nocturnal-tulip

Numbers are tired lovers where once words caressed my thoughts Dead they fall from my pen where once it shivered in extacy Livid, I bask in the petrochemical heat, Where the leaden numbers confound my joyful hours.   No words will dance for me to-night-- I am broken like the stained teapot Lying in a sharded chaos on the tiles. She churns out the works like a miller's wife her stories, But only anger churns for me now.   No words will dance for me to-night. In the small hours the void grows thicker still, In the Western hours of the nights my soul thins; The conversation grows weak-- Only words of The Pain wreak my brain;   t

How do I hold the gaunt Emptiness my lidless eyes have begun to peel back from the World? I behold the Nightmare with the same eyes today but the colour is gone. Your moving, in the corner of my vision and in the forefront of my mind, sucks with it's writhing tendrils at me- I cannot tear the Unwavering Stare from the Empty World again So I, in stilled agony prepare for the flood of emotion; It will flow through me When the Numbness has thawed out and Great chasm beteewn Hell and Earth has been briged by my loathing of you, like the tide coming in, grating against the shore with groping fingers. Still I won't draw my eyes away from

For with the turning of The Wheel There comes the momentary madness To betray my uncertainty, To betray the covetousness with which I behold the breaking that I stumble towards like a Darkling fumbling for the mountains. Ah, you settle so freely into my speech as if I have known you, stillness amplifies that unnerving contempt in your effect. And now I have reached that place, again, where the ravenous mouth that holds your empty gestures is full and spills all the clouds onto my thoughts again. Again and again I will forget you but be reminded by the smiting blow of your Beauty.