violaceous

please, leave me here, underneath the willow. a forthfront attempt at redemption.       you see the truth.       you know who. and even with shut eyes you delve into the minds of forksaken allies; those once-upon-a-time friends that have renounced freshly lemon-scented blood.

hey-hey, it's that lone frail finger, found in sounds of tin-foil digestion, pointing out swollen dissections. every direction it aims, its apologies are always interpreted from miscalculated evaluations. tossed away like lacquered angels. they tumble down like a mildew-mosiac of abandoned closet corners... now. he tore from her with a spurious haste to mislead the empires of buildings scorned and then erased, but here is all we have to reset the clocks to function with reduction of emotions gone haywire. the only vexation is it's always wasted effort in karma's kingdom.

you're lost in a shadow of solace with no air or thought to breathe. yet, whose merriment can be deceived through late night eves of cheeks and tongues... a perpetual kiss? it's little late for imperishable nostalgia. who was he that beckoned the grave-diggers with gauze wrapped over fists and wrists flicked back on limp limbs? i counterstrike your act of vigilance. you never thought you'd see less than grey. it's a sad seclusion, but the antidote is long lost in waves of broken trust and tormented phantoms of ceased causes.

masked mannequins, slip loose, fall through; fall hard. tripping over homicide is a full time job. corpses offer lethal amounts of tribulations and obligations. tip-toeing through roommates of lust long lost. whose arm should propel the dagger first? whose feathers should insinuate heartache? it's quite a silent complication to overdose on migraine medication. hearts punt but don't revive on the account of your suave endeavors. lucid lies? isn't that what was intent? it's not relentless as gloves spritz repellent to a hapless wind. who sought this dismal fight? ... no more mystique in the eyes of parasites. it's a clear misfortune to be alive

she's an amplified propensity sifting through destinies. and how will the hammer fall fourfold? cold and slaughtered, her tongue won't hold. that lip that spits jargon at adjacent figurines as her pockets are stuffed with tell-tale witnesses, but their mouths are sewn shut by common convictions. torso in decline her ears collapse. call the eccentrics 'cos she's dancing with ribbons. hair flown back in different positions of rhyme and rhythm. she shouts rather quaintly "i've finally found a pattern worth living. a technicolor contrast of instant disposition."

such a comely face, with bliss written across your lips; and what a coincidence that i should find you here. oh my highway catalyst. this headache is growing stronger and my resentment is throbbing. you made such a careful incision. i bled crimson murder. with all these icicles tumbling from the sky, i'm quite surprised you withheld as long as you did. but i have to address how distraught i am with your ravenous thoughts of bedside liquidation. and i can already see how insignificant i have become, with the red seeping through your pores.

you walk within the catacombs throwing missiles at my fingers and thumbs. with a flick of a wrist i'm lost in an abyss, and this satire is wearing old.

he threw his hands up in protest and swore with disgust, ripping that shower curtain off the hooks. he tore it down with all his might and screamed "please, no introductions -- what of the reduction you promised on my taxes this summer?" damned and alienated, he sat on a  tree log and thought through the fog of days.

you say you don't want this anymore but how can you deny bruises of red rouge smudged on your ivory pillow case? you say we're only shifting in and out, moving throughout comatose beliefs and doubts, but i don't want it to be that way. and even if you find me frightened by relief it'll never fit with your discomposure. so that's it, stand tall and talk fast with a spatful of tongues that beat me broken before i've begun. tear my whole and sabotage the empire i so readily built for us both.

your moods fluctuate more than tides, and those strides you show off with your ego and... flaunting lips that pierce warm skin. but nothing means more than a yesterday fuck. my hand is raised as you find your way with vacuous motions. delirious in delectation, as shadows reveal haunting figures. so, now where? and what do you do with the broken ornament you pulled from your chest? we all see you, but how do you remain with those eyes fastened, so lost in self-indulgence and gratification?