///untitled
i am damned, i do
weak, i dream of strength in two,
but i am one, you are you, tonite lets rest to morn's debut
a king sized bed, recite our dues,
wake, then sleep til' nite's blue hue
a story's read, sleep til' dead
i can see the sweet dreams dance in your head
these dreams aren't yours, sadly their mine
cause we're only connected by a hall
and the sounds of your crying
good nite
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au fond I am, Fraudulent lamb
sanguinary letter of joy
Fortuitously glib, Deacon of hades; madame
I candied my confection with cloy
surfieting sadness
, and love
i feel sick, and so I must go
///The Sparrow Sings at 6am
To journeyman of nite
The sparrow sings an familiar Restless tune
That proofs birth to our neighbours,
our insidious righteous boon,
Stripped down, a birth of thought,
Unto death hath been our right
Mine binds resemblance to the moon
Dark and Bright with life
Incessantly in my room
Absent, tonight
Egghead///
To the hole in my head, the crack in my skull
I thought for a moment, & that moment annulled
Deep space, thick liquid, like a womb I am full
My soul shifted a notch, a quarter inch to the bow
When my head split, so did my soul
Left brained and brained right, two sides took a toll
I spoke to my doc, "my brains feels sicks"
He said sit tight, with time illness kicks
3 months, 3 years, the end of my wick
Like a cracked egg, my head cant be fixed
///looking back
On the night that I died I felt nothing
But weightless empty thought that taught me of a scared and sacred taut veil of messy wrought scaled black in which I fought back my brain is messy I called my brother while I was dizzy and said there's been a crash i've been hit n it's fucking bad she's dead I don't know, I might die, I've got to go, I called back, I couldn't catch a breath my memories fade I'm in and out like time of day and I sit on the side of the road waiting for God to speak to me
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I lie in my bed it's 3:10 in the A.M.
Again..
My thoughts flow a stream of disorderly
Disconnected - they borrow from conscious heaps of discontentment
Unpleasant - I think back to one's nature, as good will is good for nothing, as is mother nature
Though still I don't worship any creator
But kneel over at the sound of the songbird who eats from my feeder
For she is my love, my God, my curator
Of life and will
Into death I can join her
When I turn to dirt