tired of her obsessions insatiable outbursts of self dragging her around angst smothered mornings culminating into nightly carnivals…

at odds with the sky I have rid myself of every feather and with my beak i have chewed off… of my wings if i am to see my dreams die

she passes a man but her scent is the full moon and a wolf follows

I keep coming back just when ya think “there is no

he does not to leave the vine out of any loathing for his kin he simply can not stay waiting around to turn to raisin knowing that out there somewhere

if the fairy spreads her thighs for the goblins finger the happy ending never comes even if she does

as summer wanes a chill comes about the air darkness replaces sunlight and the leaf loses it’s grasp upon… it cannot be blamed for its fall

dying of cancer saying her prayers they came to bathe her she asked if would hold her Rosary… “of course”

the crowd is divisive full of bickering ideologies and overstimulated thoughts of what makes us different we lose sight of the fact

into another corner bar they go climbing stairs covered in clumps… praying they don’t slip carrying s… hundreds of pounds of amplificatio… they set up in the corner

i am the one most concerned with popularity found my way into castles to meet with kings and queens crashed parties with celebrities

my body is not a temple it is more like a corner bar in Wisconsin kneeling

the darker the room the more I needed her she was scented with tobacco and cedar