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12-17-04

@7TH HEAVEN

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For a second in the early morning

Between sips of coffee and cigarette smoke,

Flashbacks that used to burn my eyes grow dimmer, and dimmer

I feel the boredom,

Turning my coffee into a gray tap

Turning my cigarette into a bundle of wire

Dancing in my mouth with each drag.

Making random bruises and scratches

Till it bleeds into my cup

And the fairies are drenched in blood.

The lantern that feeds me light explodes

Shards of glass mixed with halos

They pierce of my eyes and choke me softly.

My brains drip onto my clothes,

To add some color

It reminds me of the flowers I had.

Clouds circle me,

Infected with vultures and little gold fish

They beckon me, to the street with red lights.

Where bedrooms are cages

And innocence laid to rest in a small rubber tube

It was the color of the moon

We all turned the color of the moon.

Currently Playing Reign in Blood By Slayer Angel of Death see related

That places in my mind, your face replaced by white noise.  Your legs are spread, but inside your still a little fetus, waiting to escape.  Your scars gotten so smooth and your tears of blood have turned grey.  You hesitate to hold me, you job was just to make me cold. 

The dim lights didn’t make me blind like I hoped; now vultures plague clouds of the same hue.  There's not much writing in sadness, so thank you for teaching me to hate again.

I am jealous, and I can't be a slut no more for I don’t have the courage, there's a plant growing between your legs and its carnivorous and white.  For all of you who create a slut garden out of concrete, my puns are intended, and my clichés are divine.  And if days lasted 15 minuets I would have found my love a long time ago, the one whose soul I've stolen.   

Currently Playing The Cure By The Cure see related

I know I'm falling deeper,

I could touch your eyes,

I'd rip them out, so I could try to make her real

If I can remember,

There was something else wrong with me

We climb up the stairs, into the dark hall, to find the closet with waterfalls.  I'm running out of metaphors to make myself sound cool, but if I tell you what I am then you will never give me a chance.  It’s a sad thing that I can sit for hours, organizing my thoughts with colorful post-it notes, rearranging them in a conversational style.  I can build faces with the letters, relationships with the faces, and destroy myself with those relationships.  

            She said to me words I can't remember, but they are like sadomasochistic restraints; they asphyxiate the heart from all that’s necessary, and I delude myself; creating something nobody is ever meant to know. 

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All the time you spent

Hidden behind female clichés

Could have been spent destroying me

To be polluted by this,

What makes clouds grey will soon begin

To fall on our heads

M is for

Masochism