Flushed souls poke human, paper mache skin ,fanned out.
An elegant pack of cards – Spades aimed at its target , packs a clout.
Doubt grim reaper,
he is great at connecting you with your inner weeper.
Toxic three hours – temperature – fever finally breaks.
Her family can finally let out sighs numbed with dull aches.
Anger ,rage, death hopping two feet forward and shuffling back -creeping – hiding.
Taking it’s time to declare an order.
The heart is wrung out. Pruned -nothing left to saturate it.
Heaving up chunks of oxygen – empty – salted escargot ready to be served for an entre – the media will never admit, it is a mass homicide .
Senile ghosts mumble out hammered toasts.
Champagne flutes . Morphine patches – how much more hammering and wheezing is left, until the invitation arrives ,requesting her attendance to relieve the pain and burden of being a believer in idol hosts?
I write to right this rite.
Prepare for an urn, a coffin or a heaped body tossed in a dumpster.
Respect the ones that loved you and who nurtured you. Those she loves she protects like a mafia gangster.
Not on here much,checked out more times than she cares for.
She’s always ready to come back in but, it does make it harder to live in her skin -deep within.
Little girl ghost howling – cajoling – beseech the black Jesus – bypass Mount Olympia to get a message out to the true king.
Shaking and a moving, trembling, who are we fooling? Head to Las Vegas –
check out the true king with a white cape flapping around him -winking at groupies – rents them out like he has a permanent 50% discount with the budget car rental company, Avis.
Take a trip to Barcelona. Live life on las Ramblas with cava and tapas and plenty of one euro shots at Espit Chupitos.
Never imagined that naive senorita being whistled at would fall so far from la Sagrada Familia’s homemade fajitas.
Waving goodbye to a ghost last seen roaming the hospital’s resuscitation ward , two years in February.
Son kicked her out – took a flame to her hair and in a mad white blitz hoovered her own cemetery.
Rest not – rest want.
Pout, little coquette – this is her last chance to impress Henry the eighth with a carefully measured out squeal – one last squeeze- ears reciprocate to an ecstatic shout.
Desolate, impure. Turn back the clocks but only – one hour.
Protest – demonstrate.
Who made these rules up ?
Time will rewind back to a time she desires. She will make the keeper of his hour- cower.
Murmurs, whispers, emotions. Mixed states.
Take her now and make love to her – make her moan and forget about the woe that lives in her veins -gliding on ice skates.
She needs just him inside her. Only he can take away the regret, the guilt that feeds on her black hole sun.
He knows how to distract her. Make- believe that time can still be merry , doused in her own orgasmic fun.
In and out.
once you have found an in are you going to torment this Empath for eternity?
Narcissus, listen to the nymph-like echo that pleads for you to look away from your mistaken idea of your lover’s identity .