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Rated: 13+ · Appendix · Tragedy · #810194
3 poems/1 prose. Loss, addiction, nightmares
People are opinions
Lips move and minds
crumble under the weight

I am separating from influence
to be alone again

I need new secrets, new lies
that only I know are true
Whispering to the dead
"Where are You?"

Here I wear no mask
hold on to nothing
save the nothingness

God is not dead
because he never
did exist
I will go where the
Idea lives

A house where no garden grows
A prison palace for a plastic rose

--------------------------------------
*Cry*
All skull and roses now
your ashes in urn
and we all fall down

A Son and daughter
A City that never
did sleep well
sober
tears to fill the well
the well flows over


Your heart was as big
as your habit
and the both of you
were the best of me

all of those years
we spent chasing
heaven through
the streets of camden
just to find out that
the dead still are not free

This is for you,
like me,
a violent peace

the aftermath of a war
the triumph of
an endless
Tragedy


----------------------------------------------
Requiem Mass at The Church of the Radioactive Apocalypse

This is the shit of the sheep, the voice of many who are none disguised as one
I can see the bright sky exploding the bombs bursting in air all holy hell and holocaustic hogwash the junkies will be calm and content the whores wit der tricks will be patient collecting rent and reading palms in the back seat of a blue buick the cracks in the sidewalk weeds and I bend down to pick up a lonely stick and then I see it Uncle Sams throbbing white nuclear nub slow motion launch the rich will be frantic full of Fear that stinks of hope and having and losing and heaven is not that far away the drunk and his bottle will hold eachother fat american wife beater balding and oblivious curled up in a corner like a couple of teenage lovers licking the taboo parts of paradise and her eyes will look at me from that small generic photograph and I'll laugh and say aint it a bitch babe gently stroke my mustache and contemplate if god gots hair on his ass.........SO the steeples will crumble onto their creators and the Eucharist will be spit out onto the the burning pavement the shadows will be frozen portraits, meaningless artifacts of the cold hard facts that we thought to be so very very precious
"Give Your Heart to the Hawks", be for once an ant or iceberg but not an asshole
then comes the comforting cloud of nothingness. See You In Hell !!?!

--------------------------------------------
I am a has been who never was
A dream that died with the opening
of an eye trapped in the glare of the sun

I thought I caught God in a rain drop
on a spoon
The holy spirit clung to the filthy walls
and stunk up the air of the blue generic
bathroom

Alien ate it all up and out the vomit
spewed from my sad mouth
Pin eyed
pop-eye
playing dead and broken records repeat
the lament
an anti-mantra
nhilistic song of something
that is really nothing but a...
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