Demoralization

A generation that no longer watches pornography due to boredom

While video footage of car crashes,
Played over and over and once more in slow motion
(Twisted  metal. Pools of mixing auto and bodily fluids. Blood stained air bags. Silent onlookers.)
,Only satisfies through the teenage years

Hiding under the covers while under the influence
Running fingers over whiskey thin ribs
A prisoner idly playing with the bars on his cell

Tricks, Games, and Trains

The kids play games
Clack......Clack......Clack.
The kids get bored of suburbia and comfort and safety
Clack.....Clack.....Clack.
The kids in groups of four or five or six gather and hide behind false courage and grins
Clack....Clack....Clack.
The kids place their necks on the train tracks all together
Clack...Clack...Clack.
The kids see who can hold their skinny neck against the cold vibrating steel the longest
Clack..Clack..Clack.
The kids watch the light of the steady locomotive approach
Clack.Clack.Clack.
The kids follow the leader
ClackClackClack.
Young Men have died for less.

Memory

Under the radar is where it's most comfortable
Trouble differentiating between you making me sick
      or giving me butterflies
No true validation
Nothing behind the Money
No Justice behind the sentencing
In God we trust you'll fucking pay us back
Circulation in my body is poor, leaving my hands perpetually cold
The perfect excuse for "Hey, feel my hands. Aren't they freezing?"
Tricking my way into getting a glimpse of another's warmth

Memories are solidified by emotion
Episodes come back like getting the chills

Standing barefoot, grabbing pieces of grass with my tattooed toes, weeping gently to myself, trying to say goodbye to my Mother on that comfortable June day.

Moving back in time.

....Disbelief. Quickly followed by rage I'd not known I contained as I pounded on the steering wheel, yelling pleas and demands of Love in Your general direction. Hot tears ran down while the smell of a clove cigarette traveled out the window, A frigid newborn Winter traveling in.

Packing up and running away instead of post-coitus talk of admittance of guilt and forgiveness.

Emotion solidifies memory and my inability to cry these days assure me I'll remember and regret nothing.

Thin Air

Irony often lost on the majority while coincidence is mislabeled. Language, this tool we've created out of thin air, is constantly warping on it's own accord. Nothing is set in stone as the Mother's tears that fall on us all have shown us. Cleansing and resettling It all back to zero.

My Mistress, Spring.

The first moments of Spring waking from slumber start with her shaking the cold from her Womanly figure. Watch the bare branches quiver post-orgasm in the wind from the temperature/paradigm/pressure change. Still early in the morning, She and those with lesser eyes feel She isn't ready until her makeups on and leaves are on branches but I see her beauty regardless of circumstance and outfit. Spring is stirring from Her sleep. I kiss her eyelids, welcoming her to the light of a new day.

Sins of the Flesh

Drunk in a bar or Insane in an asylum
Passively be pacified
Systematic fellatio

Who determines what's greater or what's good for that fucking matter?

Brown eyes looking skyward, connecting with brown eyes that read nothing but pleasure
Lost in the moment if it wasn't for that muffled sound of needing air and a moment above the surface
A spasm before carnal death with eyes opened to those past sins of the flesh

Aesthetics

Whiskey stained whiskers.
The iron taste of blood sensed before opening eyes.
Cracked lips, the proof of dying from slow dehydration.

Obviously vascular with skin stretched over hard muscle.
It redeems all other sins of the flesh.

Ghost

The only patron sitting at a bar
A Ghost in a pre-neon city

Ghosts exist
I know because I am one
Shying away from the light of day
Silently occupying my space in a house of the living, while the others mill about
The sounds of talk and laughter and marital sex and television keeping me at bay

However
When the house resembles that of the dead;
I dance around merrily
Taking in the fruits of the living
Misplacing things purposely, leaving objects unspoken for

I am a Ghost
I go unseen, for I fear the judgement of living eyes

I grind my teeth and talk in my sleep,
But every other Woman in this town could tell you that.