Fries on the side and a thick milkshake too
Burger King, McDonald’s, Wendy’s rule
I guess it’s that they are all fast food
But the weight gain cannot be true
Carry on you Winchester sons
There’s always work to be done
Lay your blade against their head
Won’t you fight some more
All my dreams lie in the sky,
and all the peace of mind around me
explodes in the night
as the sands of Time slip
from the shattered hourglass.
War stole away innocence,
and blood poured from our hearts.
Help us, God,
I beg of you.
We’re dying here!
“It’s so dark, where am I?” came her words of distress
Miriam wasn’t supposed to be blind
It was a weather stricken condition she’d learned to detest
The gods of the Kyzyl Kum desert were to blame for it
going out into oblivion to escape invading hordes was dangerous
The hottest day of the year took her vision & strangled it
Heat exhaustion caused a stroke, even fleas were coughing, comatose
when she whispered pleas, walls erected –
the green Earth shut its contents… armaments of darkness flowed
Exiled to the shadows; the muted springs of nowhere
while her husband was busy stargazing, she’d sit in her oak chair
Every ounce of the visual spectrum so bare it blacked out Samarkand
It was better before
I was on this shit
I’m not pissed
At the pseudo buzzed
Fortnight tip frosters
Pardon me for attempting to be
some kind of hero or otherwise
savior figure. My mistake.
Pardon the garish appearance
of the costume I crafted (it was
a last minute low budget choice)
Can you see me?
Do you know who I am?
I am the ghost
walking along these streets.
My face is on the wall.
I am one of the disappeared.
I am lost in the crowd.
I’m nowhere near the light.
Cynthia, you should really try being yourself if you intend to succeed
This projection of being an impeccable tease is terrible, please
The endless, senseless deceit tends to be cheap, a weapon you wield
And a futile one at that; you may as well swing a tire wrench at the breeze
Men think you a tired wench & a skeez… for what, your archetypical traits?
I’m gonna have to ask you to abandon the glittering carriage of narcissism with haste
Selflessness… let it nestle into the comfortable bedchamber of your own psyche
When I saw John Edward
at the Westbury Theatre,
I was not sold at all.
If spirits walked around us,
wanting to tell us
that they were here,
that they had a message waiting,
then why talk to him?
Don’t ghosts love electricity?
Could flickering lights mean
that they were standing close,
whispering in an ear
It wasn’t love, exactly,
but Valium, and I
truly loved everything
and shouted it to all
the world: I love
telephone poles and
parked cars and