Untitled III

Wasted words wet tongue, crash against the inner folds of lips;

the dark crevices succumbing to the twisted sweet taste of neglect and past mistakes

tumbling in my mind like a dancer falling from Heavenly Grace.

Did it hurt on your fall from the sky, asked with a smile.
 

The tip of a blade scratching into the flesh,

staining, bleeding, black.

Flying fallen into your post bin of rubbish.

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Written on a Paper Napkin (Or, Untitled Poem II)

After the moment ends and the silence has blackened the ears of the living;

After the creation of eternity from the multitude of moments locking into place;

After the forever after ends and all that remains is a period to mark the spot

of where young dreams used to lie tight in bed at night.

Never know after the after more,

to deserted cafes and revolution dreams.

To a time where time felt fine and where you knew what I meant.

To a time where I wasn’t afraid of what I dreamt.

Back to a place where I was what I knew

and back to a place where life seemed true.