this is the entry to house the lyrics.
a wayward boy and a neverending swarm of biting flies
i see a storm breaking over a charred field of fallen men. they're displaced in the aftermath of her illustrious disillusion. her teeth break the skin. this is the perfect weapon to wreck the shore. faultlined erupt like torn ligaments. she is the end and she is nigh.
i walk away with every breath of fresh glass still making me teary eyed. i long for the familiar woes of yesterday as i long for the sound of your funeral harps. i won't go on with some mediocre love of dead castles. i prefer to keep it firmly planted in the grisly reality that my heart took a switchblade to my throat and walked away with my trust bound and gagged in the back of its dusty el camino.
beneath the ocean she parts her lips
from two chainlinked dreamscapes, the slit wrist cries become binary noise for the dead. the skies don't string up the same sails but children still tear up under the same digital noose. white noise avalanche. grinding teeth on your replacement joints, i slip through the negatives you framed to see what lies beneath the colors of my face. a posture that causes the doves to fall like rainwater into the wall outlets hidden between your ribs.
four mile high wall of falling embers
spilling between cracked teeth, words steam on the table like so much worthless shit. nails of apathy pin the child to the corpse of decency. comments and phrases not desensitizing but like a strike to the head of one more nail. driven into pallid flesh, chuckles and disheartening obesity set my veins to flame, i long to spill your putrid blood down your filthy white trash throats. you exist among human beings like a lump of coal in a flowerbed. this is a call for blood to those with any calamity for this scum, wipe them off the face of the fucking earth.
surprise coma party
wrecked. skies came crashing to a halt. so many purities left to wither upon her silent frowns. glazed eyes and precious moments. i needed a touch and i needed to dream. the sound of rain remains but she is so much dust in the wind.
blood of tyrants, vein of angels
you have got to be kidding me. with blood smearing your sundial, you count the times i've made you whole on one butchered hand. draped across my ruin like a patchwork saint. fingers worked skinless, i still manage to smother what's left of my open eyes for you beneath the once calm waters. you have to be joking with that look on your face and that black heart on your sleeve. i'm tired of your dead smell and high voltage wiring, return to the sun blistered earth and rise no more for your trophies of human teeth.
last words to the oil slick
ripped from the pavement, i've seen the softest lips harden and give rise to the cheapest eyes. searching long nights with needy hands ready to grasp at shadows of chances. i kept this lonely ribcage open wide. waiting for one embrace that does not leave me crippled and heaving on the floor. sometimes the floor is all we have when the sky has turned its back. my eyes roll back and my mouth hangs open, i gag on blood at witnessing the truth.
hero of the dumpster crusade
with a silent cry the breeze brings me the scent of my newest flower, hastilly my eyes close, ready to snip it off at the stem than watch each petal peel away to reveal the brazen rust of an old grenade, smirking at the punchline of its own joke, to look down at the pulled pin in my shaking hand. unwilling to pay the price for its shrapnel kiss. i will hold this close to my heart, buried deep in my chest, detonation or not.
the white death
with great shame i hold the stone aloft. off of the slope of our unpleasant nature. and with an eye clouded with tears and blinded by fright, i fell the dove. its pale form lie limp and swallowed by wires. feathers and blood. feathers and hopes. my mouth runs dry with your virus, the mechanical earth swallows its silent ivory body. inducted by your mainframe, i gasp for air, only to swallow the thick rubber of cables and copper wire.
beware of this and that
with each opening the erosion cuts deeper. i have come to wash up on the shore, i let this blood run ice cold. this time the knives are mine. i am the cloud that swims in front of your sun of splendor. bringing the pitch and worrisome frowns to your greatest day. hear these words and falter in your drunken path to glory, soaked in blood and hollow words. this time the knives are mine.