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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required My love, I'm always the same man hanged by your rhymes like by a rope, the lover who vomits poetry from his mouth like a sweet and bitter poison, the one who will treat you with extreme hatred like the civilization trampling my nature underfoot, raiding through my interior forests where wolves still howl at the full moon. I erupt from night all my abyss that rhymes by itself like a broken bell, my dream is an open wound that bleeds metaphors on the pillow where I sleep with my eyes open, the spark that no longer illuminates beneath my bare and shiny bald head like a skull, except for horse hooves sparking among stars like sparks of cosmic madness. The dull clarity of morning I can no longer describe with my dead writing hand, because it died on me in life like an unborn child falling from the womb of time, and my bare-naked head so intensely polluted with dirty thoughts like night moths, with my reason completely wrung of dandruff like by a disease that eats the brain. My love, I'm always the same man who repeats himself like a scratched record on a phonograph, the lover thoroughly hanged by rhymes that keep him alive and dead at the same time, the one who raids modern civilization through nature like an elegantly dressed barbarian, erupting your abyss from night that rhymes even with your cold marble silence. My dream is an extinguished spark beneath baldness that only illuminates in memories, horse hooves spark among stars like punctuation marks on the black sky, the dull clarity of morning is too clear for my eyes blinded by so much crude clarity, because my writing hand died on me in life and now I write with its pale ghost. My bare-naked head so intensely polluted with modern civilization injected in my veins, with reason wrung of dandruff like a wet rag from which dead logic drips, the vomit I wouldn't want to escape from sometimes like a lover who poisons me, until he shoves them in, my unfortunate sclerotic brain, all the normal minds into my head! All but really all the ty thoughts directly into my skull full of garbage, my love, I'm always the same poet hanged by rhymes that keep me alive like a gallows, the lover who hates you with extreme love like a civilization that's collapsing, raiding your nature through my abyss that rhymes by itself in complete darkness.
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