Worthy foe or wasted felon
Fasting waste of a foul wench
A hopeless tale
Nobody
Left
But
The finale
The last human
The final collective
Nothing left in her limbs
Lungs plunged and pierced
Laid on the pride of the land
Her victory over him
What about them
The unknown spacestaraviourcraft
staring
gazing
lying
but
The End.
-J.
I wonder if it’s true
My hypothesis set,
When you have nothing to say is when you should write.
But isn’t it the essential truth
The absolute difference
Words are selfish and sole.
Through the frayed brown rope
Linking the glimmery receivers
Exploding
From me.
Me. Me. Me. Me. Me.
Mirror this back
The truth absolute
The difference essential
My words are irrelevant unless they touch your soul.
My conclusion, is your decision
-J
Love is always cruel before it ends
Watching the glitter fall down the sewer
She kicked her heels together
and spun away from the treasure forever
-J
serpentine slut
seducing with that slit
slowed wit of the starved
sentry standing stoic
slink to the skirt
slip to the side
seasons stay still
slither into sublime
sound of the stunning
-J
grotesque isn’t it
grotty self sick
pour it thickly over my eyes
steep my submerged locks
smear it into the hidey holes of my weeping pores
a blocked airway with the pungent concoction
ooze from my parted lips
a putrid pout
a foulness follows
a pause
pretty
pathetic
the stench lingers briefly
-J
I think I was born under a lucky star.
There is no other explanation for the magical shit that happens to me.
Either that, or it is the four four-leaf clovers I have been gifted over my glimpse of a lifetime
I have never found one myself.
I wonder about this luck then,
for it is real and tangible,
What beauteous moments in this hazy meadow of hope could flourish and extend far above the misty mornings and the buzzing of life,
the whipped cream mountaintops,
the razor edge of the coast,
Maybe one day a creature of fancy would steal me away from the orange warmth through the oak windows with its melted panes,
drag me kicking and screaming
with pleasure.
I will visit the stars and burn alongside as I burst my insides out in the nothingness.
-J
I don’t know what to write about right now because I’m high,
and that’s okay,
because this is a private piece of prose
perhaps.
It depends where it leads down today
the path behind the fern trees and orange chrysanthemums
pass the poplar grove gold beams on moss
the saccharine river with its trifling smirk
but then you get to the real good shit
the sleep deprived
ghoul of your dreams
the twisted screams
bleached skin
eyes layered under folds of crinkled pages
pages which tell you
leave me the fuck alone.
piss off.
what are you still doing here?
fuck it.
fuck it.
suck it.
lick it.
love it.
me
-J
dandelion tea
& sweetbread
not sweet bread
my dears
shall we go?
down the path of hesitation
what am I doing here?
who the hell are you?
what the fuck is this!
a sweet turnaround is always gentle
a calming wash of cool gas
too close to your nose it could freeze off your hairs
would you like some dandelion tea?
I picked them at twilight
drink it
you won’t regret it
and now sleep..
-J
something fantastical 