find that place for you
where you can deal with this
me myself i escape
a new torrential exodus
my mind is barren
like the streets of time square
i've seen what i came to see
a world that is not there dearest ______,
you might be wisened, bleary-eyed and, well . . . you might understand irony, but where has that led you?
you might even understand the fate of penelope as tragic. yet you too tend your shroud with inexperience. that door becomes encased in scarred wax and misunderstood tea leaves and you sit and ponder, no . . . justify, that nothing's wrong with that. so . . . where are your suitors?
i don't blame you ______. hell, no one does. but why can't you just hang out and get drunk with us then? why can't you just listen to yourself, trench coated and trenched in, walking the streets of your darkened room? it explains you so you don't have to explain yourself. life is for the dying, the suffering, and the brave. be a liver -- spastic -- soaked with blood and honesty.
i am dying, one day at a time, with the notion of scars drifting further and further from my grave. i beg myself daily for the words of humans to satisfy my lungs and the news of angels to give me that vivacity. i am a grifter of sorts, passionately conning the world with my fingertips and lips, smearing lust soaked pages on the bedroom doors of those asleep.
yours,
dc Here
is some of my work, please feel free
to respond and comment on them as you
see fit: 3 short stories
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