my teenage death boy.

i wash your windows.

jesus told me once

he enjoyed the pain.

he was laughing inside.



she wiped the smile from his lips.

with his bloodied clothing

and she scraped your eyes with fear and cold

drenched herself in your lovely


memories.


they hang like portraits of day old

laughter and tell tales.

fever high above your head, not knowing.

seems so alright.



i washed your windows

and i saw something other than

your white noise cluttered with hard rock.

cross me and fade into the backround as i bleed.


i took your smile as i made you mine.

and i took my understandings.

and joined you in your blood bath dances.

under a wounded moon.

just as beautiful