this one's by a bastard

When a raven crows in the morning
Someone's going to die by nightfall.
Today too some old sixty year old
Fucking a young girl, and dying on her belly.
In his mouth, gaping red
A gold tooth glitters under the mucus.
His shorts, thrown in a corner
A butterfly set free by the girl.

When your lace breaks in the morning
Someone's going to die by nightfall.
Today too some queer
Fighting over a man
Grabbing a knife, a military march
A black and hairy leg, the Adam's apple
Drenched in the blood that spurts
Flowers that bloom beside his mother's grave.

When a mouse cries at night
Someone's sure to die by morning.
Today too some butcher's wife
Killing herself with a young toy boy,
Her chipped manicure, dyed red again.
Forty chains until the morning
Until the morning starving bodies
Killing someone so they can live
The only destination, the chill of handcuffs

six word story

inside his pants. diamond. a miracle.

an enemy

he held a pen in his hand. a white sheet of paper waited languidly. for breathing life. but there was something twirling all around him. taunting him. torturing him. even to the point of haunting him. he tried to shoo it away but it kept coming back. swirling round and round, and round. words, things that he had once enslaved, now eluded him, mocked into his face with a sardonic smile. he couldnt stand it anymore. quietly, very quietly he dropped the pen. and with one loud smack the mosquito sank down to the floor. the paper was watching.

the wait

he had waited for this morning since ages. he slept early last night. it would bring morning sooner. but restless on the bed he stared at the cold sunlight that reflected off the moon. but morning will be here soon. with gleamin warm sunlight piercing thru reluctant moisty leaves. turning the earth we call home orange and red. and he'll step out. he'll smile facing the semi circled sun his face will be orange and red. it will shine on his forehead. and then, then he'll stretch out his arms and run on the road headed to the sun. for this one moment he will touch bliss.

a fresh page

neatly, he turned over to a fresh page. he stopped to think. held his pen against the paper and wrote a poem. he loved the sound it made. the friction of the paper against pen. the romance. pages upon pages words flow in uninhibited vehemence. words come screaming out dancing in merry, weeping in pain.he finsihed the last few words 'for all that was me'. he looked out of the window. children played in the streets. they shouted they hollered they made unintelligible sounds. he turned back. tore the pages. he mused at himself and turned over to a fresh page

there were faces on the walls he'd seen before. in dreams. perhaps sometimes in the sky. two crystal eyes trapped in a whirlwind of confusion and hatred. two crystal eyes gazing at a distant land. nothing else but the eyes. he could not stand them. he punched the wall. he broke the mirror.

she lay him to sleep and walked out the door hoping he'd wake up, stop her, hold her tight, swallow her tears.
but then she stopped, walked back in, picked the knife, fell over him, and hoped she would never hope again.

i dont know who this she is

stones gathered in the backyard
fallen from trees
ther's a light that shines through mist
or is it your blinding eyes

snow in the mid summer
trickling down the window pane
yellow stains it leaves
reminding how we went insane

clear clouds in the clear old sky
a bird's swayed flight
like guitar strums on your wrigggling spines
tears the silence of the night

drops of water on your forehead
they trickle down ur nose
the cheeks they smell moisty green
your tongue a fragrant smoke

goddmait why i wrote this

often i've wondered aloud
in my dreams n in my thoughts
in the pages that i ve torn apart
in the deafenin silence of my heart
was it ok for her to die before i was born

often i ve heard a voice
speakin softly to a coming child
speakin softly in her waking demise
speakin softly words that apologize
softly, ever so softly the words go flying by

often i've seen lights dance
with the blueness of sky
with the bleeding tongue inside
with the fine white foam rise
fine white foam in rain drenched snow

often i've curled up in bed
hoping to whip these thoughts away
hoping i'll see her another day
hoping to never hope again