|
Register | Blogging | Today's Posts | Search |
|
Thread Tools | Display Modes |
03-04-2008, 02:57 AM | #391 (permalink) |
Music Addict
Join Date: Dec 2005
Posts: 699
|
Scavengers
Little ditty.
Scavengers Scavenger. Hair slicked back, boy, You're a cool, cool flier. Wings wheeling about feathers, Black, licked with wind blown fire. Don't forget the prey on the ground, They pray with their head held down. The world is yours for the taking, Crazed lips spiral into a grin, You're insane, boy, you and your desires. Prey. Hair flecked gold, girl, You're a beauty in disguise. These oversized sheep sweaters, Can't hide those mythical eyes. Be wary of the vultures and crows, Yet careful of the jackals and wolves, Just keep away from all of those. The poison in your blood won't do you any good, Until after these flying frights are full. Ghosts. Pale faced spectators like spectres sit. Hopeless sinners who refuse to intervene, Watch this massacre of good, The scavenger's haunches are lean. Without so much as fang and claw, Gold flecked wonder can only slump, Into the tree stump she failed to see. Raven haired, airborne danger diving in. He is no stranger to speeds beyond him. Conclusion. Watch the blood trip from his maws, This imaginary girl crumpled and broken, Pieces of her stuck in ivory jaws. And if you think this fiction is fiction, Make your way to a window and hold on to the sill. You are witness to things you considered fake, To be very real. Moral. Someone is waiting for you, too. The scavengers will pick you clean when you die, And until then you are always in company. These scavengers are sleeping with you. These scavengers are sleeping with me. R. Crowe |
05-31-2008, 12:15 PM | #392 (permalink) |
Music Addict
Join Date: Dec 2005
Posts: 699
|
Thomas
Thomas Call him Thomas he prepares people to be buried, He paints the cadavers a smile though his mind is weary. The temperature rising here in the mortuary, You've got to be careful or you spoil the stiffs. Lonely Tom and his bodies alone he wonders... He wants to move to Alaska to start a new life, Befriend the Eskimo children and build a snow wife. He swears he will use the ice as a blanket, And sculpt a pillow out of a mountain. And his pulse lacking friends stay colder than you. Things are getting hot here closer to the equator. His hair is melting, synthetic plastic strands into human rubber. The bodies begin to stink, releasing the awful odor. His skin turns red but his mind returns to cold. Simple brain freeze to keep him from turning old. Thomas is getting tired, well he's tired to death, He looks at his wards and touches their features, His finger tips near the lips and it's here he lingers. Thomas leans in holding his breath, And he kisses body number 4, drawer K. Thomas' friends are rotting in the swelter, He's too tired to find the reason for the blisters. Thomas looks for his best friend in drawer A, He climbs in with her, gunshot wound to the trachea. He falls asleep curled around her torso. His chest rises and falls, and falls again. Never to rise, Thomas and friends. R. Crowe |
06-03-2008, 01:31 PM | #395 (permalink) |
Music Addict
Join Date: Dec 2005
Posts: 699
|
DRMO is pretty spot on - the whole locale idea is a mental technique he uses to stay sane - but finally he can't control it anymore. I don't like explaining my lyrics unless there is a genuine misunderstanding due to a language barrier. You take from it what you will, imo. That's the beauty. But if you have to know, that is what I was doing with the temperature.
|
06-03-2008, 01:49 PM | #396 (permalink) |
They call me Tundra Boy
Join Date: Sep 2005
Location: In your linen cupboard.
Posts: 1,166
|
How did you know about my mental technique?
Strangely enough, I was thinking the other day about how somebody would go about befriending an eskimo. I would like an eskimo for a friend. Also, I would like a midget for a friend. An eskimo midget friend would be amazing. An eskimo midget mistress... hmmmmm? Where is my mind taking me. |
09-15-2008, 11:16 AM | #398 (permalink) |
Music Addict
Join Date: Dec 2005
Posts: 699
|
Emma Bear
The culmination of 4 years of relationship -- ended a year ago. And my "final" thoughts on the matter. Enjoy.
Emma Bear Sex has never been more worthless, A mild tempered snake enters a bag of sand. My insides contract with that adoring look, Adorning her face she's got her hooks, Deep into my back drawing me downward Like an leaden anchor filled with darkest matter. I'll sink here awhile and listen to her laughter. She cheers me on as if she can hear my hesitation, I'd rather eat a blistering orphan than continue With this sickly, wet concerto of undulations. Her screams of pleasure are my bowels retching. She fumbles over my skin like a blind child seeking comfort, She looks into my eyes seeking some sort of return, If only she realized that I'm not even there, But rather in silence, a time out of mind, A billion ashes in a cast iron urn. Tomorrow is only more of the same, She'll hold my hand and think of perfection, It's my cuff to the cold of skin and bone, My detestable queen has made me, A king... sitting in my forever throne. R. Crowe, 9/13/08 |
|