I was a child of simple graces, what the world afforded, I took into the core of me. I grew in the exotica of dreams, poetry. Through the nights I stalked my love, an enchanted nothingness.
In my soul, everything was electric, fresh and new. Flesh to flesh.
As a man, I was adorning in blood, my victims will never forget. I carried the blades of vengeance, welded violence. In my veins, black china rain, my nothing love heroin. Through nirvana, till the dawns light I wondered in her, found bliss in her slick perversion. Sanctified myself in her womb. Addiction, notheningness, I flowed into the night with rage on my lips.
Now I live, now I am as I once was, simple grace, what the world could afford, and in the core of me, an enchanted love of nothingness.
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There is a war of hearts and minds, our heroes are gone to the grasses, the age of empires past have left us wanting.
Mine is a story, a tale of a child left behind… feeling the hunger of a souls solace…. The bitter tears…
I lived simply, by my wits, with my fist,
Raged into and falling out of the abyss
I went to the sands, that once bore the tall midnight grass,
Where I found love,
There as a child, god and the stars felt encompassed in my grasp, that reaching with my innocence I could bring life,
As a man, I prayed, that the dust hadn’t swallowed my solace. I tore at my chest, to find the heart of me, to bring about the midnight, to lose myself in the stalks of shadows. In my palm, fingers skyward I prayed
In those grasses, behind the the swirling shades of gray, the moon cast down, dancing through, blue hues chilsed her young features, gave them shape, she was my true sanctuary, the life I held, still hold to this day
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I found her weeping, myself wanting.
Her eyes waxing and waning the slow opium draws, her eyes chasing the outline of the shadows…
I felt through, she drowned under, the intoxication,
Violent rushes upon her demeanor, compromised her very demise, finding grace in the heavens
Her own hands clutching at the darkened horizon, grasping opportunity, casing doubt,
My child grew flesh born in the dream of her. The spoon feed aggression was electric in the space between us; she grew tired and tempered, like an old soldier.
The scars of was randomly traced her skin, etching the testament of…
Day of summer bliss…
Youth wasted…
Friends lost…
Vindication….
I found her laughing, myself drawing near
She smiled simply, told me simply
“It is the plight of the woman to find and to have, to lose again, we are mothers, caretakers and the begging of sin?”
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