

Silence Beheads Us Drive slowly down the wasted alleyways, silken dark in gleaming watchfires dying by the way. Ruin is beautiful in a kind of manner. Shift.Silence Beheads Us
--Sing me something.
Everything seems so strange these days. Men are animals, whores, simple ones. Before the Old Days passed away things might have been different. Then, everyone says that, I suppose. It was always better long ago. Always, long ago they say. Better. &


No VacancyWill you come? When the time arrives, I mean. Will you come, for me, with me? Maybe you understand too well. That's the scary part, you know. A loner who is lonely, it's an awful sight I imagine. --What's the problem? The problem is, I suppose, that I know full well what the problem is. Most men ignore the problem, and replace it with something else, something baser and simpler and easier. For me, it's ineluctable.No Vacancy


RoseIt was many years ago, I remember it now, But the way things go, it might have been a dream. When you murmured so low a song to me,Rose
And the sky blushed emerald, as after the rain In the Spring-- and your skin was fair and soft,
And blushed rose, rose against my fingertip. When you sang an unfinished song for me, Of how it was supposed to be-- When I was a child, and you were a child. But the way things go, it must have been a dream. I guess you never know. When the bays breathed salt into our eyelashes, And the boats sat sleeping restless in the sun. The sound of


ImmolationI have sat before the mighty kings Of all the earth, a modest audience To bend the ear and wink an eye And sing my low, metragrabolized hymn Of builded-up broken tenements to Heaven And an Ozymandian dream to which a sinking heart Can hold no hands broke forth in offeringImmolation
To a stuck and greedy selfish people Who have no recollection of the day that I
Gave up my body to be burned at the altar Of cracked pipe, peeling wall, chipping paint And dirt streets--I passed the hour, alone To murmur a low, unmusical kyrie--a curled And enharmonic vire


untitledSticks and stones and a loaded gun I never wanted to be the one Chemical hairlines rattle the bones Crying out "God please save our souls!!"untitled
June bug pub crawl shimmy down Bury me with my broken crown Cross my heart and hope to find The needle I pushed into my eye...
I used to believe in heaven and hell Then I figured either is just as well Glass blown whirlwind in your mind You'll know you're immortal when you don't die...
Stop me if you think I'm wrong Stop me if you think I'm wrong Stop me if you think-
Gift wrap pillbox ta
--
\"Dead Tom\'s dead! Long John shot him!\"
\"But, Dead Tom\'s always been dead. That\'s why we call him Dead Tom.\"
\"Oh.\"
--
"True love is in the heart of the beheld"
~melvinthemagical
"Philosophy and a spot of tea" ~TheDiogenesClub
--
"True love is in the heart of the beheld"
~melvinthemagical
"Philosophy and a spot of tea" ~TheDiogenesClub
The disease actually killed off everyone over the age of 13, thus forcing everyone left to take over. I believe it even got onto then coming up with their own -limited- forms of government. Been too long to remember the details, but I've always found the story idea interesting (if I may butt in once again
--
The ready availability of suicide, like sex and alcohol, is one of life's basic consolations.
-Edward Abbey
--
"True love is in the heart of the beheld"
~melvinthemagical
"Philosophy and a spot of tea" ~TheDiogenesClub
--
I looked to Love to cure my old disease.
Love led me to a thicket of IVs
Where bristling needles thirsted for each vein.
If memory serves, the book was called The Girl Who Owned a City or something like that.
--
The ready availability of suicide, like sex and alcohol, is one of life's basic consolations.
-Edward Abbey
--
I looked to Love to cure my old disease.
Love led me to a thicket of IVs
Where bristling needles thirsted for each vein.
CLICK HERE TO FIND YOURS
--
salad.
CLICK HERE
--
salad.
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