Sta.sh
| the marvelous mystery of the human nature |
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| the marvelous mystery of the human nature |
the final hoorah of our freedoms jack and jill went up the hillthe final hoorah of our freedoms by ~khaosxcaos
and found that there was cancer.
mouths hard as cracks,
and jill's hand in jack's-
'what's there to ask?'
they thought, standing back,
and what would be the answer?
'well, hell,' said jill
'we climbed this hill
to find death waiting, and grinning.'
'well...' said jack
'knowing that, do you wish
we'd quit at the beginning?'
and jill's hair was fair
and her heart, fairer,
she found doubt was plenty,
and faith, rarer.
and jack was wise
knowing time, lady of woe and wench of wine,
he took one last fuck as his freedom-
he ripped quickly her dress,
found truth in the press
of the skin of the bod
on having moved on i sit in my caron having moved on by ~khaosxcaos
and it smells like you
or maybe i've been driven so mad
with the mania, mischief, malady of desire
that i have taken to imagining
things that aren't there.
in fact i know it is so-
i have long been tossing in an empty, sleepless bed
feeling the fever of your fingers on my forehead
i have long been wishing for your
quiet, absent madness to well up
and take me between a southern sky
and soft porch lights. to rip my panties down my leg,
to revel in a rocking rhythm in the darkness between them-
to touch me with less dignity, and more delirium,
drunk off mango rum and the kingdom come
beneath my clothes-
i told
chinese lanterns i said, there is nowhere you can gochinese lanterns by ~khaosxcaos
that you will be unknown. every
new city, every new bed, every
new taste, will remind that you
belong in a faceless place.
just think-
you, little tadpole, nestled in my soul-
he was far more interested in
the winds, and were they southerly,
north northwest, or brotherly? he
was far more interested in the
gnashing of teeth, always Danish,
always present in sleep. he did not
hear me-
because
time stole what God gave us, honey. or rather-
the presence of the present time, not the passing of it.
think of it this way- the painter
is not doomed by the rainbow, but by
the singular torture of
not the action but the act the thing that really fucked me up -not the action but the act by ~hhesitate
shook my insides and tore them until i couldn't breathe,
until i was begging my lungs not collapse beneath
the pressure and asking
my hips to ignore the violent sway of salt and iron -
what really fucked me up was the notion that i did not say
"no" - i didn't push or fight or plead but what
came up was a simple reasoning and then,
submission. because
part of me wanted to and i couldn't say no
and i couldn't say yes
and he didn't care and
he didn't care and he didn't care
and i don't know if i did
and i don't know if you did
and i don't know if i do -
shouldn't i? shouldn't
y
stranger i hope daylight is a wasted word to youstranger by *porcelline
i hope you can't sleep when you want to
i hope that loving her feels incomplete
i hope loving me feels empty too
i hope exhalations breed in your car
i hope you smell my hair on the sheets
i hope you say "nevermind" all the time
i hope you can't quit your habits
i hope you remember some part of me
i hope i haven't gone to waste completely
waking up with the sun.it was 6:40 just a few minutes ago but now it is 8 o'clock and your cheek is
imprinted with the wrinkles of the pillow i gave you
it was 2 o'clock yesterday but then it was 5 o'clock and we found ourselves
high as fuck in my home with cool bong rips and a blunt still settling in our
lungs
we tried to make love but with drooping eyes, i held you instead and said
let's just wait, let's just be still and you did not stop me and i smiled in my
sleep
i love you, i tell you too often. i love you, you tell me too often. and yet the
phrase has not dulled, our tongues are still as earnest as they were in your
grandmother's floral guest bed t
just like heaven there is a magical birthday present on your doorstep but it is not your birthday and the sky has been decidedly gray for a month. when you open the box, the four horsemen of the apocalypse will come thundering down upon you, and the clouds will open up and give way to fire. you sit on your stoop and pull apart the ribbon.just like heaven by ~13channelsofshit
Zeal 
