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2008 - August

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Filed under Poetry, in the year 2008/ Print Post Print Post

Sweet beautiful abscess
Seditious root adored
I swim in purulent desire
A lady without a lord
Decomposing affliction
Embraced with poignant sighs
It’s tender bitter yearning
Poisoned apple of my eye

Masochistic leanings
I love to run and hide
Sweet agony prolonging
This sickness deep inside
Swimming in life’s misery
Hid behind my fear of touch
Self-doubt and lame excuses
Avoidance used too much

A warm compress not healing
What fate and choice did do
Fear in it’s path unwinding
As I bid days gone by adieu
Knowing is half the battle
Letting go feels like a sin
But once it’s been decided
The healing will begin

I want the gift of full consciousness
I want to give what I have never had
I want to see the light in the darkness
I want to embrace the good and the bad
I want to feel that I am truly needed
I want a love that will never die
I want my heart to be defeated
I want to never say goodbye

Filed under Poetry, in the year 2008/ Print Post Print Post

I’m tired of playing little miss nice girl
Meek and wishing on the fscken stars
Keeping my heart like a precious pearl
It’s never gonna get me very far

Why can’t I be as the black widow
Take a mate I care nothing about
Feed my hunger just a little
Then chew them up and spit them out

~fm

Filed under Poetry, in the year 2008/ Print Post Print Post

11  Aug

Maggot Food

Raw meat still pumping
A base drum thumping
Feed it to the maggots
It’s already slumping

Let the wolves tear it apart
Just raw meat tainted in every way
An inconsequential body part, take it
I don’t feel alive anyway

~fm

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Soul of fire that yearns for touch
Sheathed in resolute celibate faith
Tender heart that has seen too much
Now I run from the shadow of my wraith

Is this feeling that I’m dreaming
some fucked up thought in my head?
Is it darkness that deceives me
as I lie alone in my bed?
Will my heart wither away
leaving barely a shred?

Death’s door beckons to me
Though not the death of my flesh
It’s this fear of stagnation
Growing deep in my breast
I say I’m through with zombies
But they’re not through with me
All these mental apparitions
My personal Judas tree

Can sugar plums dance
behind the eyes of the dead?
Is letting go of my dreams
really something to dread?
Or will giving up the ghost
set me free instead?

~fm

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