Vacant

abortive abyss giveaway

touching the outer layer lightly

bits and pieces flaked off 

to reveal the depth of charred remains

 

the hope of finding healthy tissue

was like hoping to gather leaves in a windstorm

a hollow shell, the final prize 

 

a figment of an imagined existence

cloaked in pallid-colored dreams

passed down through bargain basement ideals

 

whispers to ears void of tempered knowledge

and bright-eyed for a path leading towards a fool's gold

whose story continues to be told

 

lush feilds of blossoming trees and flowers

flourish within sight, but awareness has been retarded

for the sake of finding buried treasures, and mind follows

 

 

4:22 AM 7/7/2013 ©

 

..............

Vacant Eyes

Eyes Vacant

Neon-Sign Half-Lit-Sword-Swallowing

Blinking

Straight, a Big-Black Snake

Curls Down to the Heart

 

Why With So Many Bottles

Do We Sing-Slink-Along Alone

Why With So Many Words

Are We Still-Silent?

 

Can You Produce the Devil?

At Any Given Hour-

(Tying On His Shoes and Worried about Tommorrow, an Hour)

Will You Produce?

 

Sacred Sacrife In-Between Leaves

Five Colors

Don't Plot-It

It Ain't Cool Anymore

 

We Now Speak and Drink Easily

99 Of Us Didn't Get the Dinner Invitation

Get Me Fast to Greece

I'm a Plumber

 

Beginning Now

Stiff-Necked-Beast

A Mass of People Start to Revolutionize Peace

Draw-Bridge Pulled

 

It's Not a Castle We Seek

Nor Moat

It's Not a Castle We Seek

Just a Little Rain

 

Cool the Temperature on the Icicle

It's Running High Fevers

Stick-People Drawn Sunset

Who are the Figures?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Overwritten Despondency

every breath I take is another mistake, each exhalation, lingering in this lonely space..
i'd love to just break down & cry.. but puff, pass, i'll let out another deep sigh.. 
the taste of your skin is like... pale sin.
& your smile as dead as the love that's spiraling downward into the drains of past content..
it filters out all the shit.
your eyes feel like daggers, when they're on me..
maybe that's why you can't truly see.. why do you even bother to criticize me.. why hasn't God set me free..?
 
like a fish, starving.. going in circles, de-sha-vu, I don't remember you..
but my intuition tells me otherwise.
an insect, hearing it's last words...
crushed, beneath the foot of mankind.. what sort of man is really all that kind..?
a bird, rattled in a cage.. shaken up.. absorbing rage..
being fed the scum that's left, to hold you sustained..
 
it's like not being able to turn to the next page..
& everyone keeps writing over the page i'm on, & telling me to read it once again.. & again.
until it's all scribbles, on top of one another.. it makes no sense..
you might as well be spitting on me... this is an overwritten despondency...