#coffeewriting

this body has tears you have not experienced,

wears you have not tasted,

so do not argue your dignity when your

campaign is worn thin from too many machine washes

this epidermis is not a dilettante's fingerprint canvas

to dust when so pleased,

splintering down the sides for a sleek shape

younger brothers (with red hearts and burning heads) do not hold

hands (sinning to song birds) to river mouths (where water runs

ice in the early morning) such a long way to the bottom (when the cold

creeps to your head)

"He has spent every day comparing himself to more beautiful, more tragic, more poetic muses but realized that he is not beautiful, tragic, or poetic. He is not the dragon or the master, the acid or the rock because he is and can only be him. He is irretrievably, inexplicably satisfied with his pliable muscle and tangible bones that no number of pills could induce.

Still on hiatus but will post new pieces. Draft for now though.

Their breaths are pained, their brows wet: they have to be after all, what else is there is for them to convince the periphery of the their problems and drink in psycho benefits of sympathy?

A twinge slid against the spine Overcoming the walls for a crescendo, and another And another, until I was wrecked under the sheen Of pirates playing pretend. In the natural silk of thunder, His voice and the lightening, his tears And violins in the ornate queer of punishment

This is the sorrow, misguided The forsaken and lost sinking further in the joints of grey and light This is the unloved, the dysfunctional The lonely and questioned walking trepidation to Valentines' This is the path of smiling misery This is the antedate losing focus for the adagio upcoming