It was The WomanMy eyes feel contentIt was The Woman by crucifiedxxxlust
in your mouth. Odd thing to feel
I know, but sometimes I can't help it.
You see, it's all about the tongue…
No one actually grasps ideas that hinder impeccable poise,
but sometimes under mountains the flow of words
makes it impossible to feel the flutter of eyelashes.
I for one could never promise.
She did all the bidding for me. Who? What do you mean "who"?
The woman with the red lipstick looming over your shoulder
She smokes a cigarette when she's bored and sings the oddest songs you'll ever hear.
I hate them, but you seem to like them- you're always singing along.
Sitting here on the sand lessens the burden
of what The Heart has done to me.
It frolics and clicks its tongue at me when it's amused.
It's usually amused and content when my insides lie there
on the white and black tiles. It's all so shiny and clean.
Oh well, The Heart makes it impossible to move on.
The Heart is not a love story. It's a cinder, a technicolor Monster.
The Heart is The Woman.
When the Cuckoo DiesIt only used to be a matter of time,When the Cuckoo Dies by crucifiedxxxlust
The cuckoo died and so did the children.
They lay there below it, covered in moss.
Moss seems to grow forever, on and on and on...
I have the key- but the key's no good. There's rust. And grease. And all the shabby little things
the sandman calls home.
We can try to find the red string, but we'll have to search through mountains of crimson and cherry ones.
The shade is all that matters. And I don't think we have the time.
We don't, do we?
The Truth About BreathingBeware that throwing pebblesThe Truth About Breathing by crucifiedxxxlust
but not shake the monoliths
from down here on
They'll make you cry pebbles-
tiny white and smooth rocks.
You'll ache and as they
emerge from you
eyes, leaving a gaping hole
Trickle down your face,
but smash eternity into the
I once coughed up a pebble,
but mine was stained with
It must have scraped an organ, I guess.
There wasn't just one pebble.
I spit out one
and then another, and then another
until I was a mountain of
little white stones.
The forms laughed
and threw vinyl screams at me.
Those faceless, shapeless forms.
I tried to die under the weight
And although my back was
The pebbles pushed me out.
I crawled under the grey of
and saw nothing.
Am I truly blind?
Because I know I'm not dead.