The Resurgence of the Marionettes

And If I
Could tell you
A story,
I would lie.
Yeah, I would lie.

Because when we speak,
We smile,
But don't worry,
That's alright.
Yeah, That's alright.

It tugs on my strings
Tug of war on the arms of bitter kings.
Cut before the bones
These tattered wings have lost their need
Those battered strings
Stitch my knuckles like cast iron millipedes
Lock my wrists and employ the reach
Force my knee
And I will pray

But I
Am not
A wounded eagle.
I am not the child in the corner.
I am not a leper.
I am not another blood spot on your dead man walkway.
I am not broken glass.
I am not
Broken.

Because there is something.
Here.
There is a sidewalk on my forehead.
I am thorns formed on necks of orchids
I'm chorus effects and born-again's
I am nothing more than aborted chords,
Dormant, abhorrent to the core and
I can’t even feel the four’s anymore.
I'm knocked up with lava rocks,
Pregnant with cobblestones.
The soldered bones of that copper gold
Splinter in this coddled cold.

Because this chest is a stalk of cherry pits
Wrought with carefree grit
And a hint of kerosene
It lights up the string theories inside of him
That glassy grin is widenin' but,
You know, In spite of them

Because I wear streaks of monotone and serotonin.
Bouncing from the edges of the end-zones and
Dotted lines seep through my pores like dark ink
And divide the centers,
Wrapping and interweaving through the surroundings
Enveloping the shells of bystanders.

I've got a whole lot of broken clocks round my throat,
But I bring the fire of a thousand coarse soldiers.
Distorting the functions,
Breaking the age of somethin',
I return in blazing eruption.

And If I
Could tell you
A story,
I would lie.
Yeah, I would lie.

Because when we speak,
We smile,
But don't worry,
That's alright.
Yeah, That's alright.

She swims deep in my horizons,
Draws my gaze towards the return,
And it keeps me.
me.

Meh

There are pinwheels in his shoulder blades,
ivory keys in his stomach as the "star-crossed" blaze in the cross-fades.
Old man graced with gold hands
and cold clamps 'round his wrists,
grins thick with bent lips
and he hits the red rims when he speaks.
His dreams of Genvieve leave fiends clean
but he's got that hook in his step
quiver in his reach
future falling out his back pockets,
Davy Crockett's in the walkway
and he knows he can't stop it,
can't take part in heart lockets
but he's got shards of soul in his forearms and
nothin's gonna break that.

So he walks.

Neverlonger

Transcendent in the worlds around me,
Transparent in the swirled surroundings
Transferring
hurtful birthing of curdled yearning
I'm earning my penance in these corn fields
these thick thorns peel coils from the mouse holes
now, soul-skinned bones soaked in raw serotonin
I saw nebula's in her lines
like blind times
long before I let the cold in.
Western winds are rough and
The blood is flushed and
The galaxies are blending,
The lines are blurring
And I'm circumnavigating the compressions
sifting through the dust
the coarse, restless grains
trying to find the words
coated with the paralysis of her timbre
"Come back to me."
They ring in my head
feeding back and feeding back
searing my ear drums
floating along the blacks and golds
I dreamt of old words big names.
Now I just want to be a storyteller.

Pestilence

It's been far too long
since the mirror last spotted the stars
in the knots on my eyelids.
far, far too long
since the crescents have fallen.
so god damn long
since I've felt it resonate in my marrow.
since I've felt it.
I dream of charred wicker's and Novocain sunsets.
I smile viscous like honey
melt my insides
drift into this marble method
I am wretched wrecked with pestilence
led to flame by effervescence
riddled with feigning moments
I can see it burning from here,
I can feel the rhythms echo,
I hold it in my palms
in the lines on my forehead.
only to let go
only to lay in this hollow stone,
untouched, untainted,
seeping through the cracks.