around three each morning
the world is on fire again
floods near the mountains
of my youth
the spanish princess wants
to run away with me after
one of us wins the lottery
i kiss her goodbye as i know
sadly, neither of us will ever
be lucky at all
and the ghosts come to visit
around three each morning
so vividly that old souls are
conjured into an existence
they have never even known
and with the hands firmly
gripped around the neck
of life
squeezing it to death
i wonder if i’ll even bother
to have an obituary
maybe just put me in the
ocean like a terrorist
burn me on the closest cross
and mix the ashes with the
shit roses grow in
i once thought i was in love
turned out it was indigestion
Horror Sleaze Trash 