My Fresh Flesh Hole grows dark and deep pushing through my molded meat patients wasted on a parasite shining through my spoiled side selfishly searches for a bloom of myself you haven't consumed
A strand of mylon ripped from my hand, metaphore for something you can't comprehend
In her Dreams
A cute princess and seven short guys mix it up with some witch in an old woman disguise
an apple as her weapon mirror as her eyes solitude in slumber until the peck of a prince passerby
in all actuality the prince was a sleeze owner of an apple orchard son of a queen
through mothers mixtures of highs and lows mirrors talked love was grown
a dream concoction sleepy seeds sewn in the fields of trees where beauty was found innocense lost
School bus ride
Stale scented air like the kind filling a ballon Empty candy wrappers on the seat to which your glued the trendy scribbling of the ones considered fools contrived after classes on the way home from school
Instruments covered in dirt dust mildew blanketed as if clean were taboo its my life my faith evote to you solid body strring detuned I wrap my hands around your neck and appologize for a days neglect
