Jaded

The sunlight sneaks in through the solitary window in her attic, crawling along the hardwood floor and slithering up my spine. It takes a bite out of my neck and adds another poison to my blackened veins. I can't help but stare at her once perfect body. Her winter skin is draped in tattered jeans and a long sleeve Type O Negative shirt, soaked through with crimson. I run my fingers down her tarred, interstate hair and lose myself in the tangles. The memories of being entwined with such perfection fill me with a tingle as if I'm being shocked by a million tasers. I reach out my hand to caress hers but am drawn back by a stabbing pain in my wrist. There's a slash there for every time she said she loved me.

The words “Good Bye” hover around my head like starving vultures. That is when you know you're truly dead, when your chest aches to free itself from your rotting body and you feel nothing. I remember when all my neurons used to kick. She and I would take night walks in a vast field where the stars would dance in our presence and the waving grass would sing our names. When we would kiss the sky would detonate and rain PCP on our sweating bodies. On those nights we needn't say a word to each other when the heaven in our eyes was pure poetry. Yet, kingdoms can fall under  the weight of mutual psychosis.

We would open our mouths and regurgitate acid down each other's throats. The blisters in my esophagus would crackle and remind me that emotions only fade as the fires of Hell shall. I could tell her bones were turning to ash. In the midst of our war I would hide outside her bedroom window in some bushes and watch her cry hurricanes as she swallowed anti-depressants by the bottle. When the ambulance took her away I would hold back my weakness as I jerked off.

I can hear the police search for her downstairs. It's only a matter of time before they find us. Their footsteps echo the melting walls as her heartbeat once did in my head. The orders they bark to each other are so distance and foreign. I don't care that they're going to find me, I'll greet them with a smile I don't care that I'm going to prison, I have nothing more to do. I just want to spend my last moments of freedom locked away in our atrophied organs.

Cyanide Cappuccino

Alarm of nausea
Sunrise of moonrock
The true artist
rejects the title
tosses it
to the wasps
along with
their social life
and any form of
stability
Shake like sickness
Speak like constriction
The bandwagon hijackers
sip wine
to extinguish their mid life crisis
while we
set the world on fire
through eloquent spite
They'll never know our names
spelled out in ash
on their front lawns
And they'll never know
the pure romance
between a creator
and the gutter

Anatomy

I don't bleed as much
as I used to
You can only
rip open your arteries
so much
before it loses
its luster
I've spilled
my bodily fluids
on so many people
places
things
friends
they they all
have my disease
We all follow
the setting Sun
praying
that the moon
will blind us
from the inevitable flood
when our intestines erupt
after years
of swallowing razor blades

Elephant Plague

I told the steetlight
I was feeling
sick
from the bottom
of a road
flooded with vomit
It blinked
three or four times
before succumbing
to its own illness
I sprawled my ghost body
on the sidewalk
to welcome the inevitable
and before I died
I saw an eagle
slowly flying towards
the ground
Its right wing
weighed down
by the ashes
of a billion
dollar bills