Our bodies broke and dirty,

we lay on Victorian hardwood

in great intermission.

Your fingers tapped to an uneven blade

 throwing relief to wet flesh.

Close-eyed, I sang Tori Amos

as your spider_leg_hair

tickled my smooth calf.

Lyrics waltzed through

hot oxygen and dipped

to intimate vibrations

until

your strong hand guarded

my mouth and forced

my hips to conclude

your favorite song.

The feature was on

I need a miracle.

I offer my most sacred pleas

only to be overlooked

by you again and again.

Am I so small your bloody hands

cannot reach me?

Could your enemy find me better

among the unbalanced threats

of hell? If I am your daughter,

listen to my burdens.

I need you on my side for

I am failing Father.

Have I served you too little?

Am I to suffer cold pews

of Sundays I remained sleeping

while navy contradictions wept

I need more,

Another essence to disguise me from myself,

Calling out to all my chances thrown aside,

For sure, this life does have it's ups,

But much steeper downs,

Please tell me your joking,

In my head I think I heard someone say a promise.

Help me, get more,

Throw me a bone,

This drive me so weak till now,

Blood runs, Ice cold,

Knife life, white hot,

Dead but for what,

Burnout seemed so sweet till now,

So long that it's never ending,

So little good it's got me praying for countless more, 

In time maybe I will stop pretending,

Send out flowers,

Which have died some time before.

And so much for childhood zen,

Spring, summer, came and went,

Rivers more life sinks and/or dries,

A frozen, cracked, melted, wasted life I have,

Thus I am,

Nothing,

Soaked in vodka now,

Face flat on the floor,

Thats not what dreams are dreamt for!

The Repeating of Bob Dylan

Watching Bob Dylan, not conforming into the system

of a cause, surfing channels between

a rock’n roll show, searching for a new lead

vocal, the voice of folk fuses itself into

the age of culture-clashing of abundance.

The fusion of tradition and unpredictability

claims to be new.

The fusion of lyrics and melody

dancing the tango of classical rhythm

in the free verse of Taoism.

Look Father figure,

I am a success,

Working for the fat cats,

Properly dressed,

A mess!

Distress!

In my life its wrong that I should be living like this.

For it's something the kids should never have to see,

I walk to run,

I dig to hide,

And I feel there's nothing left of good in me,

I scream to talk,

I fight to cry,

And I feel god's a vendetta in for me.

With lips tightly sealed,

She swallows her tounge,

Shifty eyes,

Shes been and gone,

I like to wonder what you'll do with your life,

Yeah, like I ever will.

I disgust myself,

I lay awake in the dirt,

I love her and I hate myself,

"Boy that hurts!"

Why am I here?

Lonley Youth.

I'm in a crowded street,

I hold back the tears as I watch people by,

Sense the saddness hid within the eyes,

And my heart breaks for them,

Feel the pain inside.

Exhausted, dying some disgusting disease,

Tortured, Tormented,

Angry or lonely,

And if your suicidal,

Trust me they won't believe,

But me heart bleeds,

I feel the pain inside.

Hurting people can make you feel so small,

You know?

I know when your hurting cause I feel it all,

Feel it in my blood and maybe,