It is good to be young
There’s no gray
Only black and
white
Wild and alive
shivers in my
spine
I listen to the dark
There’s so many
stones
God has she ever loved me
I reach out grab her perfumed
neck
Her voice gentle orchard lazy
Walk to thorn in my side like a
whip of white roses bloody red
Mercy
Frail
Sex and death
in the silhouettes
I cannot look up at you
Don’t tell me what to do
A vision in the night pearly
sharp teeth and I taste you like
lithe pain cruise the razors in my
veins
There’s so much noise it’s in color
I’m explosive you turn me on
You’re explosive illusive thoughts
silk like dreams silk on me
Silk
Plug things into each other that shouldn’t
be plugged into each other
They cause chaos
deeper and higher
We’re alive
Man suffering from spirit
Man explicated by pain
Dead articulate nature
Origami in my throat
My eyes seek the
words my hands trace
the ways slay words on
you so lay
Heavily sedated on the attraction
Like bullets in the friction storm
Tantrum bodies heat like fire
Take me evil when your heart
expires
“Originality is illusions of things already created.” Vanessa Matic
