The Fire

I live in a big city. The city has no name, but there is talk that long ago it was named New York City. The year is 2069 and it is winter.

When lust, I feel so horny, I wonder

if there is a woman as cheap as old abandoned cigarettes hand-rolled: to release to eject my frustrations with this fucking world which sells itself as modes of desire

Upside-down

I'm going to become a gardener and sing about foliage.

Life, Death and Soul

A lifeless body, A bodiless soul. Stiff hands, stiff feet, A heart without a beat. A brain, with no power to feed. Eyes without any sort of fluid, Nothing to see, Motionless lips,
Cherry

Butterfly Meadow.

If you don't have a dream...
Poem of the week

Dyssomnia on the Cross

Today, done up like a kipper, forgiveness belongs elsewhere. From his vantage point he sees a range of yellow hills - the vistas of lost childhood - the city walls and scrubland beyond.

An Open Letter To Him

I am the disaster that you created, You gave me the perfectest form An exquisite exterior, But an ugly soul You gave me a weak heart And you tempt me with your sinful creations
Cherry

I Just Want to go Home

Ever been in the wrong place at the wrong time?

Cats: The Beginning part 1 Prologue

The war has just begun.

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