Birddy Canary

I feel like

Silence is

The answer

To a mathematical

Problem

The equation

Space

To make

A novel

Praised

For the

Use to

Silence-err

Couldn’t see

What I mean

With a monical

You couldn’t

Feel my Words

With a key

To catch

Up with

the day

Locked

Out of

Thankfulls

And thank

you’s

Your own

Answer

Or is it

Protection

For what’s

To come

A mediphor

Unpluged

Giving you

The truth

In the

Feeling

Of what

Is why

I go by

And go

Through

As a silencer

No fake

Smiles

To pardon

You

From death

Till only

I am left

Devouring The Devoted

A
subtle
thought
Apart
from
who
You
see
I
don’t
rain
on
Parades
I
leave
A
chemical
of
Aromas
built
By
Chilled
atoms
To
A
Tantric
mental
Catching
Your
Mind
like
Fly
paper
It
never
goes
Away
Pheromones
Special
guest
Hitting
the
nasal
Inhaled
turning
Eyes
from
black
To
hazel
Now
you
are
trapped
In
my
rum
drunken
Legs
Drunk
Waking
you
up
Like
America
running
On
Duncan
Morning
Hot
Coffee
Donuts
I’m
like
shoes
that
fit
You
just
right
I’ll
wear
You
on
me
like
a
balaclava
eyes
hold
Fire
before
I
run
In
your
bank
To
Withdraw
From
Sticking
Up
Blushing
Comet
Orgasmic
Lips
To
Kiss

600th Post 6 Million Faces

Dead Man Walking

The last

will be last

Ask for action

You’ll get my laughs

I’ll get pass

Adjustments

From the past

Judgements

They say

The first shall be last

Or some shit like that

Cutting mirrors in half

With a sharp punch

Field slice or a battle axe

Let the race begin

This time

With me in it

Still sinning

Still equivalent to

A start

That has already finished

I ran in circles around the

So called competition

You can now see my ass

Twice

I’ve had a nice flight

PeaceāœŒ

 

 

 

 

Love Is Dead

These are two halves now and it will never be a whole again. Kill us both! Trying in desperation to make things work. The two opposites are just to alike. Truth is…

Splitting hairs before they break off is the most painful in clipping ends. A lot of beer cans and liquor bottles turned upside down in those old times. Empty hearted I think was the name of the liquor.

Not knowing where to start or how to finish anything that you were use to. The truth is the truth. I just wanted to be killed in action. Not knowing that I was already dead. From the heart shaped glass dropped napalm into fractures. Breaking into sad smaller fractions. Sad never evaporated it just stayed lingering.

Pieces of me everywhere to point a thousand fingers. Seeing the darkness in what use to be my reclining chair. Promising myself in the mirror that this will never be repeated again.

I’d rather be killed in a long stand off with federal government agents. Praying…. Asking God to take me away from this pain of this pain.

Slow death and a closed casket please…