The Dead Alive

I heard you sing.
I cried.
You looked.
I stared back.
I seen your eyes.
Cold, unmoving.
Unnerving.
Unsafe.
I lost my life that night.

I took your hand.
We walked,
from the carnage of our lives.
Everyone scrambling for safety.
Petty bastards.
Crazy heads.
In that moment,
When your hand touched mine-
Ice cold,
I died with you.
I never seen it coming.

My life changed,
The worm turned,
I drank vodka
Like the masters once had.
The bastards!
My hands were warm
My voice was cold.
Black eyes.
Tepid smile.
Hateful countenance.
Oh, how you changed me.

You never blinked.
You lost me.
I lost my life.
We never found each other again.
I miss you now.
I mourn you.
I still drink vodka
But I will never know your ilk again.
I am safer though.
The dead alive'
The living dead.

Hold my hand again,
Take it!
I never left you.
We just got lost.
I stand in the field
And fatten the calf.
You will find me
We will lie togher
And you can close my eyes.

CRUSH

Crush me up in little bits
and scatter me along the road
where you walk.
In life you walked across me
So it does not matter now.

I think you have won
A shallow victory perhaps
but when all is said and done,
that's okay.
Have your cake and eat it.
If not, what's the point anyway

Well done, congrats'
You are snakish,
but thats what i admire.
My defense was an offense,
so really i won it for you.

Now you won't tell me things
I scoffed at you when you did.
You were always proving a point.
Why to me though.
I was never any good at perspective.

Take your coat love, you have pulled.
I love you and hate you for it.
Sleep easy tonight with your French bitch.
But bear in mind that even now,
I love you all the more.

You have won,
And I'm undone.

Visi D'arte

I still see him.
Late at night his face appears
to tease me, and smirk.
Big moon face, packed with perversion.
The archtype. The fucking posterboy!

He slimed his way on top of me
and I played Callas in my head.
"Visi D'arte", I screamed in my brain.
I never uttered a word.
Did'nt even really feel it.

Could'nt tell ya if ya asked me.
But I remember his sound
like an asthmatic boar,
shuffling his weight around.
I said to myself,
"Is this what its like in the movies?
the way the women struggle for a minute,
then endure,
the burden of filth?"

I left first. It did'nt hurt.
I just walked out. I did'nt run.
It is like after a dog attacks you
remain calm.
They love fear.
That is why he picked me.
I played Callas in my head.
"VISI D'ARTE", I screamed,
as I crept into my bed.