Heart & Soul

Ecstasy of the Angels

Ashes and bones. Walking hands and throats. Killings on every corner. Dragged into the undergrowth and reduced to a mess of vaporised stars. West Virginia. Explosive tempers. Tricks to redeem. Pleasures in every way. Dead sex. Appealing though dismay. Scrap metal. Cumshot blowout. Nicotine fingers in howled mouths. Ageing clothes. Dig to find me. Scrape back the layers and see what remains of the boy I once was. Life in abstract colours. A mixture of reds and blacks. Sometimes pink. Let it bleed. Let them seduce. Confessions of the holy. Believers in something else. Butchers of bullshit. Believers in guardians. From coast to coast the drifters conspire to damn me. They itch to tickle my madness. Bridges from Venice to Rome. Teeth to toes, these images create gardens of purity. Facts into crime. Florida empty- infected without pity. Worlds apart the day I was born. 1985, A series of convictions. No fingerprints. No hairs on the nape of my neck. The hoax of poverty. The songs we once sang to bring us warmth in the cold of winter. The state vs me. Life against the living. Unsolved slaying near the campus of salty lakes. Hellish in her bathtub. Sometimes sand. Sometimes water. Thin wooden sticks. Fluid and sperm. Spunk like 70’s icons. Trip on flipside deities. Bellies of destiny. 67%. Rims and limbs. St Sebastian at the court of four. Through the keyhole we speak of things not known but hoped along the line of the living. Shoes by the door. Cigarettes in pockets. Unlit and somewhat tragic. Death row details. Secrets and puzzle pieces left dangling in the wind. Give me years of nothing. Wrap me in warmth where cold illusion is prevalent. Don’t keep me down. Stop holding me under. All I want is to love. To blossom like a flower. To bud like no other. The past is a dream. It escapes me with ease. The strangeness never was. Always tumbling down the rabbit hole, we grasp at moments that no longer hold true. Formless states of being. The roads are lonely. They slip beneath the waters of her womb. Phantoms of lost songs. Words that grow in the shade of a tree. Missing planes and moons. We are all floating on the outskirts of a breakdown. Seconds away from destruction, we know how it feels to be neither here nor there. Comprised of empty atoms, these machines are not godly. Heart and soul. Excuses made through fear of misunderstanding. B-movie whores. Dragons and lambs upon our tongues. The isolation of the self is what leads to damned discovery. Anxiety the lesser half of the divided self. The greater half lost at sea. Follow the animals as they search for redemption. Speak their language. Form symbols and preach them to the needy. Each and every day, we are becoming something more.

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