Its been a repative uproar of emotional support,exploring the worlds I had extorted for lust.
old breath on a young lovers lips,speak sweetly she asks.
I turn my torso on this chariot covered in war awards
the golden trim reflecting its majesty to the grin of the blood thirsty crowd.
crows picking at the bones of those who we had once known
on the street,or in the valley as foes.
tucked in the cathedral I sat with my father as we spoke of reverlry on dance
lost in our own world as the vents giggled with laughter
the creeks of the old wooden floor
hid secrets we dare not question.
as a child again,I climbed to the tops of the rafters
dropping rose peddals on to the pews and offering plates
hoping some good graces would come my way.
I awoke a half a day later with the weight of the world on my fingers
taking clay,I shaped and molded it to the lips of my lover
and tucked it inside of my coat pocket.
shes my guardian angel,
much like nick cage in that shitty meg ryan film
she makes me feel whole,and not so insecure
I never kiss the clay lips,but let them whisper
teaching me to step back from the ledge a little bit
of sanity or what ever im staring down at.
the tidal waves crush threw the tiny mountain city,
all is lost