Gold chain. Bronze skin. Cheese brain. Holes. Yes, Gorgon Zola rules the beach. She strolls, she kicks some sand - the mild man winces, clears his eyes
I watched you in your tragic beauty walk beneath my window. Eyes aimed high, but unfocused . . . . sure, you never noticed me. You always wore the same
Billy was a car crash - all he ever knew was pain. Lived a milli-milli- milli-second; never born again. Though no one saw him coming, plenty witnessed
Give the boy a uniform, a unicorn, a horn, a sawn off shotgun and a cause... an ORDER. Cross a border. Tell him "Heads must roll!" Can fetch them back
Simple expressions hide my ignorance. How can you tell how you feel, when the words just don't exist? The pain and the anguish, the slaughtered dreams
Tossed and scrambled in a cage some sixteen miles below. I attempted sending codes, but only ghosts reply, and it's cramped in here. Though the freezer
Weeping like the ghost of winter, we watch our tears kiss ash and turn to steam. We walk on hot coals where a stream meandered. Tarred and tanned. We
We tried to watch the sun rise, but a cloud fell and we froze inside your coat. One arm for you, and one for me-- two arms crossing, winding. . . as the
Bills were mailed express, black borders ordered PAY. Across the page the figures were laying and laughing... Jenny ripped them up. She ran the bath.
Who will pull the trigger, send the whole thing up in flames? Who is juggling figures, plans the last move of the game? Now we're coughing blood, the
I'm out of space; I can't see for the people. Squashed in a case where we're all created equal. Somewhere they're laughing, they're planning the sequel
Sixteen shades of sorrow on a starless night with no escape to dawn. She hugged the sand; she cursed the storm for 16 days and no tomorrows. Mourning
Does my eye offend you? Should I roll it down the hill... Should I wear an iron mask or warn you with a bell? In quarantine, I stay unseen - I still know
She covered up the mirror, hid his photo in the drawer. The sketches that he made for her were rip- ped and rolling across the floor. All memories and
You offered me a cigarette, I pirouette... with sihlouettes of statuettes. We're ice behind a window. Would you be my widow? Would you even be my wife
She washed her hands 300 times but still they're dripping red. We caught her in the pauper's pit, she stole the prince's head, still cursing 'blasphemy
of heinous and premeditated crimes between the politics and the poems. Conversation stayed refined at Lisa's party. having a real good time. A legendary
She's on his mind, she's on his wall. She's in the corner of his eye. She whispers sweet delerium. He climbs inside and blushes as the crimson tide flows