There is a great spirituality in loss;

See through me

The words remain unwritten with reason; your L.O.V.E was out fashion and out of season. What I wanted, what I was given, do not align. I guess fair is fair. Karma laid down low; Caught under the lights again tonight. What you see is often known. Gifts are never given but acquired. What you get is what you see, often misinterpreted; take, take what you can from me. Stick a hand through the intangible tonight. Never thought I’d accept the gifts I’ve been given. When I saw you, I said be mine if you’ve got the time. And now I find myself occupied.

In Blue

Old blue shoes, nothing new. He moves and sways to fit the view; he's blue to you. You're old news. Old blue shoes moves to fill the slot; he wants everything he hasn't got. A room without a view, when he sings it sticks to you. Old blue shoes, changes colours day by day; he'll do what he'll have to get you to stay. Old blue shoes torn and outworn and so he stands cause man makes him sit. He comes in pairs but leaves in threes and still comes home alone. Old blue can't face the truth; losing it means losing you. It's the colour of the memories, the dreams that he can't seem to make tangible. Old blue, it's the colour that plays behind your eyes before the lights go out; blue like denim jean, dark with shade. Old blue is stuck in a fishbowl, serene marine dreams to follow. Don't know what to do, don't know what to do. When I look at you, all I see is blue.

Strung Upon

Stinging in the velvet, tears caught in drapery. An endless eye-sore. Digging ditches for those who dare to long; A warped shadow play; fantasies of one doubled. Solitary confessional screams in black. Tore down the sky, shattered star fragments held meekly in a state of transparency; take these hands held on by strings. Cut down prematurely; ribbon lacerations, hang your head tonight. Putting up the good fight. The internal battles are thinning and you find yourself alone. The walls spun colours the tongue couldn’t understand. Take these hands, pulling the strings. Struck down and synthesized. No vacancy, occupancy needed. Give me your hands.

The prelude; O N E

A splinter in the finger, tore your wing; the ascent not clean; into the cold red lights. Dancing a top old chandeliers, half hung forward into crystal tomb. Embodiment in the altitude; cold blue ambien room. King prawn’s paint the ceiling. Chrysalis bloom in view, still-life mirrors; caught in the vapors. Temporary shroud of chains glistens for a better past-time. Evil eye stares back at you. Lightening strikes, benzodiazepine nightmares ignite; a mass hysteria ensues, pregnant pause. Beat down on me tonight. Faceless hypnotic induced dreams; prefabricated hearts made from barbed wire. Umbrellas, soft drinks, and a varying arrangement of assorted colored fish. Spitting carnations in a soft shade of blue, the mystery, it’s mystery lies in you.

Head Of The Butterfly King

Boy’s got the head of a jackal and a serpent tongue; she’s got her gilded talons in the battle she’s won. Clarity comes cold; jolted into a sea of conscious awareness. Crowns of butterflies are laid upon the head of death. A crown of monarchs disintegrated before an angel with burnt wings; singed cape of greed. Blackened orgasmal headspace; I don’t want the taste of you to leave my lips, the immortal sting of your kiss. This possession has run dry, an old fashioned cuckold jealousy. I’m astounded by the oblivion that is you; a lecherous thief, a spasmodic cure for post-blue ambition. Your eyes hold heavy what the heart has borne for so long a period, lifetimes; and then we come undone.

Decadence

Rubbing the salt into old wounds; manufacturing big reds in exchange for baby blues. One fist in the well, its predecessor in the gutter before him; elusive desire, an enchant-less mistress. She writes valentines between her thighs, an old school temptation that I cannot afford to buy; no purchase necessary. Store bought fantasy; what you fake for him, I long for me. Temptress, temp me (oh, heaven help me) I see stars in your eyes, the face of a celestial envy; cosmic pitfall. But illusion is always dressed in someone else’s clothes. You buy me time, I’ll buy you drinks. Your reputation precedes you and your lovers will mislead you. Sick girl, sick one, my heart’s a tart when you’re only looking for a piece of fun. Glass valentines pricking the fingers, all shards discard. Fate misled me. No one’s ever glittered golden but we glow for others. I glow for another but you’ll never lose your shine. Bide me time, bide me time.

Carnival Of Discord (Sin Always Wins)

Her wrists are stitched, in open psalms scream; all locks and no key. Innovation quickly turns to imitation. Green apples, blue eyes, the fruit of the harvest in between your thighs; I feast all in vain, a lost attempt at “last supper” dreams. In pursuit of all pleasure, we dine divine tonight. She’s the unspoken verse in the chorus line; cellulite dreams for amphetamine eyes. A ghost hungry for what she’ll never understand; I crave her. She fakes what she can’t feel; stealing our daydreams and weaving your nightmares. Drug faced and baby mouthed, there’s nothing left to sell. You fear what you cannot initiate. She’s got a messiah in her bed. She’s lost in a perceptual consciousness; lost in a world of doll fixed positions but she tells me, “I don’t believe in love but I’ll live for the lie.” Love li-es in all great truth. Already got hearts in between her legs, unspoken promises in her throat that are too thick to swallow, before she realizes what she loses in the gamble; we’ll gun it as long as we can. And all markers run dry, pencil point’s break; you’re just another mistake I have made. You cannot be erased but I can turn the page.