I'm here and you are looking at me and I at you and I am tugging at the string that I had so tightly tied around your finger hoping you won't forget and I'm thinking about my body burning every freckle, place that you touched or held every inch of skin and limb and crinkle that holds memories of a smile burned tossed among the wind in a bohemian-like dance that insists I be tossed like bird food among the places that I loved when I only ever really loved you but I suppose being worm food isn't much better at the hands of grave diggers too So I'm here looking at you Hoping you'd give a penny for these thoughts because they feel worth a million since they are like dreams that when you wake up you pine to remember but they are already gone perhaps they are truly nothing but you still want to know even go mad to hear what unconsciousness tasted like the high of genius you get from snorting unreality like a drug Just tell me, was I beautiful ...
I was raised in a black glass church Where they told you it was see through That they never hid anything for it was made of glass But even if it is glass You cannot peer through black It's truth was feeble and thin The glass broke into brittle iotas of the dark With one fingertip pressed, and no blood spilled Only the blacken blood of the black glass church Then I went to the church that was built out of sand I thought this one would be better Since it was formed like a castle With a red flag even posed on the top But who would have known That it was only for a show? Until the invertebrate blue waves Came hurtling in across the church of sand And the church became only a home for the tide once again I was about to give up when I found a rock to sit upon And it happened to be a church carved out of stone That didn't lie about its transparency And wasn't quite pretty enough to be for show So the church made of rock...
Charlie, you must know Old Grandma Vivienne is a wild old hoot, No more than that, she's a crazy old bat, No, no, no, a sadistic psychedelic maniac So as mother always says: Don't listen to what she says, don't take her candy when offered, and don't smell her flowers, She used to be an apothecary you know. Oh Lydia! I'm sure she's not so bad, just you wait I'm sure Old Grandma Vivienne is nice, No Charlie! Don't listen to what she says, don't take her candy when offered, and don't smell her flowers! She used to be a mortician you know She can't be all of those things, Lydia! But! I promise that I won't listen to what she says, I won't take her candy when offered, or smell her flowers Good Charlie, because she used to be a taxidermist you know. At early noon, Charlie trekked through weeds and fallen logs, Chanting all Lydia had told him: Don't listen to what she says, don't take her candy when offered, and don't ...
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