after the doorbell rings

By whisperer

scissors cut




needles entwine
threads tangled and snared around a cold, cold hand but at last...

complete

here... i have a new skin veil for you to wear oh bearer of lights
blistered bubbles of reason
wait...


am i making sense?!

no?
releif floods the thought gates



that was close


but i do have some questions for some of those who know thought
some of those don't know me

who do you write about?


ok nevermind....just kidding, just one after all



fucking christ the sun is bright




wait...hang up it's just the moon
the toiled rhapsodies torment flesh
salty bitter purifications and random acts of fuck

serenade me with the sound of insence and the smell of your sweet violin once more

i beg of you

while i watch the nothings flutter and flop around in the bottle i keep them locked in
black glass sublimination condenses while i get my mouth sewn shuit with safety pins


but i like my black feathers and blue ink





so here we go tripping back into my familiar rose garden
growing out of frost fucked dead dirt
stepping on the frozen petals will cut right through your shoe..........souls
the wind blows when the book of whispers is opened, catching all of these razor edged flower cast offs, and sends them whistling through anything that still has a pulse



broken bells ring screams in the distance


and while energetic analogies die in ecstacy, the true explanations rise and give rise to new blasphemy truths






and the truth always hurts









does the spinal tap help at all doctor?

no.....the euphorics and sedatives didn't either
we just need to look like we know what we're doing


....says the white coat that is trying to stick a syringe in my third eye while roasting what seems to be a tire above a bonfire pit full of ice







hmmm.....







another point for normal upon the red wall



stakes line the drive way
on each one impailed, a body

with lidless eyes and no arms
on the top of the house is a set of gallows where i like to watch the mercies dance on air

....if their necks don't break first

holding onto a head full of images

on of a girl, deprived of reason, who rifles through my thoughts every now and again and many of the goddesses daughter who had me.....

....heart and souls

all other concious rambling of ripping off angel wings in exhuberance and exhalted catastrophy

disaster loves me

cigarettes in my righting hand more often then i can remember
flesh peeled words spoken in confidence
muffled by brown carpet

undertones of riddles




written into the fray like a hail storm of iron finger nails on polished bone
saints of madness pray to a dead god in my bedroom

they hope he is dead anyway
the rest of them strangle themselves with my brothers piano strings and paint the bone wall red again with the leftover mystery meat





not much of a mystery anymore...










......is it, my little glass figurine of aqualine intelligence.....







but i just want to sit here and degauss my eyeballs
stupid statice prison piggies





they moo




then my eyes fall shut like an avalanche
gathering strength on the way down
resting my head on bone fists




no wonder it hurts when i masterbate






i eat the skin off my lips every now and then, so that if i ever do kiss anyone but her it'll feel real to them

warm......
......full of life in the dark



i'd really like to see what face they make when they see themselves wwith me all over their face



never will find out how that goes









bells in the distance








who else has arrived into my tormented bay of bones
my land of fire, ice and corpses


my frozen land of razor petaled roses





but for now i'll take my shopping cart full of pain and paper towels to burn because i don't hurt
except when i stare at myself





when i chainsaw these words into the flesh mountain i feel sane








when i'm near to that violin scent i feel safe













when i'm bleeding.....


























......i feel free......

Unauthorized Copying Is Prohibited. Ask the author first.
© 2006 whisperer
Published on Thursday, January 19, 2006.     Filed under: "Ironic" and "Poetry"
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Comments on "after the doorbell rings"

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  • A former member wrote: Seriously.. by far, one of your best.. if not your best.

  • A former member wrote: ...you amaze me.

  • A former member wrote: This is a migraine of a piece, to be honest.. but I always come back to it.. perhaps because I absorb your words like they were some type of fix.. I guess in a way you were.. but the twists and turns of this words..

  • A former member wrote: ..they're a labyrynth that makes my head spin and start to hurt..a sort of desperate, itching beautiful..and it's fucking painful. I saw this as sort of like a cut-and-paste collage of thought.. brilliance.

  • A former member wrote: brilliant choice of words, had a melodic property to it, great job whisperer

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