there is a place where pens bleed. the same place where veins seethe.

there are only spirals of light behind lidded eyes begging for sight. scratching noises of shaking hands release the preservation of the soul. mothers and fathers, flotsam and jetsam. cigarettes burn forever, liquors and coffees are consumed with the pills and powders. dust lies on the brows of men with conviction. bukowski was an abusive drunk, thompson was delusional, burroughs a fag, and ginsberg no man's son. solice lies in the hearts of the broken. where are the jesuses, the buddhas, the mohammeds, any gods? they are long gone. never to return. we have mcdonalds and the federal reserves. let me speak without words. speak to me with your hands, a language of love spoken to a darkened room with eyes closed. i stand here alone and naked never feeling the cold. screaming the mad genius scribbling, waiting for time. when i open the faucets, the water is red, dirty, and polluted with the hopes of 1000 dreams and schemes that unraveled before my eyes. i bite my tongue to taste the blood, to remember life. i only want to be loved for the sake of love, until I am loved, then i want it all the dreams and golds and sleeping havens of royalty pushed into the clouds. i see the silken hairs on your neck stand on end. a tactile memory of every time i breathe. i open my mouth to speak, nothing comes out in such force, a cornucopia so bountiful it drowns the senses, confusion controls the delicate wisps of communication, making them into hammers of insanity, breaking my will. sparks fly from fingertips as i feel your body approach mine. you gently put a finger to my lips, silencing the shame. our lips touch one on the other. i have allowed you to save me. i am lost in you. enslaved to you. i die.