You lay your head on the pillow
And tell me about your day
I sit on the floor next to your bed
Hanging on every word you say.
You complain about your work
the weather, and the traffic on the highway
Then you ask me whats new with me
I keep it short: nothing important today.
You put out your hand without saying a word
I get up and next to you i lay
We watch the television silently
And pressed to your body, with your fingers I play.
And just when I think our love is lost, you tell me the words I want to hear
I missed you today, by the way.
Don't worry if your eyes meet
when you catch her as she trips
She'll call herself silly
you'll smile and call her cute.
Don't worry if your eyes speak
when you stare across the room
and forget everyone around
as the violin starts to play.
Don't worry if her head finds your shoulder
and your hand finds hers
when you sit under the rain
shivering yet warm somehow.
Don't worry if you walk her home
and she'll tell you she had fun
you'll stutter and confess you like her
she'll giggle and say: me too.
Don't worry if she kisses you on the cheek
when wishing you a goodnight
you'll smile and turn to leave
as the butterflies
We all have been there,
the lovers of the night,
blowing wishes out of dried lips.
i never inhaled the clouds, but the sighs have pushed them off the
painting.
This is death, clarity.
This is death, the clear blue sky.
And the crowd vanished into the spiral, flushed through my throat.
Narcotic girls and paper boys with androgynous toys
that would've made Blake
smile.
And the third ashtray overflowed with spawned pollen and ripped
stockings, that the fag-ends of coffin nails became vultures above my room, before the
twilights of death rose between the burned curtains and screamed
it is morning.
Sympathy for the shade,
I shall confess
not for the common sins,
nor for the crimes,
nor for the forgotten sacrifice
Or the passive empathy of no avail,
That palls with a shroud of lethonomia,
but for my uttermost folly,
the immaturity,
not the one of the child nor the insect
but the one of the parasite,
the one that seeks no further inquiries,
of the meaning... the meaning...
My lingering stupidities
of a teenage queen, whose vintage heels never endingly stumble
to the thin lines of a false pope.
I shall repent,
for being a part of a country,
intolerant to a splendor,
intolerant to the reversal,
of which suicide is but,
Let us be taken,
by the spew of others,
by the lies we are vowed,
and the promises we never heard.
Let us be baptized,
in their repenting lakes,
let us all be called sinners
and do what it takes,
to find the missing spark
of the burning grass.
Let the waves of their rules,
drive your boat to their soil,
and let the shore be your grave.
**
Marry the fool and hang the clock
soon they say that god will knock
and while you'll be watching the sea,
having its dance and drowning your glee,
you will not open the door..
No...
God will stay outside
in the cold.
God will stay outside, in the rain
and he'll be there in autumn
and
Wallpaper of choice: cemetery angels Skin of choice: snow white Favourite cartoon character: Jack Skellington, Emily the strange, grim reaper Personal Quote: "she stepped on roses and swallowed the thorns"
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