black coffee just this once, are you going to run from here? i’m dying to know and i’m dying to know if she died to me as well, she really isn’t that strange...but she will say goodbye someday. that old black coffee fantasy i used to have never seemed to bother me, but in my mind i was always hoping to betray, do the sinner’s dance and fade away. (“because i need the fade away”) this is all too much. and the blood taste was red. you’re the devil, hey daddy, breathe in all the culture. it means i’m gonna take what’s mine, while seeming mundane. but only this once...so don’t get used to it. the snow veil dark steals for the chance to kill. dark kills for the chance to kill. dark steals for the chance to steal another mind. dark steals for the chance to darken. that’s how it feels when no one loves you. i’m with lust (i’m with stupid). they go counting red gold. they go counting lies. they look up, bat their beady eyes and point. (sneer-sneer, snicker-snicker), if things are said one way, you can bet they’ll change. star above my bed (call of the tiger woman) so, i’m kneeling on my pillow god. i’ll see there, damn it i’ll even be there. but only if it’s you and me, “the glowing team”. gee, why the hell can’t i glow? must’ve ran outta batteries, i see the manger. on her desk she left a warning. and it read: ”will i ever see what i got coming? and will i ever break through the mountains on the bridge?” so i’m kneeling on my pillow god. pink roses and the graveyard don’t you remember that only yesterday you threw a spear right through my heart? and you think you’re getting it back toll-free...nope. i’m a little crazy like that. i’m wiping you from the rose petals in my head. i’m shining our tombstones. i’m trying to raise the dead...but it’s the everyday rituals that declare martyrs out of the simple man. (didn’t you ever try to shave with one hand?). you can’t avoid permission  if your mom had signed the slip. besides, “i needed it this way”. “i wanted it this way” i sleep every night with a tiger under my arm and a ring on my finger and you think i might wake up. -mercy hospital, october 1996.<br>
i would die if you’d be my savior. actually, i would die if you could be my kind. i have nothing bad in mind... i promise (sneer-sneer, snicker-snicker). the chapter 7 test or the ephesians were right after all i wonder if next time you think of “mine” and “my kind”, will you think of the lives that your counterparts have stricken? i’m also curious if the next time you’ll say “it’s the same”. what would you do if i was scythe myself too? lumber jacks: logs lillypads: frogs...do you get the parallel? i broke one string looks like three more to go. how could you rape me!?! (me and marshall said that one morning. i believe during rrricki lake). people say “i don’t know” everyday. every night they say “yes”...”take her fucking with you.” the ribbon syndrome: enslavement/emplyment partII dress of the finest silk. breath of a snow laiden angel, flowering bows of which to unravel and lace about my wrists and neck. “she”, a now cautionary pronoun is blessed with these gifts. i am blessed with the tragic flaw of hope and the adorable naivete of the young child. the young child led by his hand into the fable ending immediately after it’s preface. i am constantly told to halt my trust and to slap myself in the face for my naivete. “stop such a strong human emotion?” i ask, now i plead to the piers who radiate this criticism which is thrown upon my tired shoulders to redirect it to the opiate-like devils who leave me with such agitation. the jet setting playboys and damsels who continue to dance in my thoughts why leaving me with groggy eyes. your blinding me while chipping me into a shadow of a man is only reciprocated by my closing all windows to possible emotional attachment. we sow the seeds for these windows over phone lines, at dinner tables, and in bedrooms everywhere. these portals leading to the feeling of loneliness. the initial spark of these feelings are ignited in the hallways of high schools everywhere. relationships of the greatest mundane attachment are conceived here, in these halls. infection-like culture in dire need of remedy. space is bartered in the heart for a crutch or yet again unraveled bow to lace and bind the rist and esteem just to feel coddled and secure. plummeting esteem attributed to incessant yearning for companionship. then once the one person support group is found the naive child constructs the devastating aura of obsession and vines around it a thick lace of blindness. groggy eyes never felt so good. the companion, the cure for desolation, now wears the mask of the opiate-like devil. funny now the candy that keeps us content is the same token, the bait that leaves the mighty human so cold and utterly alone. i now try to walk high headed with the quaint bows unraveled in my hand, awaitin the next cordial invitation to climb through the window and attend this brother of a game, so that i may tie them around your neck. “all that work?”, you say? i’ll do this so that once children may fill their pockets with candy and pride well deserved...and so that once i may dance. the invitation was marked with lipstick. lipstick in the shape of a bullet... a bullet the size of a kiss. daryl, august 1997. <br>