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poetry by Innocence Blackened eyes cease to see all the rage of the long ago moment when all was good, and death seemed fair and life just another laughing matter. Slacken the strain on my bowels I'll sing the song of shit and piss and laugh because I know its more to do with ancient sayings and God fearing blares of the heart. My soul knows no mourning, just solid sores that ooze out between the cracks and swallows the virgins whole. Let our tongues carress the hidden crevices of our pains delight let the leather crack and split open the memories. I know you're dead, your skin so white, still I delight in that slight touching moment when I feel your disgrace and your morbid thoughts that seem to bring me such exciting bliss. The tit exposed, mommy is a whore singing about her broken amoire, listen to me going on while you sleep hearing nothing but whispers and feeling nothing but shadows beneath you. Can you hear my breath against your skin. My nails savor the epadermal delights of giving flesh. I could rot beneath your great breasts, or touch your testicular delights and suck from them some comforting, lingering against your hair to smell the dust. The piano plays inside, the doors all locked and screams give no remuneration to my exubarant exterior devotion. All abstract thinking, all abstract divisions of the ghost that was me, that was you, that was civilization going mad. |
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