waste of space

its a cold dead heartbeat

that I feel out here in space

like all of this is a waste

or a way into a case

or vase.

I urn for a living

vivid mimicking

complacent honesty

with hints of

forgiving.

in no way is it ministry

but in every way is it death

rebirth

this infinite jest

"needle in the hay" plays...this is a deadly spread....hurt

asleep in a hurst.

think I'll cut my losses and hit the sands

my tired hands...blood cursed

infiite blossoms like a blue bonnet

might as well use 'em & toss em like its 2k15 in this dark verse...because it is

"When did you start thinking like a loser"

when I used her so I didnt have to work...

drank myself in a brothel made of granite

three dead fish on a doorstep- the work of hands

like some sort of omen...like some sort of planning...not rage

I guess as a planet I collect my sunlight & roll over when I can...stay out of the cage

but lately it seems Ive been floating delicatley

like the mirror is my page

the person I made has my back...

a risky wage...

unlike the snakes in this ever rising grass...common place these days.