I canít write anything but words of fear, dissolving into mumble tones of graphite madness.
An endless growth of paper gashed with flat lines.
My empty poetry and my empty heart vaulted with quivering words in jagged lifelines.
I only dream of the sun, swinging eccentric like a slapped gas lamp. Darkness and light flash insanity, multiplying painfully in a dream of no division.
I love a girl whom Iíve yet to meet. She is soft as a moth, lips dusted princely yellow with wings of pheromone tentacles. A single tendril gently pumping an abeyant heart. A forest of vines choking lungs with bluebells and foxgloves. Her blink sending eyelashes raking a blood path down papyrus cheeks.
I live and breathe only to seek company of gigolo cigarettes to tongue me oblivious gray. Munching blood bathed diamonds all before it slides off a licorice tongue.
Iím afraid to die because I know that the stars will be blood stained in tribute to this meaningless life.
I feel everything and nothing.
I fear everything and nothing.
I dream nothing and I love something that is rotting away.