Deep in my face
Leaving ****** holes
Looking a disgrace

my nose runs
Not cause I’m sick
It happens everyday
Because I light the wick

Pull some smoke
Leaves grown from hell
I’m an adult now
Who will you tell?