[october 16th, 2018]..

"found hanging from the rafters..
choking on the blood in their laughter...
bone marrow ash in the motto..
hiding behind a scarecrow..
thinking reading & writing
could rid me of sorrow..
get your beak out of my heart..
so deeply black & bleak, it tears me apart..
leaving my insides splintered..
split like lips, on the coldest morning in winter.../
(the mystique of memories..
is just that "such an important life" could be so temporary..)
in time, everything rots down to it's core..
but there's so much inspiration, insipid, in that meat..the remains on the cutting room floor... "
"(spoken) [(the visible spectrum) "i'm not unaware of sickness. (the candle is lit.) but that does not make me wicked. (tasting your spit.) wax, dripping from the candle. up on the mantle. under the portraits, in oils. cobwebs, illuminating the way time spoils. it's empty, up in this attic. nothing but dust, and old mirrors. the unmanageable white noise of static, in the way the mind sears. (& tears) but not everything always stays in the urn. even the most bitter of ghosts may return..]."