donate to ya boy

Tuesday, July 19, 2011

my eyes are open

what the fuck is happening!Im barely sleeping and waking up from unnerving dreams. the woman I love is 3000 miles away from me...and the only thing I can think to bring is a bottle of vicodin and gallon of rye whiskey. The ending. New beggings in begging this time for its all over in minutes... & Im barely awake from dying because lying got old as shit.good heavens, Try me,Im the good man whos far concerned with being grimey,so much so I turn blind eyes to reason and become what I fear...for most of the time is spent in here...this brain and heart I spare,in hopes of never turning into a monster or losing my focus...yet im awaere...and I dont know if I can keep pouring my soul into a world that boasts nothing in barter...but tomorrow comes soon enough,so I lay down and imagine a blooming sunrise over the body of my soft skinned lover.drenched in sweat,pulsaiting her stomach to the rise and compression of my lungs and questions...the shimmer of our bodies are like candles in this room with barely enough of it for air. I can taste her now,the atmosphere,the salt and saliva in the wind. The rug burns and red marks from where our lips tore and pleasured,as warm breaths give way to nussled head in chests and hands take hold of every inch of this perfect dream that is impossible to beat read from my head to my head and and the only thing left is the climax...but theres a cold wind,dark circles form underneath my eyelids,I feel as though this is how it ends,this beautiful moment in time lapses. I feel as though IM lost in imagination,like all the drugs I did created this,it feels like an illusion,but my scabs still cover the blood drips. Its a clipse,of star shapes and mood,and doom seems to be the only lost art I havent perfected up to this looming sense of aptitude...its innate to be this rude,to have these razor sharp wits and a loss of concess in the afternoon..but thats why I stand in the mirror,to realign my perception and to overcome these fears...easy thing is to forget how I move,hardest thing is to love me more than I do wide awake.

1 comment:

  1. Quite enjoyed cette New Beast parapoem. You are writing well...sounds harsh and blasted, this land you describe. People stand out in high relief, where they stick out of it. I think they made vikes illegal up here in Soviet Canuckistan recently - although whiskey is still allowed to parade the streets unhindered. Now: coffee and spacecraft.