Almost 6 feet tall, and
Almost 6 feet under,
Where the Thunder can't
Hit me
No more.
For now I'm in it's brazen
Gaze
Just a haze cloud,
Formulating, mutilating itself
No ocean in anyone else
Crazy one, crazy one
Must be crazy to
Hold such pain
And refrain
From finally finding fertile
Field to lay down
And decompose into.
Instead, writing proses all day
Feeling more complicating
Than complicated
I know what I been though.
I can't expect you to.
But i could die
Then feel more alive
Than i do today,
With my heart somehow still
In tact(, taking tactful measures)
Got no right track
To follow
Carve my own,
Right out of that hallow
The cave, that wet cave..It corrals me and kills me.
And I do just the same.
From night to night, it isn't great.
Chet Baker is some kind of boyfriend
Let's me cry on my broken shoulder
And serenades with maranades
With everything that I had
And couldn't have done.
To have fun
Is a thing
I never knowed
With such serendipidous tragedy surrounding me,
It's plain to see we'd be better off dead,
This cramp folly system
Goes to the head
And toils ,within it producing boils of thoughts unpure.
Sins and knives galore
Pretty Polly sings
While the remaining coffee
Just clings to the inner most edge of something
That used to be clean.
Purification is work.
Protuding intrusive process
It takes time and energy and love and lust, and hope and love and greed and
Money.
Nothing's funny
When you're so suicidal
In the moment
Don't believe in it, know it won't
Last .
And neither will I.
That last tide will roll back
Whenever I kiss the sky.
The pain is knowing it won't be soon.
The pain is in the back, my neck, my shoulder.
Fuck all I never wanted anything anyway...
Except freedom and love and to never treat or be treated by anyone the way my parents and the the CFS world treated me.
B