| Deviant Login | Shop | Join deviantART for FREE  |
Take the Tour  |
Black LullabyeThe dreaded music begins. It sounds like drips in a dark cave, echoes, disturbed flocks of birds.Black Lullabye by =Bark
It sounds like corpses sitting on a Friday night front porch, cajoling the passersby to join them.
Like boots walking through mud, like a madman howling at the moon.
It sounds like the deepest, darkest well, with muffled pleas for rescue floating to the top.
Like quick decapitation, without time for a scream.
It sounds like a distant roar drawing nearer, a train gone off the tracks.
The music of the damned, building to a climax of bombs and screams.
Can you hear it, in the night, when the thick blood of darkness has coagulated?
Rising, fall
CurtainsBruised sky, light struggles to break throughCurtains by =Bark
Trees shudder
Grocery list and stacks of mail go unattended
Feed the cat
Go back to bed
Dream of you
I wish I hadn't given away your curtains
Monday, Erased and Re-WrittenDawn broke brittle Monday morning, the sky cracked like eggsMonday, Erased and Re-Written by =Bark
(All done in silence beneath the roaring of my tinnitus)
Twenty 'til something and I'm driving out into blazing light
Looking for what, I won't know 'til its found but its
Just so damned bright and quiet and I think of a sniper in the clock tower
Fallen asleep waiting to pick off his targets but how can he sleep
in this goddamned brightness and nothings moving anywhere
Empty streets, has the world called in sick this morning?
Am I awake? Am I alive? Am I in a movie, maybe a character
in someone's book? Why don't I feel anything? Am I waiting for
the writer to tell me how I feel,
MorningA black cat sleeps in a ray of sunMorning by =Bark
My coffee is lousy
Another cardboard morning
The day isn't a blank canvas
Waiting to be painted
Its already scrawled with
Yesterday's mad crayon drawings
Smoke drifts up and out of the window
I drink the coffee
EulogiesA stone in the pit of my stomach, I'mEulogies by =Bark
tired of seeing my loved ones only in dreams
Anger wells up, against who or what doesn't matter
I sleep for years and awake unfulfilled, empty
I will write only eulogies from now on, posting
them in elevators and bus shelters
CupcakesWhen was the last time you had a cupcake? I was eight. I lived in the house with green shingles. It never rained, and I played with little green plastic army men in the driveway. They all melted into a blackened lump when I burned down the house. I was glad I burned the house down, but sad that I'd forgotten about my army men. No one ever gave me cupcakes again. I'm not sure if I survived.Cupcakes by =Bark
receptionreception by `thetaoofchaos
your air is read into my skull
like benedictions
saffron panacea
that seem to settle these unquiet ganglions
into sleeping
(some)
a lean-to
listening
inside of words;
they're not for knowing whereabouts
of things which haven't come
but for the mere astonishment of sound
the soft collisions with the self
the closeness of a chair
with wings.
Sta.sh
