MrPhoenix

I In the first life, when you have had, 'just' a taste. No one loses, dreams continue. You can't get enjoyment, something happens, it could be horrible, and a special 'someone' dies again. Repeating it like dice that slip, you're always born to trip, and laugh. You don't want to see, you wander the same. 'Got the whim?' II Walking, whistling through the autumn leaves. Dull reflection of light upon a black suit, knowing your name, souls incense guiding out of the chill, leading out. Over a trite road of decadent doubt. III Hanging to get a few feet higher, to try and get a step closer, to a level, blessed, sacred. The tight rope of hell,

This skin is just as pale as the limbs that face me, That connect me to a thumb and double finger smile, Shaking hands with teeth and aspirin knucles, Painkilling on this floor that will never look up, Gently refusing to see any cracks in that ceiling That may blindly answer a question, Lord I give back nothing but this breeding host That sticks to me, Hoping I regret the best, and assuming Hope that eases out a heart, Heart easing out a concrete wall, This is not pain(t), this is a number, This is a word, blurred like vision, Imagining it can't speak to a nice black car, With a zipper, a window, and bleeding holes, With a smil

My wooden leg drying on adrenalline To cut out with this cutting edge prosthetic, Clicking noises like a cap of aspirin, (See;saw)-jaw, that's brand new, twisting Before (HE)-(MIGHT)-(ALL)The way he cried, Choked while I tested durability, the irony. Breaking this new neck, twisting It by a checklist of placebic aspirin, Freeing all forms of my prosthetics, Of the (ALL)-(MIGHT)-(HE)The irony I say, all, sensing my adrenalline With census tears, and the way some cry. Down your back in an alley with a jagged prosthetic, This mind of mine that's so terribly "twisted," If at (ALL)-(HE)-(MIGHT)Taste the ultraviole(n)t irony Of withd

Light breaching traumatic eyes, now I've done it. A note rolls off a chord, it murmurs a picture. Fatigued crackhead lines, form on the hungover eyes, "someone's" losing their mind. Only "someone's" speaking, bad reception, you know. Proving meekness of my weekness, "something's" wrong. Licking at my skull in incorrect places, stop that. Be happy, I learned how to be sick, and die young, by doing nothing at all. Drowning into, my daily dose of despair. Cars following my footprints home, staring eyes, watching drivebys on the tv screen. Smoke sticking to my mouth, even after I breathe. There's no secret behind documenting the l

Letting in air that yawns me tired, Blessing heated water in non-caffinated heroin sockets, Guessing game blank staring, and it's not you, Miming, silently mimicking a playback, Falling the same old death, fire and ice hellish freezer burn Erupting from my toes and fingers. Vociferating, I'm on my knees, and so am I, Asking for the afterwards brown pastel, Tracing in the destined empty lines, Hearing the end of a musical note Resonating off ivory keys Tipping off every dream, like a hat to you. Walking, I'll reach your street eventually, Putting bread on tables, and don't I love me Complaining on my artwork, Clouding bright pol

Gently closing these eyes, easing me towards a temporary darkness, Insering lids, and oculer senses with a scalpe., Embalming impossible wounds with cough syrup, Blanketing open empty kindness with common courtesies, And reassurting to assume, those numbers by the body Don't come for you, Bruise the throat, so you may not thirst, Walk beside, the lolling stride of the hearse, That the backening, blaspheming blanketing narcosis Of the rain, may fall no more. Now, all your victories are in vain, Curio blinded, and three is company To birth a superstition from your Wrinkled, ancient womb, not immortal, aging, And no more than a nui

My whole body opens, replaced by suffocation, The lungs dissolve, and ache for blood, Nerves nailed into this doorway of dried clay, Dissilussioning that a heart needs love, That my body needs daisies to die, That my mind needs a circumventing host. Living like a soul to find your center, Listen very closely, I'm going to die right now, And I need you to pay attention as you document my thoughts, Things will change, and you should be the one to give me the bad news, If anyone at all, you should be the one to hold my hand, Not to console, but to pierce me with your kisses. A generic revolution, of cross evolution, Splinter equatio

Over the years, that hellish little list grew smaller, Closing my eyes, wings gave direction To my porous head waiting for daylight, Quivering lips let out a smile, as the sun was there, The dim prescence providing life for sorrow skies Shedding all my tears, and avoiding The etched in kisses on the flesh and wall. The tune's out of key, and twisted, but it's just that time again, To show affection for love and emotion, To undo the hearths of lovely fear To taste familiar, the taste of tears, And they taste bittersweet to him, Won't he love you, just look at you, won't he be surprised. Won't his eyes be bleeding, just as soon He

The slim trees running in the night With their little slits of strobing light, Continually shifting, like a bar code that's always changing, Always sifting through the reflected light Of the blue, illuminated canvas Belonging to the (even now) ever still Forever framing, mind of the night. Twilight sky, is not your savior, The sand and ash are not your creator, And if it's not the sun and moon, Ask if you're a free man And answer the impossible life. Answer with proverbs, and an ocassional aphorism, Leave your conversations neverending, With riddles, and sad notes, Every now and then caressing your photographs, Quietly contem

I stabbed the needle, and pushed it inside, It cried out my medicine, And the shower at the opposite end Was crying too, With different tears and style, With spout shaped head and grated eyes It poured out the unclean raging heat. Was it rage, is it even a question, Is it even why or how, You can always talk, And always fall in love With the same person speaking Foreign little wailing, whistling, whispers With buckets of saliva and poison, The words, the kind that pain Before they kill. When I sleep, don't I die again, When I wake, am I still complaining, When I'm tired, do I still fall down And stumble on a short term rel