an odd familiar case.

caress the gilded star, at one at last, undo it
a folder holds dearest twisted shadows of yesterday
lovers faces unconfined by chapters of forgiveness
a lost lamb whose flood gates once thought at drought
a dreadnought of disciplined pain at odds with a deck of cards
so many ticks give you away, your soul draws you to the mass
one where the Sunday came with clarity, listen and pierce the veil

to draft a diagnostic the sun must place flip the megalomania
the smothering act of breathing conveys sadness
throws down shade to sea in ruins that I once held under control
firmly, strictly under lock and key and rather tricky to orchestrate
a victimless crime of omission knows not pause
the bogeymen of old were at least honest
they came to sequestrate, maim and rectify the mistake of living
more that meets the third eye, do be polite and take heed
lock the door and hide under the bed sheets

accelerate the selfish machine that pretends to fuel my sunshine
make it boil, torment it deeply and see it implode,
become dizzy with this fever, cold for my fire has ran out
somehow the heartless are afoot on the streets that lurk beneath
like cockroaches on the walls they surprise, outlive and murk about
marking your house round the block, a pirate does not forget nor forgive
and that very hook will dangle thy feet like a salted fish gets gutted prior
to the wind scarce guts reach, bones and a loosen tongue perhaps

a pestilence thrown chop my fingers, eat my throat, say it is a treat
hesitate and know my coping device reconciles joints with fractures
popping off pressure, applying cold iron to exorcise holy presence
this vest ain't a corset and the kids got issues prayers cannot devour

tar curtains cannot trap wild fire and it is foolish to deny
benevolent guardian I wish you didn't disappear over Winter Hill
no matter what fortitude can death attribute to thy works
your surrender aches still, ever so tender
these white flakes aren't snow, back off me.

I greed not for advise, oblivion has a cure encased in glass
tapping away now, hoping to perforate in mild distress
should a vigilant sentry knock out all my teeth
make me feast in blood through a straw, take a wild guess
fiction holds a charming spell to snare a soul under duress
it might just fucking dispel the discontent, sneezing, sneering.

You the fallen one, the one without a name, the one that met God.

the moist tip of my nose itches
my index finger presses on my eye globe
searching unto the socket for want of to do
feel the callous rub the iris
pushin' it firmly like it is the first time
recognizing a sensation, felt lost
cut off by the root, ignited by the wild waste
awaiting the pain, trembling in shame
an accountability to doubt placated by sound
be it the shouts, kings too merge in fantasy
safe travels met in silent whispers run amok
of our sorry state, nonetheless,
an idea cannot be exterminated
easily.

mold the ground, thy passage a myth
the fluctuation of the reference maddening (truly)
the fallen forest comes alive, erupt branches
sudden bloom springs into song, my head nests
birds of prey seek my liver and I am willing
shelter and shade, nurture and leisure
sustaining this p-perfect state makes one camp
gloriously satisfied to the core, accursed to quit it
the fires nightmare and the flesh a fair trade-off
little prince caress not hate, take guard against hostility
tough love is a thorn in my spine firm still
and no amount of alcohol can dilute the lesser man
I could never aspire to be, a foreshadow of projects past
nor the shadow of those that smelted me, goddammit
to erase ones essence is suicide in a swirling chasm of hate
and I swear I sought hard to be different, stronger despite the fact
the fissure on my reflection, my whole being a descent into the unknown
sought to aid another hopeful the product would feed a distraction
to the beast within there is only known opportunity, ever vigilant

a hummingbird sank my sleep effortlessly, am I dreaming again?
the pull drafts me anew, truly my calling come midnight
a murderer stands trial only once, no parole conceded, to the nines
a free solo that came to a close, slippery feet renew faith
and you might think you are in love, a trope of filthy cliche
and mellows like a poorly aged wine takes solace in the majority vote
resorted to a tutu, a distraction, 'yes' to us all will suffocate the euphoric
you lost the game that you hadn't paid for, yet.