Memento Mori

Sat, 15 Sep 2007 01:14:19 GMT

Switchblades buried in the sand

"I don't know what that means," he said

But then again,
Neither does she
If only she knew
If only she fucking knew
How to hold a knife
She'd have the world in her hands
At her feet
In her bed

But the punches all fall softly
And the kicks a little low
And no two people hold their knives the same way

--------

Words spill from my lips
            like the blood in your veins, ascending towards your skin
                                                 (Could I have accomplished that?)

Calculated
                   (With no thought at all)
Measured
                 (With lack of reasoning
                  With lack of value)

And there's too much of this running through my system

Too many questions
Too many fears
Too much of myself

Someone ought to call an ambulance
Before they need to call the coroner
Tell them to drain out all of the "me"
And replace it with HIMandHERandYOU

Repeat
Increase

Until things stop making sense
And I finally understand

--------

"X" marks the spot where her heart ought to be
And the smirk on your face where her fist ought to aim

But she Can't. Throw. A Punch.

In a perfect world
In an ideal scenario
There'd be blood pooling under surfaces
Fingers grazing delicate lines and reasons
Whiskey laced veins and breaths

But she Can't. Throw. A Punch.

I can't throw a punch.

8/12/07 and 8/26/07

Sun, 26 Aug 2007 21:33:52 GMT

I Never Can Keep Up, With the Latest Trends

I,
I did not cry when you
And your lover died
When tearstained blooddropped from your eyes
                        (Did you know I would go for that?
                         Your dagger wounds look so gorgeous from across the room)
I despaired
Rather
When I learned the fashion,
Is staying alive

                         (Ahead?
                          Or behind?
                          Failing either way.)

Causes, Effects, and Unrelated Chain Reactions

They tell me alcohol
Alcohol
Leads to sex
But Love
What will lead to Love?

Damned Bohemian revolutionaries
TruthandLoveandBeautyandFreedom will never be found
Love is enslaving and your beauty unfaithful

Stop

We are all too keen to write about what we know nothing of

There are headlights caught in stomachs and you
You don't tr(sarcastic grin slathered words)ust this truth

Quick!
Back to your room!
Where you can be alone.

Uhhh...

Sat, 07 Jul 2007 04:39:26 GMT

Er, right.

Poetry journal.

Erm....