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- When Will It End? at allpoetry
Purposeless waking, walking, talking,
When will it end? - Undead at allpoetry
I remain; Undead.
Pictures hung high fade in release, - Harvest Prelude at allpoetry
A gentle stroll to clear the head,
Among the harvest of what's thought dead. - Pulse to Synchronization at allpoetry
. - Hands at allpoetry
. - stroke of impossibility at allpoetry
. - Bells to Bells at allpoetry
Dear friend and where have we found ourselves? Stripped us each bare and out the window, - Doctor's Son at allpoetry
I am a doctor's son; winter sun screams palely. Feel it in my soul- brown and grey and gone, - The Lord's Prayer at allpoetry
. - Walking at allpoetry
. - Flowers at allpoetry
Is it human to feel sub-human? A self-obssessed, self-loathing Christian? - Fuck off at allpoetry
I am Jesus fucking incarnate.
Look out, motherfuckers, - Masturbation at allpoetry
Towels, tissues, socks, and even empty hands.
Fucking Forbidden. - Costumes at allpoetry
On a floor drowning in ashes,
Seeping vomit and beer and laughs. - First time. at allpoetry
My first thought is if it's worth it.
Will my very veins collapse? - untitled at storywrite
Mr. Moskowitz picked up a dirty, plastic flower and placed it back on his wife's coffin. An ineffable sadness hit him like a hammer, but the numbness held strong...like cheap v - Beautiful Bull. at storywrite
The beauty of nature is dead. As I walk alone in the cold pasture I think to myself, "What would they do if they caught me here?" The Law would probably hang me which is just f - Bike Ride Through the Ocean at storywrite
“Bike Ride Through the Ocean”
Back one day when I was younger and the lines between reality and fantasy weren’t so rigid; back in the days of arm - October; Myth. at storywrite
Rain pours down like lead on on an alley in a bad part of town in New York City. Its October 23, 1984; the big clock outside Rod's pawn shop reads 2:19 a.m., the time for whore
