the walls bleed of you
your essence seeping through...
Behind each painting,
Lies an echo of pain...
After hearing my father's death news
At the time, I lost my spiritual fuse...
Mrs. Butterworth talking
Kangaroo rides in the pool...
Before the great death
I must be so smooth...
A little three year old
scampers crossed a creek...
I was half way it seems
Between your world and hell...
If I could I'd steal your final breath
Watch you just lay there and die...
There isn't enough ink
to write under a moonlit night...
I am here
But far away...
A mother holds her dying child in her mind,
heart and soul...
The entrails of cigarette smoke...
How it always reminds me of a serpents glow...