February 2012
49 posts
8 tags
H.
What’s coming through is alive. What’s holding up is a mirror. But what’s singing songs is a snake Looking to turn this piss to wine.
They’re both totally void of hate, But killing me just the same.
The snake behind me hisses What my damage could have been. My blood before me begs me Open up my heart again.
And I feel this coming over like a storm again....
Was rumaging through my drafts... wrote this...
I’ve grown bored of your predictability And your bite has become dull Your apology has no script And yet it has been rehearsed Rehashed And recycled For the same scene of a different act
I’ve burned for you on this altar Hands tethered with leather straps I was the smoldering Lazarus The burning lamb Flickering at your feet begging for forgiveness from your crimes
And when the...
We reacquainted beneath the amber streetlights of a place all too familiar. Without warning, he raised his hand and brought it down hard across my face. The sound of his open palm forcefully finding it’s way to me reverberated through the empty ghetto.
My eyes lit up and my stinging cheeks lifted as I couldn’t help but smile.
He remembered.
“There is always something ridiculous about the emotions of people whom one has...”
– The Picture of Dorian Gray, Oscar Wilde (via thefirstexperiment)
“I felt a tremendous distance between me and everything real.”
– Hunter S. Thompson (via psychedelic-freak)
January 2012
131 posts
