Warwick

From Small Things Love Grows

From small things my love grows, From small things I see grows contempt. The small things. Ah, the small things, The shape of a mouth considering. Considering the shape of a mouth. A rambling, to a look; a look, to a rambling. From a movement in an action; in an action from a movement. Silence…

I Am Altered

I Am altered… Down the pill I traveled. And boy oh boy, I like it down here. My purple little friend. You look like a pillow I want to lay my head. I want to swallow you again… but you’re gone… Why did you leave me? Just come back! And hang out with me again!…

Eternal Rest

Out beyond the walls, she walks a maze of flowers With lips as red as sultry blood and skin as pale as the day old dead She faintly hears a sound, as if the outset from the wave of a distant radio The sound conforms to intimate voices The voices she’s been longing for “Deny…

Tequila Reflection

The sweet sour stench of tequila leaked from his mouth as he sighed. He looked at the carcass of a lime he had just ripped the flesh from with his teeth. It made him think about the life the lime had lived. From the tree, to become victim to his knife and devoured to smooth…

A Week With You

Up your spiral staircase, bare foot we climbed. Atop your tower, a world of your design. Where in your bed we loved all the ways we should, Kiss to kiss, hug in hug, every touch was understood. On your couch a bit too small we listened to music, Then the rest of the world muted,…

Glassy Eyed When Terrified

Glassy eyed when terrified Can’t hold back the shakes Look into my eye, then to the side When it’s my gaze you must break I can see into your mind Where is the truth you said I’d find? Glassy eyed when terrified I’m standing on the brink With a mind half fried I don’t have…

Seeking Relief

Coffee fuels my pen. Whiskey fuels my knife. Will there ever be an end to this fucking thing called life? My pen fuels my heart. My knife fuels my thirst. Will the blood from an unnatural art make me forever cursed? My heart fuels my pain. My thirst fuels my mind. Will I ever just…

Escapes

With a mind half fried, A nosey itch, And my arms tied. I lay in a chair with a screaming mouth not taped. I quiet my fear when a glint of steel cuts near. I seize, This is my chance to escape.

Bodies Buried Deep

I walk the land of bodies buried deep. Where the memories of those sleep. All that’s left are their ornamental heads, signaling their sentimental beds. So that they may remain to live lying, in a many memories truthfully dying. What a fleeting waste, of a forgotten life, of a body placed. Sadly the scythe we…