Some stuff from the old myspace

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This is a vivisection of the surreal.
A dizzy haze of heroin white and tar black.
Blood stains the fingertips of every artist,
Every dreamer's heart lies
Ground into the floor.
Twenty days without sleep,
Chewing through your tongue
Howling at the wilderness
And wishing for more colour in your surroundings.
Surreal.
Take it apart, piece by piece.
Label every insignificance.
Every heartache, all the pain, all the joy in the world.
Waiting in jars written over in running black ink.

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Who am I, with you?
I struggle to be me
And I feel as though
The more you know,
The less I am.
Love can keep us together,
But sometimes I am afraid
That it will tear me apart.
Drop me in dry leaves
In the dust.
Disassembled
And confused.
Alone.
You cannot be without me
And I cannot be without you.
I only wish that
Somewhere in the rush of
This river around us
I could find some solid ground and
The will to fight the current back.
You say you loved my strength.
I know, of course, that it's been gone some time.
But here I am, trying to find it again.
Standing tall and bruised
After a long year and a bloody, beaten heart.
Casting fear out is not so easy,
Once you've let it take over every cell.
But I am trying, growing, every day
I will find my way, here-
But this is a path I must walk alone.

ramon.
dangerous. the look he flashes, the shine in his eyes, changing, and feral. the alien calm there, darker promises... so hard to keep from falling in, drowning. popping pills and feeling the burn of liquor, beautiful and surreal, the scent of copper and graves.

dancing with the devil, loving the needle, taking in smoke like air.

the rhythm of the night is so frantic, a dying pulse, the throb of distant stars, the shine of a dessicated-looking moon. the taste of rot. blood spilling underneath, purple in the sky, red pouring across the ground. soft and ancient. sex and death, power grows, spreads, builds. the tension shimmers like a good red wine, begging to spill itself over the rim.

death is so hard to contain.

drop the leash and let it run, let it build. the air breathes wicked tonight, speaking of noisome things that could not survive the burn of the sun. the earth soaks up its bounty, and power stretches like a waking cat, intoxicating, cold.

the sky opens; the moon watches with an omnipresent silver eye, afraid to look away, and telltale copper stink crawls through the night, twisting marks in response to this new blood.

this is only the beginning.