start walking

My Depression

Coal Machine

Sleep Envy

Watch In

chiponmysholder

Happy Accidents

We Dancing Animals

Clarity

Mossa Och Sten I

born birthed in the backwarding water I am,
some what less than, 
the confession,
of a hydrogen damn,

you don't know me,
in my cataract caul,
but it's HOLY,
so they voodoo my doll,

and it wittles out a spout,
from my attention span,
telling the neighbors,
I'm the Bogey man,

cause I'm GENTLE,
and I'm seething with rage,
"temperamental...
so don't rattle his cage"

stuck between these,
parenthesis,
and to the lay of the lock,
they've been cutting my keys,

but I'm all out of doors,
down on all fours,
praying to myself, 
that you might finally get yours,

for a dead end sign,
where do you begin?
you don't know me,
but you swallow my grin,
and it shows me,
a little "where-have-you-been",
and it's HOLY,
so I'm singing my djinn,

and it's holy,

some applause for the laws,
that lovers might make,
but it's a murder machine,
 and it's milking my ache,

and my udders are utterly sore,
so I mutter to myself as I peak out the door

I'm in third person and plural pronouns,
it's the last lament of the 13th clown,
12 are happy but they're painted to frown,
his make up smiles but his lips droop right down,

he haws and he hems,
for he's not like them,
to be shot from the cannon,
has he been condemned,

your laughter's the lash,
from a wind up car crash,
him and his 12 clown disciples,
trip out the dash,

and when I'm dead,
you'll be buying my breath,
you don't know me,
but you sentence my death,
and it shows me,
that all life is precious,
and it's HOLY,
even this beautiful mess,

the betrayer obeyer,
sharpens her tongue,
in the hush ridden mist,
of what he will become,

Curdled Thunder,
you gotta gird up your loins,
buried under,
your army of counting coins,

thoughts who clot in a rot,
of first come first serve,
but I'm gonna straighten out the hatin',
of my learning curve,

except you're hateful,
so I can only be kind,
and be thankful for a leaving behind,

neutering nails
Jimpy of Jails,
exoskeleton soaring,
on labia sails,
and I wish you the best,
you and your nest,
of inter-dimensional,
parasitic infest,

Artyrdom

Achter Den Engel

"Write from Wrong"

and if you told me to "look but not touch,
 I'd stare at your sun till my eyes set as such,
 that mine eyes should be dashed where the river rocks roar,
 as long as I washed up upon your sweet shore,
 I'd stare at your star till it fell from my sky
 breathing a teething to soften your sigh,
 gorging my gaze in a creative craze,
 on this dream that doth stream through my nights and my daze...

...and then if you told me, " be seen but not heard",
 not a mutter would stutter away with my word,
 that my silence would stifle the city's shrill shroud,
 my thunder staid under the cleft of your cloud...

...and if you told me "your steed is your scream ",
 then the clatter would shatter this saturnine stream
 I've been wading in fading, so wantless and wracked,
 by the reap of a sow I can never take back...

...and still if you told me to "write but don't reach",
 let the burden be heard in my every beseech,
 why the wheel of my woe it would wind me my way,
 so scant I would pant for the light of your day...

...and still if you told me to "tread but don't try",
 not a finger would linger in passionate pry,
 but my will would not still for the sate of a second,
 until I was bade by the bless of your beckon,
 how I've bound up my breathing and paced in my place,
 and I sent out my sound just to find me your face,
 writing my wrongs till I come out as clever,
 to be planting my songs in your fields of forever,

...and then if you told me to cease still born seeing,
 and bathe this burden in the beauty your being,
 then my stars would cross heaven and hell, sky and sea,
 That a beautiful world...It should happen to me,

Artyrdom

Bad Penny Arcade

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