Poems

Peice Lunacy x Bed Monster (Mashup) Morning polish on my teeth,my skin pulled tight, a hollow mannequin grin,Cards on the table, cards in my pocket,little white tombstones stacked with names I want to watch go still again. I’ve been holding still beneath you since before you knew to be afraid,Patient in the cold and dark,resting […]

Nurse Nancy’s Lobotomy Show She clicks down the hallway in cherry-red shoes,dragging a needle and humming the blues.With a clipboard full of sins she’s marked in chalk,and a smile sharp enough to make time stop. The patients applaud from their straps and chains,as she takes a bow through their leaking brains.One wink from her, and

One Cheeseburger (I’m always one cheeseburger short)(And a cigarette that I can’t afford) I got a hunger for something I can’t quite name,feels like life’s always playing the same damn routine.I’m chasing dreams down the road of rust,but every corner turns to dust.I light a smoke, but it burns too fast,I find myself staring at

One More Time Here we are, at the edge again,watching shadows blend and pretend.Caught in a loop where beginnings meet ends,one more time, can we just play pretend? One more time, let’s rewind the clock,unsay the words that we can’t unlock.Dance in the echoes of what we were,one more time, let the past occur. Whispers

Numb at the Speed of Fun Hit the bar running at the end of the working week,found my spot at the corner like I find it every streakof needing to not be wherever I was for the past five days —the noise and the crowd and the beautiful amnesiac haze. The bartender knows the order

Nightmares in Daylight In the grip of daylight, the world turns too tight,twisting normal into scenes that bleed and bite.Echoes of compulsion, a ritual unfurled,hands scrub raw, the desperation of this world. Textures that cling like whispers of sin,pain and pleasure, where does one end and begin?Hallucinations blend with the concrete and the chill,reality fractures,

My Dog KnowsHe knows before I do —that walk from the car to the doortakes longer when the set went wrong,and the dog is already waiting,brown face pressed to the glasslike a small, patient godwho has seen this before. He meets me at the doorwith a very knowing smell,puts his head against my kneeand looks

Mr. Clean and the Brain Parade Mr. Clean lives in my skull,he scrubbed my thoughts and made them dull.Now everything’s tidy, no surprise–he even bleached the truth from my lies. He plays the drums on my frontal lobe,wears a crown made of bathrobe.He lined my neurons in neat, straight rows,and fired the part that says

Muted Lullabies In the silence of our room, your cries cut through the night,I’m supposed to feel the glow, but inside it’s just not right.Holding you like fragile glass, afraid you’ll slip from sight,forced smiles to the faces, hiding battles I fight. The dreams I had of running, far from these four walls,echoes of a

Mourner’s Cradle In the shadows of the chapel, where the sorrow softly lays,I find lust among the weeping, in the mourning’s quiet haze.With each tear that falls like raindrops,passion rises from the depths,in the grief, I seek the pleasure, in the silence after breaths. Underneath the blackened veils, where the saddest hearts do beat,there’s a