Recently, I have had the ridiculous idea of backtracking some ideas of my debaucherous times in the city of NYC. Many of these moments are faded memories hidden behind some foggy residue of hedonism and what I like to refer to as Bohemianism. This is no attempt by myself to relive or glorify my past, but perhaps to gain some insight as to where my attitude on life came from. Many of these unremarkable pieces have no titles, and to stay true to their form, I will not label them, nor will I alter them entirely. Enjoy.
Incidentally, my handwriting is so bad that I may, though certainly not embellishing on what is original, may have to by no choice, have to alter some of the original context. Not editing, but guessing.
If you fall down from a glass ceiling, you break a metal floor.
Devil's eyes, an angel's heart can claim - no serenity.
Eventually, the persistent screams become surreal whispers.
Lies determined truths by judgemental farces,
and the burning steam is cracked by icy myths.
What is the person who should live though dead?
Where does my temporary casket lie, but in my broken bed?
Buried in some joke of freedom, I laugh myself to tears.
I burn my flesh on fuel call knowledge and ignorance.
Stand with me o' my favorite nightmare of bliss.
She calls out lovingly, baring no kiss for me.
Oh, wound myself on broken years and healing tendons.
I laugh through freedoms eyes, becoming a haunting burden.
She smiles - her blinding white and sharp death.
The blood of "years gone by slowly", eroding her like acid.
Squirming, I watch liquid love pour from my soul.
Harmless though devastating, I pour it into her,
and she reels, licking her salty lips hungrily.
It is my soul that she wishes to devour.
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