***I've been listening to "Heart Shaped Glasses" by Marilyn Manson since about 3:00 in the morning. And it happened to inspire me to create this...odd piece of poetry. Broken hearts and disgraceful arts (Eh, I rhyme out of poems) are all part of this bedtime story that's sure to make your children go to sleep with pillows soaked in tears. If they, or you, can understand what it's about, of course...***
And a serrating winter storm,
like a mild state of psychosis,
not even my heart is warm.
And transparent tears down ghostly cheeks,
those eyes are antiques,
I just wish I was not a freak.
And here I am bathed in pins and needles,
gagging on dead scarab beetles.
Footprints on the sands of time,
final dedication to the faceless mime,
but; to Hell with black and white,
paint your tongue across my skin and make me pure as night.
And a buffet of the wings of butterflies,
their deceit tattooed on my teeth;
a diamond studded coal wreath
made of my mouth.
And she said
"Kiss me it'll heal"
ballroom dance of asylum appeal,
"But it won't forget"
breathing out the smoke of a cigarette,
I laid there having conversations with my own regret.
Silhouettes masked all my words,
share this lonely view with the birds,
set upon a window sill of an artist's demise.
In bed, entwined,
confined,
with the skies,
get these dying stars out of my mind.
And she reminds me of the one,
that was like a snake upon the sun,
shining rays of spades into my tear-stained face.
And she reminds me of her embrace,
soft velvet arms I can't replace,
little girl, little girl,
you should close your eyes,
that blue is getting me high.
