Sunday, December 27, 2009

Watch your words,
watch your step.
He's listening,
he's watching.
You've seemed to impress him,
an accomplishment.
Months go on, he is yours,
you have him.
Conversations with ease,
every touch seems effortless.

You've seemed to have lost your self,
a death, what has happened to your caution?

Watch his eyes,
watch his grin.
is it honest?
is it meaningful?
He does not worry, therefore he must not care.
This is different, there must be reason he's lasted,
Unlike the others you've tossed and forgotten.
Navigate through your dead thoughts, find why you love him.

Thursday, December 10, 2009

A Yellow Bruise

A mist drawn skull reflected on heated glass, you saw death before it came,
I can see a lot in you, a fires flame turned blue.

A Sinatra voice, lulling her into a mossy daze,
Now a danger to myself, a self portrait on the wall.

In the house, your a lover in a hole, an inescapable soul,
A hideous thing inside, I waited patiently for it to emerge.

Now needing restriction, i could no longer obey a strange conviction,
Trying to respect unwanted honor, you held your tongue and listened.

Decisions unable to make, typical to cling to memories you can not fake,
You could have fallen into red lips and a yellow bruise.

Salty water in her eyes, hiding from ever growing lies.
In the end you will be tired, eventually put to rest.

Burnt Hair

When your feeling lonesome a sinister grin can kill, now gone i echo through your head,
we heard them stirring in the dead of night, " WE'RE ALIVE, WE'RE ALIVE!" no time to explain all there is to know is "we're alive!"

A new series of a hunter green blur rushes by, "There's someone you've got to meet, she will kill you with love; love love love." So I stand and I breathe, with my lungs, cold, wet air.

Waiting for her, I stood, buried in thoughts of burning hair, draped in flowers, (you must be careful where you lay your head.)

There is such a lot of world to see. SPRING to life, budding conversations with the heartless ones, we would meet up with sad singers, swaying to a rhythm we didn't have to admire.

A new hunger would arise needing
A meal that was memorized