Routine Measures

Blink your eyes
Once or twice you’ll live in the moment
Multiply
And you’ll keep her in your pocket forever
Don’t forget her
Don’t forget her

Sleep comes and I’ll
Live with her till the day breaks
Just for one night
Then she will be discarded forever
I’ll forget her
I’ll forget her

Everybody’s safe as long as I keep it together
Forever
Cut up into pieces and fed to the vultures
I’ve kept it
Together

Do lovers from the past regret?
The air is bare
Hands of the fallen, do you regret?
I didn’t think so
You didn’t even know so

Kept secret from the world, I’ve loved you all
Regret has yet to rear its head
Even in your pieces, you’ve stayed intact
Free as birds, you wear the rust of my cage

How many lives have been taken so far?
How many wives have I taken so far? x2

Despite all of this, I know my place
It’s not right, I know I’m not right
I’ve kept it together for all this time
For that I’m right
For that I’m right

I’ve never doubted myself, I put the pieces all together with the strongest of glues
I’ve never been accused, all the evidence exists yet there have been no clues
How can you even blame me for knowing what would happen if I saw one twice?
I never saw her coming, I never saw her coming back

Ritual Typeology

amongst the piles i've committed EROTOPHONOPHILIA there was one who came up twice. bloodied and embodying what should only be described as a corpse. i've kept this at bay, but she may have broken into the novel reaches of unfamiliarity i've lusted for so long FANTASY -- SYMBOLISM -- RITUALISM -- COMPULSION. inside, she lusts the same. inside, she too has made a ritual. cunning, methodical, we're playing a game FLAGELLATION -- PICQUERISM -- ANTHROPOPHAGY -- VAMPIRISM -- NECROSADISM. i can only imagine she is seeking revenge in the sweetest way possible. if i win, she wins. if she wins, i win. she might break me. i don't know REHEARSED REPEATEDLY IN MIND WHILE MASTURBATING if i'll finally squelch my compulsion ORGANIZED NONSOCIAL TYPE or if i'll continue on. i only know that if it's the latter, with the ongoing need for novelty, what can surpass my necro-other?

The Epicenter of Madness

Like an artery, it pulsed. Throwing wind, blood, and heat. The steep incline connecting two spotlights.
1. Where my vision was tainted, and the concoction brewed:
2. Where he finally stepped forward after I was left alone. He spoke to me. He became me.
And from here I began to write . . .

Disclaimer: On Veins and Nothing

We take little parts of others with us along our travels. Once we leave those people, we secretly/forgetfully/forcefully take those parts with us in our pockets. Whoever is left lessened by the taking of their person, it is unbeknownst, like the dust particles lying on top of the surfaces of their epicenters. They don’t miss their dust.

Some of the trinkets include stabbing thorns, things better left alone, or out of your pocket, for the sake of holes in your cloths. If you find yourself with one of these thorns, how best to proceed? Study it, throw it away immediately, eat it, give it back, etc.

I wanted to study my thorn bush. I named it Afton.

In a spotlight filtered red, I brought the examining chair up to dangerous levels. Close enough to kiss my lips. The same kiss occurred two months ago, and now it will reoccur every second of the day. That is the curse of studious voyeurism.

Prick my finger on every thorn, drawing blood made invisible by the light. How much blood have I lost?

Substances flood what is left inside, dyeing me the color of black, overflowing my innards into a pool of reality and fiction, coexisting forevermore. We are after the fact, but within fiction eternally.

Version 1.0

He asked me once to step right up
He made me look into his light
We met with awe at who we were
He smiled and said “You can take my place if you like”

Now the drums turn to guns turn to anything I want
And the notes ring high with hardly any try
At the center of it all is everyone
And we choose to base it all off one tired song

Where is the fight?
Can you do wrong?
Is there any chance at all that you will fail?
I want to fall
I want to take
All the rest of you down to the bottom with me
Cause I only know
Vernacular
Stemmed from the school of Typosgraphy . . .