Thursday, August 13, 2009

what is never said.

when the terrible planets align, I'll be nowhere to be found
as if her name was Militia and she brought a war to town

and what sort of dance is this, angel?
is this sort of destruction beautiful to you? I've pushed the line before
I've had the oxygen mask on
I've designed my own headstone with clay that melts in the rain
but you're not even a murderer. at least they have goals.

it's coming so I starve
I keep the phone lines open and my vein lines open
we are
a mailbox in front of a long-abandoned home
because you haunted away the residents
and I didn't care enough to stop you

(the crowd begins to loudly whisper to each other)
so stay on guard for Militia
because she's beautiful and she's deadly and she's on her way