no matter how damned everything is i keep a flower in my coffin to remind myself that the sun still offers me something
his wife came in to the video store i work at today i knew who she was by the last name on her Oregon i.d…
i thought that god was playing hide and go seek with me but it was just
there she was again in my dreams last night perhaps it is faulty programming a virus or malware but for whatever reason
when governments fall the power goes out and civilization is in the shamble… of its own undoing Uncle Dan has plenty of survival…
i walk like an appetizer onto the moonlight tongue the wine is in my blood
dawn is a coffin stars take their graves in morning come night, resurrect
what happened to it? pen with which he wrote the note ink of his last words
black shirts worn at day they spoke mostly of music bonded by the odd
broken headstones in a cemetery of… bacteria running rampant feeding off the bones of the dead decay cannot be undone time will always bring about the i…
this shirt screams “i’m not still fucked up from last…
the Allen Bradley Tower clock looks at me like an all knowing ey… it tells me “you are home you were not born here
to reach for the pen only when you need it is a mistake you must reach for it everyday eventually it grows familiar with…
as her eyes broke open most of it washed away in a dry wave of consciousness there were a few drops left near the corners of her botto…
when the rest of the world seemed… and the invisibility of god was to… i turned to a puppet a stuffed brown dog i had named Gr… i confided in him earnestly
