Tag Archives: chorus

a fathomless void

a weight that can only be felt

by breathing in the wrong kind of ozone

in a desolate universe, unraveling into

rust and dirt and long-ago bleached bones

a single pair of footsteps walk

the path, beaten down by phantoms

and mysteries hanging on an unused crucifix

the rearview mirror beckons minds on

but….onto where? onto the myriad lies that

stumble and fall back into rubbles

bruising careless feet and leaving contrived

wishes of contrition and softer mumbles

and alone—alone the blackened eyes atone,

alone the bastard hair sheds like broken roses,

alone the body dances until imminent decomposition,

alone. the man seeks, but finds no symphony amid the empty chorus.

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Verse End Chorus

“But it’s gone too far, your butane mouth will spit me into flames
Sorry ’bout it, I can’t help it, I’m an anarchist in love…”

~*~

just how much do

i admire every

verse and chorus?

darling, it’s lethal

like the catalyst

to a stained disease

and intruders

leaving footsteps

all over my red arteries

distractions of

the remedy dangling

behind the knives

at the very edge

of all my fingertips

dislocating broken bones

hurting me madly

yet i suffer jubilantly

if only for sedition.

and i do not lust

for tactless fantasies

it’s just far too artificial

and segmented

and drawling cliché

for me to take in earnest;

the scissors bite

deeper within my veins

and my blood is far

more crimson than pale

for such contrivance.

this adoration of mine

is unconditional

and a cold withdrawal

and it is sempiternal

as their mercurial eyes

taint my clouds

and crash them again,

affecting a hazier

fog in my ponderings,

painting my day with gold,

disturbing my nights

with daydreams.

though; i do not seek

superficiality, nor

the obscenity, nor

an intravenous

palette of emotions

to fulfill my sorrows,

contradict confrontations,

and substitute for

my own subconscious.

i’m too wasted to

be sober on the lights

of a reluctant soul

i’m intoxicated again…

i stray from orbital passion

yet i am drawn into

each unspoken reverie

and my limerence

is quite liquid and lithe

as it paints the lettered canvas

for their blank horizon.

and dear, i can simply hope

to sell all of my stars to

remain in the cheap seats

wishing that someday,

your songs will stretch

past the universe of infinity

and reach my eyes—

and i’m fervently faithful that

in another eternal dawn,

i shall gather enough sturdy rungs

in my concatenated ladder

to finally reach my melancholy

darling blue moon.

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