(this is about my life as a former junkie, a poet, a musician, a morgue attendant, and so on. haven't written in a while and this one is too painful to write more of. I may add to it later. enjoy)



I could pollute you with my pretty words
and twist your soul to tears
while running hands full of images
through your long dark hair

But there is no art where poetry can't breathe
and all that was alive has long been dead in me

only deaf ears can hear you
and if only they could see
all the corpses could wake and walk
then all my loves would be alive
and my heart,

my heart would be free

have you ever given head for drugs and cried yourself to sleep
woke up to realize you've only begun to bleed
cut open children to see how much lead was in their chest
pulled it from their rust red caverns to realize it was only worth seven cents
and collapsed on the floor scalpel in your hand
is this what god intended for the children of man

I could pollute you with my pretty words
and twist your soul to tears
But you have to see the hell yourself
to feel the screams invade your ears
where only deaf ears can hear you
where all my friends are alive
and my heart

my heart is free