it depends, it deepens/i would like a critic to describe my work as a 'tour de force' covered in bullshit and insulated with phlegm

Addicted to intervention,

Let's talk more of the war and shoulders
we cannot afford

To be poor in the wallet yet rich in the head
is maybe best?

Let's refuse what we are prescribed,
let's live until we feel alive,

The nation needs to be leveled un-erect,
circumcised of its arrogance

With a needle and a thread we do the opposite
of stitch, however we still begin
to be on the mend

It depends

It deepens

We were 'more than friends' now it's over except
to watch how it ends and ends

The plot thickens as the pot diminishes

You will probably not run out but it's best to get
it when we still have time left to kill
and money left to spend

The night with me until we land bankrupt
in the gaping trashcan of these gnarly
oceans

I just really am struggling to decide
if I want in your bed or inside
your mind

Searching, perpetually and always, for a place
where we can be free from parental damages
unseen; your face is tickled grief incarnate
laced with infinite beauty

If you look then maybe you will see

We will see

(Doing the 'tango' solo we untangle knots,
strangle thoughts, then plant invisible
rainbows in the space between your
teeth

A gap not expansive enough to satisfy me,
we open wide and bite the bullet that will
eventually slay me; a taste for the kill

Rotting

In a summer sun with heat so unbearable
we freeze

Stalactites jutting from out feet, stalagmites stuck falling
from the eyes of our memory
bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbb

Can't even begin to imagine the sort of tragedy
that I will need to re-unite you with me

Indeed, pretty

In pink but you'd look much better in red

When the only thing which is 'exorbitant' is the lack of natural
(or artificial, for that matter) resources

Shall we join forces? You clasp my hand in your hand,
we can lace together our bottom halves, curl in close
sharing a set of ear phones

And let the world come to a close-

Becoming a white-rose: all the colour of blood
drained from the extremities and core,

Have some more to drink, it's on me

Pretty in pink, indeed, yet you'd look much, much
better in red-

Searching, always it seems (or at least quite
frequently, too often) for any reason(s) to be
better off than dead-

So, we open the window

Swallow invisible rainbows,
catch kisses blown,
spread our wings
wide

And try to let it grow inside

Not caring a bit of any if we were to up and die,
fall down to the ground and cry, or get stuck
in a forever-long sigh

For we've got the moon within our thighs tonight
and for it all being so wrong, everything is right.