Friday, October 8, 2010

Untitled, because I Can.

here's your



I am going to die
just like anyone else

i can taste it between the bile and the blood
the ashes in the mouth
like a pill chewed upon

i falter between seconds
white noise, red noise
a television busted
the cable is out

(Time? Warn Her)

but it wasn't the storm
i've been stealing programming from the skies since i moved here

technology like the colors after the fist strikes my face

you know very little about the cost of piracy and privacy

i take what i want and i never have enough
i hate that about myself

all of this was a measure to stop the bleeding
fourteenth or fifteenth aid
i am made of bones
an ossuary of ghosts
good night to you
and to all you stand for
don't wait up for me

unless you fancy looking under the bed
i won't be the monster
i'll be the whisper you hear that makes you seek the bogeyman

when you remember me
do it without flowers
because fuck that shit

i am worth initials in a tree, at the very fucking least

find an acorn
wrap in ribbons
with your hair and mine
the right color of smoke
and just a dollop of the substance
of your own being

buried with a silver trowel at the dark of the moon
i will see you in


Don't be so foolish as to think this has anything to do with you.

--Stephen Sunday