Love.
Love is a relative term
living in a coffin
with a corpse and a worm,
banging on a box
when your heart starts to burn
it will bleed
and spell out hidden messages to read.
For the blind its a long winding road
living on a mountain side
dying to explode.
Cover me in ash
when the sun sets passed
and the silver grey moon
floats away in my wine glass.
Love.
Love is something that we always want.
Physical affection
an erection
and a g-spot.
Disease rots away every relationship
the only thing I want
is physical companionship
And, i'm 'bout to rip every love note
from the belly of the beast
to the veins in her throat.
She once wrote a clear pathway home
with a number two pencil
attached to her silacone.
I would watch it spinning
at writing
and almost lighting the world ablaze
and every time i would walk on stage
after that
i'm afraid of the act,
sucking on a smoke stack
with a shop vac.
I love you
I swear
it's probobly the way you groom
your fingernails and hair
by the light of the full moon.
I might assume
that the feelings were reciprocal
if every ritual we celbrate
involved a sacrifice to the gods.
It feels odd to be selfless
so light a candle as a guide
to those selfish ways
and watch the flames burn wics
bent in the night
by the wax they drip.
Do you got a lighter?
A moaning pillow bighter?
A lover not a fighter
when i'm standing right beside her.
I thought the light
that she could eminate
would never break apart
but its shadowed
in the silhouettes of body parts.
When I ask her if she even knows
my name
she draws a line in the sand
and turns to walk away.
I'm so lonely caught up in yesterday
that it looks like the future
will never get laid
so if the present plays
his whole stack of cards right,
he'll get to sing songs all alone
every night.
Hey, you cute thing!
I can't talk to you
so i'll make up words to sing.
And, I'll live in my song
counting notes and measures
'till my heart beat is gone.