Visions came in deep,
my body engulfed in lusting flame,
tasting the sky,
the moon in her glory days,
she sang songs with smirks
and winking eyes,
though now somewhat distraught-
the image of Heath Ledger's pills,
spread on the floor like the legs
of the red queen,
their government sanctified yellow bottles
with the white caps,
his poor blessed body
giving up on itself in mid breath.
The moon cries,
My god no more, I cannot bare the sorrow.
Some of our falling angels
are catching 'Black Swan' syndrome,
we scratch and twitch,
festering to madness under the
the strain bleeds out of our wrists,
razor's edge becomes the New Youth Religion,
my nightmares grow ever closer to waking up.
The mad hatter opens his one circus trained schizophrenic eye
to find that he's been,
ever so delicately,
placed in a vampire crypt
The ground around him aches
to speak of blood
and rapture melodies,
and the trademarks of paranoia.
We seers crave the dark,
its light touch on our skin,
soft voices in the night and
Edith Piaf on the radio.