Were on a collision, Love
There’s been a division, Love
I don’t understand how to be with you again
This pain is clawing my insides, slicing, cutting deep and through
Platinum shooting stars burning –
… Bursting…
If I could I’d isolate, I’d mutilate, I’d devastate the part of the mind that creates hope
Because hope is a torturous, vile, disingenuous villain
I punish myself enough, hurt myself, deny, ignore, shame, murder myself…
I don’t need the added grotesqueness of hope, with its twisted illusions, painting itself as some grand guardian –
Keeper of the light, savior of the tormented lost –
Whose thorny burdens crucify their heavy, aching arms
Pricking and piercing wincing skin
Collateral beauty
What do you think that means?
This highway of desolation running through my soul…
Fuck your insulting soliloquies about how it will make me stronger!
Who the hell are you to think that I am weak?
Have you ever seen the demons in my mind?
Have you ever tasted my trials? My tragedies? My spirals? My casualties?
I hate this journey; It’s furious. I’m furious!
The rage so deep, so big that it engulfs the sky and evaporates the stars into shadows
My fingernails carve my pain into the dead air in the Eastern corner
Splintered molecules stab the crows, send them screeching into an annoyed retreat –
Hissing my name back and forth, anointing me as hostile foe; Desolator to be damned The jokes on them
Among their murders I am counted, cursed with no hesitation to ghost this wilderness of distress
To live in this barren sanctuary; Peephole sideshow sold out to sordid eyes
What do you think I am? A heartbreaker or the brokenhearted?
When, on this warriors path, does it prowl mystical, fermented valleys?
Those lush, jeweled landscapes, with their candy-dripping waterfalls that feed deflated dreams –
Passion-fruit oxygen billowing their sails until they float upward; Sky surf on the Moon tide…
I need an inquisition, an admission that this ruby brick road doesn’t lead to love –
I need to put on my funeral dress
Expel the dead from beneath my skin
No angels, no demons in this valley of emptiness
Just Memento Mori among the snowdrops that the Moon picks for me
My apology, but a Loves-clichés-aren’t-waterproof lunacy transfusion is a must
To catch my breath from all of this domino herd think
They’d rather cut out their tongues than to stop preaching defective beliefs –
Than to stop reading love dissertations written by the blind…
Monsters and madness are addictive inflictions until you have to pay the dues
Warning flashing; Hazel contraindications –
Your eyes were repeat seasons I’d already been through
Written in ballads, epigrams and proems –
These barbaric fallacies will cook your bones
Set your shadow on fire, melt your absinthe-tripping eyes
I need the moon to sew my wounds with silver thread
Kiss my dreams alive from dead, just for tonight…
Lunar alchemy doesn’t need a bubbling refrain, but oh, if a tinseled incantation gurgling red
Could just silence all the voices screaming in my head
Theater of Sorrows 