Tomorrow, And Tomorrow, And Tomorrow
My Love

My Stalker

My unwelcome Best-Friend

You know me better

Than any partner

Could or ever can

Every inch of my body

Every gyrus of my mind

You ever so kindly

Point me to the

Aisle of Self-Help

A95 —

“Frankly, I think the worst monsters of all are human beings, the moral compasses that some hide behind are indeed shields of the weak.”

— M. L. Lurie, The Lost Journals *

Kate Moss

Beautiful Disease

It’s a Road trip of sorts,

How do you get there?

Pick your poison.
That’s right

Where do you go

To be alone?

Not to be seen

By any eyes;

Other than your own?
Isolate yourself

In that room called, Safe;

Lose yourself

In the scene of the crowd;

Throw yourself down

Face first on the ground.

Blind side eyes scathe

The imaginary ceiling

Fervently searching cracks

For the almighty trap door.

Run like an inmate

To your fetish, The Escape;

As if on a treasure hunt

Through the neighborhood.

Embrace the roundup

Of Mother’s Little Helpers;

Follow them

With rain water chasers

To your destination;

A long way from home.
“Thank you for the tragedy. I need it for my art.”

― Kurt Cobain

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s