A.P. Sweet

runaway my phantom bride and take your bouquet of poisonous flowers float away specter and take the rest of my desire

Her eyes burn like a match head striking my flesh with ferocity and precision to ignite the night with a divinorum induced dream.

awake, then die in the arms of a modified lover sleep, then dream in the absence of a tangible lover envision, then sing in the thralls of a hungry lover

I rise from the moist crevice of thought, I beat on the shores of her holy body, I fall from the sky in silver sheets of sadness. Rise onto me my precious sun.

Sadness is a moment in which the world took something from you. Depression is a lifetime of torment no matter what is said or done.

I sense him smiling and laughing and looking at me with eyes of a thousand aborted children coming back to rightfully claim their life, to claim the earth.

And like my comrades, I too have tasted the bittersweet assurance that I would be okay with myself. And like so many others out there, I have given that dream away to the wind and its power over the trees.

I want to towel off, leave my heart on this beach and walk the sand into a lake of stars, while never looking back.

I would give my heart to the religious so that they may realize that god hates us all.

where does it derive its strength? is it the blood soaked soil? or the fear stained heart?

We make our own music. We paint our own future.

Sometimes at night when the moon is almost full and my hands go numb from writing, I cleanse myself of her poisoned love. I welcome the water, the inevitability of death and embrace the long painful road out of love.

I wrote because of their inability to nurture me. I wrote to conceal the truth that life was filled with pain and that true beauty could only come from that pain. I wrote to simply disguise that pain.

I kiss the soil as if it is the last time I will recognize the beauty she has given the trees.

I cry often. I cry and cleanse my face with my tears and swim to the center of it all. A center that I have written about a thousand times, forever etched into the porcelain.

the heavens raped from our misuse of love

We learn that all life is scarce yet abundant. Profane yet sacred. Loving yet hateful. Enlightened yet obscured. Isolated yet collective. That life is somehow derived from love.

i witness the birth of the moon and her servants walking the night sky pulling us into their wake