These Bones

These bones of mine keep me mobile
and prim, and proper, and tall
They hold all of the guts inside of my skin
to blacken out the Sun
A big ol' pile
A structured mass
That are seldom ever seen
Until they twist and break and penetrate
The soul that is within me

These bones...
They play with fire and wane under the moon
In some naked dance of permanence
Be it in soil, wood, or tomb
I swear they're getting sharper
Unlike most that wear out smooth
Other bones...

This skull is drunk with knowledge
These hands are getting old
These feet crack when they're walking
Those obscure and dirty roads
A spine,
With force I straighten up through my cranium
That with age I'm sure will weaken
But for now... Well...
It's good
The bones of Tchaikovsky are somewhere FAR from here
But the music they made still lives inside a hollow near my ears

I hand the pen over now to this skeletal form and pray
These bones will deliver a poem
Before my essence fades away

I Found Out Just The Other Day What Love Feels Like When It Is Dying

Its when all the windows in the world are laughing at you
Hissing at you
Telling the doors not to let you in
The stories you once immersed yourself into,
Have been submerged
Soaking in tar and alcohol
and the ink is dripping from their pages
but you never really cared for the colour red anyway so you let them go
Red like roses
Red like that anarchy poster you used to hang up in your little apartment above the shoe rack
It hung there like a militarised welcome mat
and for some reason it always reminded you of the cigarette burns on your forearms
The ones you could never figure out where the fuck they came from
That flesh you wish would have made you stronger
With time... With time...
But time is just a marathon we run until we are totally empty
Just to get a sneak peak ahead to the finish line
Where we see:
Car crash's
Tight knot's
A raging fire
The kiss of cancer
Get your tongue ready
Saliva thick
and have everything shoved straight into your mouth
No holds barred
Become the champion of the disease
The fly on skin
Get sweat and sugar and then get swatted away
That's love!
A trophy
That is what it's all about
True humanitarianism
But
Muzzled
With its hands tied back and bleeding
Buckets of blood
That are then dried to soot and rubbed on foreheads for smiles

Rip open your heart
Ashes of Christ
Eat your words
Peace be with you