broken thought chimes

pouring back over my words as they drip across my static vision

each word burned into my central conciousness though i dont think i could ever recite them if i tried



i've blinked once in four hours




...and that was when i broke the top off of a bottle of absinthe and cut myself


...so that's why this shit is dark

broken thought chimes and rusty eyelids
the transformation is complete

his body is adapting to the misture....doctor?
yes....indeed but can it sustain its duality helix?


most definately


though now i laugh at nothings
just a giggle that unless supressed will have me rolling for hours

very inconvnient when you're trying to make a living

when i walk into the sunlight something awakens and my body becomes engulfed in the darkest of flames

im just peachy

some rose flourish in my grasp, others just wither away

metaphor?





...perhaps...




insanity checked in sleep, de ja vu strikes all too often now
must've been some mistake in the breaking process

but everyday the rage will consume me, breaking flesh and bone on walls of thought

then nothing...

the fight goes on at all fronts and i just sit here drawing shapes in the dirt and pulling grass and daisys like the child i have been labelled
i have not stopped fighting

my reason has left on vacation to paris

i have been scorned, burned, electri-fried, and pityed


i resent the last


but i no longer remember why i cared
the ferryman looks at me as i step out of his boat into the land of the living for a second time
"why won't you just die?"

i don't know

i stare at the desert and glass pillars that dot my chaotic landscape of a mind
the stream of conciousness still feeds my garden of dying roses
"oh yes i am fine", says the skeleton in my closet

and as i slosh this paper with ink i find that the words spewed forth became meaningless and thoughtless monogram representations of sightless bullshit



my anger keeps hitting a wall


correction, it kept
it strikes me and flows, pounding at the foundation of this change
it agrees..................it fills me with nothing but familiarity

it fills the chasm torn open by many knives and lives lost
howling faces dance and sing before my eyes and then...



...i sleep


it's the same ............ no growth
then tomorrow comes
the blood red wall is white again





it must be feeding time








corpses are piled six high in my thought box
where'd they come from?
seeing my reflection brings it all out into the open
the monster and the wolf were reborn with me
and since this morning i feel.....

more full
what do you care?
you're reading this hoping to find a representation of you within this thought wrought plague fucked diatribe.....who knows?


there could be





just so you8 can smile in self-fuckin'-righteous satisfaction at my incompetence


i remember now doll...

....what do i remember?

every little nothing
































...ever...





























i recall nothing of consequence
i know where the blood splashed but not what caused the three of us to bleed
i'm not sure i know or care

i keep staring at my wings of broken glass in friction shocked wonder as the blood thinned absinthe drips down my chin
i guess i really wasn't meant to fly
but i'll climb until all the flesh is stripped from my fingers and palms, then i'll rip out the pages from this book and wrap my hands in psalms

then we'll see how much my words are worth




they'll at least get me to a safe haven

if no where else




my blood continues to feed that savage, if somewhat diminished, garden
the desire to kill has returned
the hunt goes on....





and i will savage this land until something comes to stay my raging hatred and bloodlust





but until then the bone white wall demands the heart juice
i'd give you a nickel
i'd give you a dime
but my pockets are empty and you don't spare time for a greyman


i die everyday at dawn with half an hour break for lunch at 12:30, i open my eyes at 6 but, i'm never really awake
there's not much worht getting up for in my world



broken thought chimes




the road to hell is paved with good intentions but mine's a fucking freeway of life's parodys and satires
laughing uncontrollably as that goddam truck runs me down again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again...........

when will this fucktard realize that i won't die
i would know...........i try
"A" for effort though

i'm really beginning to like the sweet, cold kisses of steel on flesh, the star seer wonder of impact and the sensation of flying
through suns of asphalt

shattered black glass sarcophygus, satirized by the broken face of life




...life...



only to get up and do it all again
pretty soon you'll run out of gas









then it'll be my turn








blacklights and mini-skirts
boy am i glad i'm blind
at least....you say i am

i might be

but i can see enough of the shit that's sneakin' up on you and the quandry is....



should i help or stare?




maybe i should return the favor of your pity




...or maybe i'll just read about the latin letter that became our "Q"






death is so becoming
life is sardonically comforting
and i have become embued with them both







hello,
i am your version of my own eulogy




and this life is a patch test of euphanisms
fuck that, this and them




silenced myself
stained myself





broken




done




forgotten











...but still not lost...