02-01-2013, 07:53 PM
My thanks to Leanne and Lucy (stalker) for helping me. Very much aprecciated. I hope it reads better now.
Turds of God
Not a biggie anymore
to surrealize my being,
born in an implosion
of Beckettian mantras.
A pale pulse shivered.
My lines seduced by booze
reduced to typing
my rant straight out:
The winter had decided
not to come upon us today-
Instead it chose procrastination
and blew warm rainy winds
into our faces.
There’s some April to come yet,
as unloved as before:
this is the fifth week of the year.
It meets me unprepared,
I’ll try its tribulations:
danse macabre.
I macaronize what
it holds dear
because it does the same to me.
I cannot fight it but I will.
I love those fights,
that can’t go well,
because they’re real
and leave me hanging
in frowzy, sneering alleys
because they tell my tale.
Lonesome crows sail
like turds of god
across my sullen
deep white-yellow skies.
Allow me to step out a bit!
I’m dying
Just as you
But a bit soonishlier.
To plot this up
I add meat
To be torn apart
Just for you Heslopians, (I am not satisfied with this, but i want to keep soonishlier ;-) So I dunno yet).
Wise guys you.
Someone at least should benefit
It’s cumbersome but
having but time nothing
why not go there
wasting your life time
making sense?
SENSE
Wounds
Pain in my lower jaw right:
see your dentist soon.
Not me, bring on the pills.
Once you wake you will know
How and why and when
did it all go wrong?
I fucked her good this morn
And now she’s dating.
Don’t get me wrong
Just know that I do not care
As long as the pusher’s coming by.
She’s dating for fixes, I know-
I know, I know, I know
It.
Poison
I’m inserting my
poison right into your vein.
I can make you love me, you know?
Just takes the sec
Morphine rolls out
inside of you.
But you’re innocent,
so I step back.
My rule being:
Don’t fuck the
virgins.
--------------------------------------
listening to Soul Dressing, performed by Roy Buchanan:
http://youtu.be/EEeoqx2WPYQ
Turds of God
Not a biggie anymore
to surrealize my being,
born in an implosion
of Beckettian mantras.
A pale pulse shivered.
My lines seduced by booze
reduced to typing
my rant straight out:
The winter had decided
not to come upon us today-
Instead it chose procrastination
and blew warm rainy winds
into our faces.
There’s some April to come yet,
as unloved as before:
this is the fifth week of the year.
It meets me unprepared,
I’ll try its tribulations:
danse macabre.
I macaronize what
it holds dear
because it does the same to me.
I cannot fight it but I will.
I love those fights,
that can’t go well,
because they’re real
and leave me hanging
in frowzy, sneering alleys
because they tell my tale.
Lonesome crows sail
like turds of god
across my sullen
deep white-yellow skies.
Allow me to step out a bit!
I’m dying
Just as you
But a bit soonishlier.
To plot this up
I add meat
To be torn apart
Just for you Heslopians, (I am not satisfied with this, but i want to keep soonishlier ;-) So I dunno yet).
Wise guys you.
Someone at least should benefit
It’s cumbersome but
having but time nothing
why not go there
wasting your life time
making sense?
SENSE
Wounds
Pain in my lower jaw right:
see your dentist soon.
Not me, bring on the pills.
Once you wake you will know
How and why and when
did it all go wrong?
I fucked her good this morn
And now she’s dating.
Don’t get me wrong
Just know that I do not care
As long as the pusher’s coming by.
She’s dating for fixes, I know-
I know, I know, I know
It.
Poison
I’m inserting my
poison right into your vein.
I can make you love me, you know?
Just takes the sec
Morphine rolls out
inside of you.
But you’re innocent,
so I step back.
My rule being:
Don’t fuck the
virgins.
--------------------------------------
listening to Soul Dressing, performed by Roy Buchanan:
http://youtu.be/EEeoqx2WPYQ