The Witch’s Sleep

Can’t hold hands with Joan without being spit on by Gilles.
The broken stained glass window is a testament of bleeding wills.
The night is endless as daylight madness in the witches’ sleep.
The golden teeth in rows are burning down 30 feet deep.
Now comes the night that punishes with loveless dreams.
The silver hook picks them off one by one by undoing tin seams.
The Devil knows honor while god rewards treachery and violence.
The Devil knows a lover’s kiss while god’s testament is untenable silence.
The hole in the eye is running with auburn curls of a long lost broken faith.
The tip of my finger runs a gorge in soft, white flesh that carresses a wraith.
We knew the score once sex and bitterness took hold in times of sweetness.
We knew a kiss was the dragon chasing us, taunting us, with it’s incompleteness.
Now burn the blue star into ashes to make a new drug seem worthwhile.
Now burn me into a shadow of childhood with the sweet syringe of your smile.w
Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s