it is not often that i think of peace or of the soldier i believe war is inevitable
dying to stay in tune they rattle eagerly to play one last song
it opens with a violin slowly bowing its premeditated plo… stalker lurking in darkness waiting for a victim to stroll by the verse comes out quick
early this morning fresh was the only way we could imagine ourselves soft to the teeth
when it is most impossible to be there for yourself
after nineteen years she thinks of him as a fart something to air out
let’s say you’re trying to go somewhere who isn’t? but let’s say you never get there
in my timber heart her kisses became axes clearing a forest
sometimes the butterfly is afraid to leave the cocoon that its wings are too bright that it might be shunned by caterpillars
for all the good of the day she sought the places where youths did play a few kind words to say a light to make her darkness grey
she always turns a light on when she thinks of me checks under the bed to see if i left behind a kiss
voices spread through the room like butterflies or wildfires inspiring some to try a new way of thinking
when the piano notes are dancing rhythms of candle light it’s hard to hear the fire go out the room cools its quiet wakes your fear
desert town of fools born of sand and rainmakers devoted to thirst
Once I was a psychopath who took quite a shine to his ax. Many times I’d leave a blood bath… but meticulously clean, and particularly keen,
