Sunday, August 2, 2009
post 240: i've got my veins all tangled close to the juke box buzz you frequent, the safest place to hide
I.i spend sleep like it means nothing
sleep, i wasted, writing a letter in my head
to you
and sense it failed to create
a story unravelled, however,
in my mind
feelings, feelings
she screamed, in her head, at least
a faulty larynx, was to blame
for she could never really show him
what she really meant
distorted images, and a cliched painted smile
red, red, red like the rose she held
so close
to her heart
a permanent polaroid
still undeveloped
II.ray-zer-ray-zer-why-err
tongues of razorwire
they kill they cut they kill and cut
why paint the town in your red?
paint it black!
and the liars'd be shivering in their pants
instead
tilted head sympathy
for the imbeciles you've learnt to love
but never hate
spilt ink is better than spilt crimson any goddamned day
well, at least that's what morality thinks
but then
again
who ever follows morality, so religiously?
10:00 PM