FireI've thought about taking a can of gas and burning this old house down to the ground for a while now. As I run my hand across the wall, I can see in my mind, the singing, popping wood, splintering and crying as it's tongue turns to flame. And as it burns, I will lie in my bed, waiting till the roof peels back under the withering smoke and fire so that I can watch the sky, and see the reflection of the ambulance lights in the trees. The siren's songs will sooth me like a lullaby inferno. I can see now the walls of smoke rising up like ladders to God, or maybe something greater. Maybe I'll climb the ladders and wave to the firemen below, and they'll wave back and smile, because they know the clouds greet children with open hands. Or maybe I'll sit here, and let the fire slowly creep along the edges of my "flame proof" mattress like the smokey fissures pushing their way through the virgin earth. I can dance around the candle flames with my fingers, tempting the breeze to sway the fire lik
Blood and SunshineI could burn the world in anger,
And drown the shores in rage.
I could unwrite every story,
Page by page by page.
I could fell the biggest city,
Till cinder burns the ground.
If defeat had a voice,
Would it make a sound?
I could lose the smallest battle.
I'll be the first man down.
Underneath the last man standing,
face down, on the ground.
I'll never be the hero.
I'm the human shield that died.
If I'm fighting for your cause,
We're the losing side.
You cannot win in love or war,
You can only hope to last.
For flowers grow from the dead
and forgive them for their past.
But those who live will fight again
Until the day they fall.
Commando Jesus, drop your gun.
You cannot save them all.
The only way to truly live
is to accept defeat.
The bastard martyr finds his peace
gunned down on the street.
Sickness LoveThere's something in the air,
Is it love or cyanide?
My heart is beating faster,
pumping blood or iodine?
My neck is getting goosebumps
Or cancer causing sores?
My hands are going cold,
waiting to grab yours.
My stomach gets the butterflies,
or parasitic worms?
Is this warmth the touch of love?
Or the sting of healing burns?
When we kiss my legs my legs go numb,
I never want to leave.
Are you the poison or the cure,
With needles in your sleeve?
But even when my heart stops beating,
I still will kiss you so.
Because I know that if I die,
My body will let go.
The Fallen SaintA fiery tree with burning leaves marks the start of fall,
And under looming branches lie a child's forgotten doll.
Her face shows signs of weather, chips and cracks in paint,
Forgotten in a sea of leaves, she is the fallen saint.
Her painted smile never falters in the summer sun,
Even when the thunder giants bang their battle drums.
When winter spiders spin their webs of barbed wire thorns and thread,
And mighty trees shed crying leaves and leave them all for dead,
The saint will sit against the trunk of her mighty maple tree,
Staring out with painted eyes into the wooded sea.
Watching as the seasons pass upon a gentle hill,
Sitting for eternity where others never will.
The setting sun is shining now on cracks that will not heal,
But do not pity the fallen saint for the smile she smiles is real.
The Beauty of SilenceNothing can be said with a bag of broken words.
Our minds try to fly but we've clipped the wings of birds.
You'll always be a fleeting grasp from what you want to say.
You'll always have lightning on the brightest shining day.
The only time we truly speak is when our tongues are still.
The silence that we scream is loud enough to kill.
You waste your time with words, I'm staring at your eyes,
I'd rather swim in pools of blue than listen to your lies.
You are the deaf pianist, playing songs you'll never hear,
The notes your fingers never hit come through crystal clear.
When you speak, I close my eyes, and listen to your song,
Cause someday, when you sing, the love will all be gone.
I Want to be Burned AliveYour soul is on fire, but you don't make a sound.
Your body still stands while it burns to the ground.
There's spiders in your heart, yet you manage a smile.
I pity your mind, but I like your style.
I know where you've been, and I know where you're going.
Your cinders will smoke while your embers are glowing.
When the rain comes, many will cower.
But you, my torch, will stand in the shower.
Your flames will be smothered, and your soul will be free,
Your mind will be clear, you'll forget about me.
But I'll still sit, where the rain always pours,
Where lost souls stumble on foggy shores,
For I am the lighthouse that never shines,
I am the ghost leaving you signs,
My flames are still fierce, but they shine inside,
A place of solace where my soul confides,
I could go with you, but I'll probably stay.
That road is not mine, my heart will decay.
I want to share flames and scorch the stars,
Our bodies charred with a million scars,
But it cannot be, for I'm home on the sea,
That road is not mi
Odd RockI am the stone that crushes the fruit.
A rolling boulder, messenger of the dead.
Hello, living thing. I am going to kill you,
Or maybe I'll just roll over you,
Yeah, I think I would like that.
Maybe we are playing, or maybe
I'm hurting you.
You know, I sink in water.
Let's go play there.
I like watching fish,
they hide under me.
Or let's play in a volcano,
No wait. That would
Can we be friends?
I have never hugged a stump before,
Can I stay with you and sit on you,
and talk about the
I see a rock.
Where the Sidewalk StartsThere is a place where the sidewalk starts
And the sun sets in our hearts,
And there cracks yawn on tar,
And there the moon shines like a star,
And there the crow settles, he's flown so far
To die where it all starts.
Let us come now where smoke hangs heavy
And the thick matted grass parts.
Through the ashes where ember buds bloom
We shall sit here forever in sad ruin,
And stare longingly at the moon
To the place where the sidewalk starts.
Yes, we'll sit with a pose that is hunched and low,
And we'll stay where the frigid winds blow,
For our hearts, they mark, and our hearts, they know
The place where the sidewalk starts.
CarnivalI have seen you before. You are me, and I am you. You are the actor, and I am the crowd. I sit in morbid harmony as your scene is set. At first, the smell of burning dust fills the air, the lights are warming up. Bells ring off in the distance, they signal your cue. The lights flash on with a pale flicker and the silhouettes of dust cast lazily on the ancient curtains behind you. You're head is down, and your body posed, cross legged on the floor, hands behind your back. You wear the attire of a marionette, your ruffled, stained collar creeping forth from pale, painted flesh. Your dingy suit has three large, round buttons with faded colors smeared like a painter's smock. There are rips and tears where the threads hang loose, but still you sit, like an angel in the dust. The crowd is empty, but the phantoms do not remain silent, with their cravats and monocles, they've come for... us. Like static they flicker, they're cheers seeming far and distant, balloons falling and falling again, r