Let Me Sway

The entertainment of it all,
kept me distracted,
from the growing pains,
twisted pill brains,
the mad hatter stains
on the carpet.
I'll find a way to groan all night,
slow dancing,
taking me away from the darkness
that suffers me and
seems to forever invade my vision
and sleeping patterns.

I can understand Oedipus gouging
his eyes out in weary wrath,
though there may yet still
be beauty to be found in the twilight,
with shivering and quaking
of our anatomies,
the energy frequencies of
fire and ice,
played by a traveling circus
speaking in tongues,
strong fiddle and much
vodka drinking and licking of spices
out of the air.
The gaiety may be
just beginning.
I felt a rise in the weather warning,
the Moon's even lurking angry,
The Women around me grow hungry.
We crave to be lifted out,
bathed in our own nights
of lust and light.
We ache to be fucking heard.
The desire rises to my teeth
to pump blood,
move my body,
hard pressed against yours.
To write the Machine down,
brick by brick.
If I must alone,
I will.

My muses and music may change,
but once I regain concsiousness
from the heartbreak of it all,
I engulf in flame
and start over.
The Phoenix weeps for me,
and I thank you for that.

Enjoy it.

I know that I worry too much,
but I had lost my father
in the mire,
and the cancer had sunk down deep,
now playing new games,
in the coming seasons.
What was I supposed to do?

I don't sleep much,
and yet I still see light,
sullen beauty,
in the street,
leaning on a lamppost,
slurring mechanics in the City
but getting dirty down
at closing time.

Freaks fucking,
getting bad habits,
cuming and dicking around,
eating and laughing
late into the darkness.

You are glorious,
sweat and skin.
Tis enough self-loathing,
you give light to the people
around you,
don't you see that
through your gin and tonic?
Your sad eyes let me in
on your secrets
I'm not blind,
not yet.

I have fierce wrath welling
up inside as I witness
daily the unneeded soul-killing,
hatred and violence spreads.

Baby, life is hard,
I know the pain
you suffer.
I've loved and lost,
was used and abused,
indeed given against my will,
and taken away from hope altogether.
These visions are
ticking clocks,
candles flickering
we enter as always,
through the looking glass.

Relish in the
utmost pleasure.
Forget your troubles
through soft touches,
sensual slumber,
desire and mixed rhetoric,
slurring of our words,
love or lust or whatever,
architects of the underground.

Phantoms breathe deep,
lose you and me,
in the heat,
staggering away,
breathe quick,
seeking to loose the battle,
give in.
I can take you away,
for a moment,
Enjoy it.

Somebody, Move.

Slave girl trade
kept me up last night,
the world is weeping,
and I listen best at nighttime,
when the shadows wander, and
the mirror haunts
with staggering,
I can't stop looking deep,
yearning for even deeper down the rabbit hole,
hard and wet and deep,
but what if I don't want to stop?

The Salem witches are awake
and on the move,
still sizzling from
their wounds,
they start to come alive,
burn again in the moonlight,
as you start to moan again in your sleep,
beautiful sounds of unconscious pleasure
awake within you.

Though we start
to notice the mass hysteria,
the twisted tea parties
that are starting to piss off the Mad Hatter,
the smell of pure upheaval
and revolt was
starting to course through again,
these tired old veins,
still always hear the calling.

Make no mistake,
this is a new level of inferno,
I'm watching the
fallen angels in my head
turn into machine drunk zombie dolls,
sadness turns to
self-loathing and despair,
stop this dark force at work
in the dungeons of our deficit,
and the puppet masters for
the Principal are laughing ever still.

Addicted to sex
and the rush of pleasure,
I hunger for spirits
not afraid to fuck deep waters,
expand our horizons,
we can travel and change,
become misfit gypsies
in quite the traveling
masturbatory habits disclosed
and prescription pills
letting the mind wander
and weave,
out into oncoming traffic.

I will let you overcome me
just because it felt good
to be wanted a little,
I guess.
Vampires twisting in nightmares,
cancer hot flashes in the corners
of bathroom stalls,
heavy sighs and so on,
the sickle comes down
again on our prophets of the twilight hours.
We stand by and watch
the rite
played out over our bodies,
and say nothing.
enough noise.
Somebody, move.


Where's my fucking pen?
Struck by a hurricane tornado,
blood from the sky,
misfits become
Dante's suicide trees,
white cedar,
sharp blade to the skin
as the leaves fall in autumn
and the bark rips away
from the trunk
begging for mercy.

I weep for you
rebel rolling drug dealers
with the mist in your eyes
that tries to hide your self-loathing
due to abuse over the years,
the Father hits her over and over,
you watch,
and it breaks your soul into pieces.
I hear those hounds
haunting you in the darkness.

It festers me so
to see the sorrow
drift in and out
of your eyes,
like sipping hot coffee,
it burns all the way down
your spine.
We can make each other better,
angels falling,
seraphim luring me
to the cross,
we land on the rocks,
and the lighthouse
dims with a wink and simple
twist of euphoria.

The torture of our women
in better homes and gardens,
we stay silent,
until all the light
is drained from their soft sad bodies,
sick humiliation
of half our generation.
Though in suddenly waking,
you realize that if one aches,
we all drip blood,
just a little even.

Connection is the door
to freedom and sexual divinity,
you already know that,
deep down.