guillotines.

clash;cymbals.
glass through skin.the clean quick cut of
ice.the pond of wine...
will you bathe in this
crimson
sorrow of mine?i bleed like
jesus.i bleed like the jews.
im already defeated like europe.
and yet you still stab.heil you.

life in colour.

i imagine myself walking along a street surrounded by pleasing architecture.19th century paris maybe.cafes,old folks holding hands,young couples whispering;giggling,children chasing leaves in the summer sun,dogs basking in the same sun,empty boutiques,bookstores,cyclists.la vie en rose.

everclear.

and she can kiss me with such venom.poison from her tongue onto my neck.into my arteries...i gave in.i collapsed.

memory st.

can memories be forgotten?is it just a hope?or do you forget when you're 60?or when you're about to die?or do memories stick to you like cellophane.wrapped around your limbs,eyes,mouth.do they bury you in them?and if the memories were all you had and they were all you were,then can you forget yourself no matter how old you get,how sick you fall,how hard you try?