voices spread through the room like butterflies or wildfires inspiring some to try a new way of thinking

that is another man’s suicide if i kill myself there will be hookers

decorated in soft skin vines of fire drape around her fireproof face my eyes kneel in worship of a goddess passing by

i am my own ghost i am haunted

clear skies are the feathers with which the lesser gods tickle their twats and dicks sunshine is the gleam of a puckered asshole

if you dream me dream me without these horns without scorn back beside the lord

man that lives to yearn sips at the tit of poison no will, but to die

everyone’s eyes are filled with what could have been some girls are alone others accompanied by lovers all waiting for their names to be…

he does not to leave the vine out of any loathing for his kin he simply can not stay waiting around to turn to raisin knowing that out there somewhere

loading the chamber to kill that which he fears most one round will suffice

my body is not a temple it is more like a corner bar in Wisconsin kneeling

I like to pretend in alternate uni… where everything is almost the sam… just different in a few spots under another sun the two of us worked

dehydrated my heart became small hardened by the air of hopelessnes… with a little time and some water it has grown and changed

and death is spreading through the… violets are blue and the zombie in the mirror is me when the bones start

a foot wants the ground take each step with gratitude to walk is to live