Skip to main content

Sanguine And Scarlet

You're under siege/
So run with me/
Dont succumb to these/
Disgusting dreams/
You love to scream/
Under cover of night/
Yet stutter with fright/
When forced to come to the light/
Struggle with life/
While bundled cheap/
In ugly leaps/
Toward dusted fiends/
Lust indeed/
Can bust you clean/
But trust in these/
Hard truths/
Theyre all you/
Fucking need/
Ducking free/
Of personal demons/
Hurting you even/
As you confess, slurring your speech with/
Dirty delinquents/
Cursing the heathens/
Youve befriended during your sequence/
Of blurry eyed weekends/
You perfectly meet this/
Sickening standard/
Listen to laughter/
As you descriptively answer/
Ive hidden these passwords/
From you to really distract you/
From feeling detached from/
Our despicable plans to/
Cripple and handle/
A blithering bastard/
Is this romance or/
Something entirely different/
A tricky disaster/
That binds the afflicted/
From finding a picture/
That ties all the distance/
Together while kissing the passion/
Goodbye in secret/
Leave this/
Peace shit/
For those who believe it/
Im creeping/
Towards what I seek in/
The creaking/
That haunts the night, repeat it/
Cause Im speechless/
Deceitful/
Lying tongues/
Try to stunt/
My growth but Ill fight and slug/
Until the trials done/
Tightly wrung/
No blood left in this undesirable chunk/
Of warped flesh/
Just more mess/
To form stress/
That slices from/
A corpse left/
In a whore's nest/
Your breath/
Is my next delightful drug/
The sight of blood/
Sanguine and scarlet/
Has me in arms with/
The damned, thieves and harlots/
Im crashed, bleeding all this/
Is my last dream involved with/
This life, my path leads me bawling/
Now scram, leave me falling/
Before my wrath leaps and claws you/
Unmatched, seething, stalling/
I wrap these in gauze and/
Dispatch screaming fallen/
Angels to attack dreaming stars in/
The night, let them burn to a cinder/
Ive learned to forgive them/
For when they burst and deliver/
A shock from eternity/
Not something certainly/
Caught in the worst of things/
But cursed with a sliver/
Of a conscience/
Cut the nonsense/
Im done with all this/
Dumb involvement/
With the lowest rung of progress/
Ive clung to honest/
Self expression/
But death it welcomes/
Me with the drums of constant/
Rumbling walking/
Coming, mocking/
My loving heart with/
The rusty blocking/
Of a suffering sovereign/
But alone, Im not in/
This world, so dont close my coffin/
So distraught if/
I chose to clock in/
To the afterlife/
On my acting time/
Grabbing my/
Saddle I/
Ride shouting my/
Battlecry/
I don't have to die/
So come get me/
Cause my passion lies/
In my victory/

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

4 Reasons Why I'll Be A Vagabond In 2 Years

4 Reasons Why I'll Be A Vagabond In 2 Years

As my parole date looms and I prepare to muster out of the service that's cradled me the entirety of my adult life, I face the future with an uneasy trepidation coupled with my characteristic combative nature.
I've heard every excuse, tempting me with bonuses and transparent promises regarding where I could live next, to tales of woe and agonizing regret, detailing the life of a miscreant that fleed from the Navy, expecting to flourish in the free world, no longer bound by the constraints of military life.
Eager and cherry, they're invariably met with a crippling reality, sprinting head first into a shallow pool of filthy water barely concealing jagged, dangerous rocks and craters.
I'll take my chances as I retake the reins of my life, though, even this far out, I know that my path will hardly be traditional, and will probably offend some traditionally and civically minded elders.
I plan to drift, languid but controlle…

The Desert

The Desert



Dry air in a normally humid climate is not conducive to a strong immune system. The shock is sudden and violent on an unseen level, I'm sure.

I never thought I'd suffer from stifling congestion and repetitious fits of coughing while stationed in Hawaii, but I was proven wrong recently.

As I pen this, my throat, though healed and no longer reacting in an incendiary manner when forced to swallow, is as arid and barren as the Mojave.

My chest is harboring a veritable barricade of mucus, and each pill I pop, in hues of rose red, ocean blue and grass green, chip away at bricks of the stubborn, phlegmatic stowaways.

My nose is on the brink of suicide, and breathing in coats each gust of air with a Welcome Aboard package of sandpaper and gravel.

In short, I'm fucked.

Yesterday I spent half the evening limping around wincing, my side cramped by an invisible knife, present and piercing, jostling with each aching step.

Save for a few meandering sets and reps performed to…

Nights At The Apollo

Nights At The Apollo




"Sit down, my boy.", he'd say relaxed, contentment and happiness spilling over in his tone like rain from a windowsill.

I'd settle in to a leather chair and watch as the sun disappeared behind a lavender horizon, winking at me brightly in various lively hues before absconding for the evening.

I'd observe him like a student before his master as he'd carefully select a CD from his well worn plastic attache case. It was a veritable armory of ageless music; Swing, Blues, both American Southern and Chicano, Jazz and Big Band.

My Grandfather played rhythm guitar in a band during his youth, wielding a Gibson ES335, its body ponderous and cherry red as a pin-up girl's lipstick.

He'd perform deftly, his fingers moving with the smooth choreography of a true professional. Eventually, the twin realities of career necessity and a burgeoning family brought an end to his strutting onstage, but he never relinquished his musicality.

That night, n…