The Whirlwind From An Earthling.

Searching for a purpose,
that worth it, I’m working on words.
Wind, whirling,
the texts take apart the flesh casing like a surgeon
That’s perfect.

My story is my glory, my legend?
I am Purgatory,
on horizontal sticks stay in limbo.
Airheads​, and bare chest of latex
with safe sex that’s a ​bimbo.
If only love and sex were simple.

My roots are core deep,
feeding on the streams of tears and despair.
I’m still hungry,
the world is my fridge,
the galaxy my restaurant,
everything stays cool.
But the flames remain hot when we burn the ​bridge.

Corps we cremate,
they turn stiff then smoke,
they turn to ​mist.
The rays remain the same on one wish.
The game remains unnamed that’s certain.

Life is all multiple parts of one version,
So the knights in the round,
obey the sound of the crown from one Merlin.

One stage,
one act,
one curtain.

Nightmares on Yonge street,
no Freddy​ Kruger​ perversion,
I’d smack him.

Lights,
camera,
action

If dreams really do come true,
then I guess I really deserve this.


Gift Cards

Advertisements

About the post

Poetry

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

%d bloggers like this: