our culture rude
our future bright
or dark
or big
our religion's extinct
there's no god now
there's only us
there's only me
or you
or none
we like our ultra-sex
our heavy drugs
our only loves
or high
or not
our fear's dissipated
there's no law now
there's only life
there's only moods
or stop
or go
we like our psychosis
our language sick
our voices heard
or hard
or gone
poverty-stricken Christmas joy,
that move as slowly as time.
Burning love,
Smothered ashes,
against splintered wood.
Fake plastic diamond ring of promise
enclosed within my heart.
surfaced yet drowning for lack of air,
so poisoned and black,
fringed by death while
surrounded by life,
Killed The Clock
Open vainty in disconcerted minds,
The clock ticks on.
Delicate wings unleashed on hands
The drum beats still.
Molten wax and cherry lips puckered
The moment passes.
Rotting sensation buried deep beneath my skin,
The last breath exhaled.
Frustrated peace and lusting for love,
The clock ticks on.