My burning desire,
You've buried yourself deep & guised yourself well.
Hidden by an illusory veil of happiness, a congenital virus of an idea.
Move away, motherfucker, move.
Smoking as a vice, drowning; taking long pulls I dive from the highest board into an open container.
From past to present, my outlook on you & all of this is parti-pris.
Pretension aside, inside glowing, I'm blowing on the hot coals until I am burned by an ember.
Thank you, though.
Silently weeping, secretly smiling, consumed by consumption:
Absolute hysteria is recognized.

Needles

Needles.
The bitch rest's, heaving, taking in vast gulps of air to fill a tiny space.
The day finds empty promises, broken oaths; final stroke on hand to fill the empty cup to the brim.
Blood rushes in; rivers of red wind their way through high mountain tops, low valleys; a plateau of lost thought.
The cock, the sparrow, the armistice;
lay down your arms.
Lay flat on your stomach, face first.
Dive into those lowly avenues.
The bitch awakens, disrupting all things.
The fucker hovers over me, he draws first blood.
I am a slave to all of these.
Needles.
Needles on the fuckers arm.

Sleep Through: Platitudes Of Self

Sleep Through: Platitudes Of Self: Platitues of my alcoholic mind. Follow your heart child, but lest you forget, you have sound mind. For the comings & goings of thought, th...

Platitudes Of Self

Platitudes of my alcoholic mind.
Follow your heart child, but lest you forget, you have sound mind.
For the comings & goings of thought, the fleeting emotions, the swelling of my heart, I stand strong.
Broken walls, shattered stone lay cast about my feet.
The earthly tremor; sadness leaps & bounds with venemous rancor; pulsing, I watch the rise of self take place.

Where you seek God, you follow lonely roads.
Highways of nowhere, love is nothing, forever more. Ephemeral.
Bleach stains my eyelids; all is dim as I slowly open my eyes.
Light.
A concentration of light sits above me, focused, focusing directly onto my face.
I swim in & out of conciousness.
I remember long running beaches, the warm tide gently splashing my ankles.
I remember lonley mountains, the red sun bleeding onto each face.
I remember dark rooms, curtains pulled closed, pitch, pitch black.

In a room where God rests, the bastard child dares not lift his tongue, lest he be cast down with heavy words.

A stones throw away from my heart rests nothing; a sliver of hope holding in place that feeling, those mercurial images, those words of candor.
Where you seek God, you follow lonely roads.
Where you seek love, you climb creaking steps.
These things burn my eyelids, such as bleach.

In reverence of holy figures, shapes swim in the incandescent glow of tomorrows sun.
In place of woods, where trees grow tall, silent shapes of my forgotten mind take place of mirages glowing, high, high.

Where god rests, the bastard child sleeps, you forget where these avenues lead.

 I forget to spit, yet, I cry.

In time of fire, I dwell in this furnace called life.
In time of Ice, I sit atop the high mountain peak & gaze up at the starry sky.
Penetrating is your thought.
From willow to elk, from clear stream to quiet desert, I find the expanse of thought encapsulating.
Shake the branches, shake them hard. Gather all the fruits you may for more knowledge of tomorrow.
In time of life, I sit & gaze up at the starry sky, the pale moon & I, quietly thinking.
In time of life, I rejoice for the simple pleasure for all that which is encompassing.