"I've got this killer up inside of me... I can't talk to my mother, (friends, women, coworkers, associates, affiliates, city council, the internets, the homeless or even your mother) so I talk to my diary."

-that Scarface song from Office Space

cOsInE

Destroying myself
Just to feel the SiNe
Of your malignancy.

Crawling underneath it
With blooded digits
Inside of woolen gloves

Attempting a sprint
On nubs that
Were once legs

Deadly Nicotine
Kills all that I have been
Chain smoking the dregs in
Ricocheting dream

Life’s too short
To walk around so angry
All of the time…

I disagree.

And am finagled dry
Just so long this remains as is
Staying so sweet…

Yours and my emancipation to tyranny.
~
Akin we had been made,
Substantiating the architecture
Of the triangle.

-Wednesday, January 14, 2009

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