A Few of My Own

[dark_star_leviathan]

Perhaps I'll start with a REALLY disjointed ramble with no real point.

Things will get better.

Acid Trip

Hollow feeble guilt aside.

Wrapped up in the (dis)pleasures of the world.
Some days I just need an escape.
I should be happy right now.
I am happy right now.

However, the dog on my corner
keeps whinning in that same high pitched squeel
that has brought me to my knees for many a night.

When the winds roar around my head in bed
I find I can never get the TV to the right channel.
So what does this say about my supposed disposition.
I can clearly tell you that it doesn't mean well to my feeble little head.

When and where does it matter the most?

Up the nose?

In the throat?

Straight to the brain, where the nerves keep collapsing and dwindling.
Shot in the head, the bullet still working its way deeper.
Never stop loving...but perhaps never stop needing to be fed.

Too dependant, some people may say this as an excuse to keep the cheese from flowing too freely from the stereo in their heads.
Becuase we all know how cheese can block the synapses.
Rendering me useless, may as well be labotomized by one hunder blind midget funeral directors.

Yes...the high score shall finally be mine
amongst the names of the pantheon
I ascend like a lepper messiah.

Anyone who knows what I'm talking about
needs to check the fridge, because I think the food is rotting.
It's been in there for too many weeks
with no light to guide it through the void.

Therefore...it rots.

Like my brain.

And it's unclean stain.





And here's something a little more put together...ha!

My Death-Bed Goddess


She is a faint whisper amongst the crowds of insane
Like a pin prick messiah she sways
Out of the woodwormed woodwork opening her veins
To take the heroin of lost days



In a moody delight she casts scars upon reckless demand
So quick to disarm all those who oppose
She's nothing but left bleeding naked in sands
Crying out with her eyes wired closed



I, in my home nestled deep in the sins
Of immpecable mediocre respite
I hear this dark cry and ask why should I sink in
Better off alone do as I might



But the blood from her lids pulsing methodically
Much as I hate it to say (withered and sanctioned away)
Draws me ever so near to this imprisoned black fear
That I push all the others away

And kill her

For while she may say that there's no other way
and I know this is rightfully true
I can't help but place my lifeless pale face
Upon those black-red wounds of life

and kill her