the fool - 1/28/2011

If a fool reaches out his hand for a glass of pain.
You grant his wish.

You split the joints, with wedges, and a mallet custom fit.

You fill the wounds with acids, and trikle out the screams.

The fool looks up and smiles, he knows, "not what it seems."

A guilder for the gander, a spoke for the idle wheel, a gypsum for the gypsy,
and they all breath silently.

The executioner turns violently toward the audience, spits,
cracks bones, tears, and grits teeth mauling.

The remains be given as a stipend, to the aforementioned clergy: gander, wheel, and gypsy.
The three commissioners of this work of art, she.

And the fool keeps out his hand, for another glass of reign.
Grant his wish.

was there anything i could have done? - 2/19/2006

Her Love was like a mirror, reflecting truth
You cannot change what's real,
only sculpt or shape the view.

You can cut off what you don't like,
and cover what you do.

With razors, scissors, make-up, and clothing we improve.

Beneath it all we're naked,
weak,
defenseless,
there's not a thing, that we can do.

With the mirror shattered, we see ourselves in every shard:
a sadder,
scattered,
smaller we,
with nothing left to lose.

I Just wanted to fix it,
but i never found the pieces,
or a way to make them fit.
My hands and eye's are bleeding,
from rearanging it.

I Just want to see myself agian,
to hold you close at night,
to be your mirror once and then,
to show you what's inside...