Peaches

Her black hair flows over her shoulders
like the weights of time weigh upon mine.
Except her's is beautiful,
while mine is just a reminder.

A reminder of a clock counting down,
but who is to say that death itself is not beautiful
that the act of disappearing is not joyous,
only to be left in the memories of the few.

Coming up my throat I feel a snake crawling
inching it's way past my esophagus
cutting off access to lungs
and all of this is just one instant.

She waves a salute of goodbye,
never knowing when that bright smile
kind eyes and soft voice
will inundate the soft recesses of my mind

where pleasure is stored
and create a chemical reaction some have come
to call love, making me addicted to you.
I wonder how long this withdrawal will take.

How long my veins will ache
and my head will pound screaming
"more... more... more..."
with rivers flowing from those orbs

which knew and gladly accepted
the glow of your being
the curves of your body
the taste of your words.

Time stops when I'm around you
and death takes a step back.

Q

Thom York sings
through speakers.

Melancholy leaves stains
only wisdom helps to clean.

Oceans are abysmal and dark
as is the id of humanity.

Kurt Cobain liked heroin
he even fell in love with one.

Only time erodes the facade
which people use to sustain normalcy.

Chaos is a symphony.