Frosty da snowman
Bluelighter
When only the dead have memories, we will finally be free
I struggle with this and many other odd thoughts, despite the occasional rough hand on my cock
Drifting along the lines of menstruation, looking lovingly at the failed suicide between my knees
Buried in her throat, tenderly un-wrapping one of the wrists, and re-enacting the crucifixion
With three cocks like nails, a crown of cum and tears, and tomorrows abortion tacked to her like a stab wound, I’ve found next weeks messiah.
I’ve begun to wonder why no one prays for my soul
The day begins with a quick prayer to my black Madonna, still nailed to the wall
Impotent and crying heading for the streets…
Again beginning the endless search for salvation
Could angels fly on pigeon wings? Spying and shitting in every city crying out god’s words and peck, peck, pecking away to Armageddon.
Now I’m wondering, do bag ladies understand the pigeons. Is this the reason their content to smile vacantly while tossing seed on the streets. Are these modern day saints withering away, to nameless funerals and heavens gates?
We must learn their secrets.
I think I’ve lost my grip of time and distance. Each day seems a year, and each step a mile.
It’s 17 and ¾ steps to the diner; yesterday it was 12 and half. The city’s growing.
This mornings’ troubled. The afternoon dreams are not sitting well. Pit vipers drinking from cow’s teats, blood, venom, milk and grass, fangs flashing I don’t understand what it means. The feral nature of the moments should have warned me to stay inside. Today control is not on my side.
It’s 17 and ¾ steps to the diner. I only wanted coffee.
The day seemed safe, except for the taste of doubt, it was like milk and blood, but sour somehow.
I only wanted coffee, something bitter to wash away the sweet…
4 blue cars on the right, 2 red on the left yesterday I saw green but not today.
42 steps to the mailbox, empty.
It’s 17 and ¾ steps to the diner. 17 and ¾ steps and a cup of coffee.
18 concrete blocks to the end of the block. I like this corner. There’s no cracks here. This corners smooth like a granite mirror. I wonder how many people have walked here, like she did.
Summers like a home. It’s warm and fuzzy, and full of breeze’s, and flowers.
I always run at this part. 29 steps to cross the street, then it’s 48 concrete blocks to her…
Just coffee I only went in for coffee.
48 concrete blocks to the stand, the flower stand. It’s always Summer near flowers.
It’s my routine. A sip of Summer then 17 and ¾ steps to the diner for coffee. But today she wasn’t there.
48 concrete blocks to her and she wasn’t there. 48 concrete blocks, then 17 and ¾ steps. I’d already had my Summer though. I’d brought a little piece with me. 17 and ¾ steps to the dinner. 17 and ¾ steps for my coffee. All I wanted was my coffee. 3rd stool from the cashier, 20 minutes to drink my cup, and then I would have been back to my Summer. But Ida screamed, she saw my smile, and the little piece of Summer I brought with me. She screamed and I knew they would tell, so I had to, I had to, I had to be the viper, otherwise they’d take my Summer away.
Tonight, tonight I take my Madonna, and my Summer, We’ll move and maybe, maybe I won’t have to be the viper for awhile.
XX/XX/XXXX
I struggle with this and many other odd thoughts, despite the occasional rough hand on my cock
Drifting along the lines of menstruation, looking lovingly at the failed suicide between my knees
Buried in her throat, tenderly un-wrapping one of the wrists, and re-enacting the crucifixion
With three cocks like nails, a crown of cum and tears, and tomorrows abortion tacked to her like a stab wound, I’ve found next weeks messiah.
I’ve begun to wonder why no one prays for my soul
The day begins with a quick prayer to my black Madonna, still nailed to the wall
Impotent and crying heading for the streets…
Again beginning the endless search for salvation
Could angels fly on pigeon wings? Spying and shitting in every city crying out god’s words and peck, peck, pecking away to Armageddon.
Now I’m wondering, do bag ladies understand the pigeons. Is this the reason their content to smile vacantly while tossing seed on the streets. Are these modern day saints withering away, to nameless funerals and heavens gates?
We must learn their secrets.
I think I’ve lost my grip of time and distance. Each day seems a year, and each step a mile.
It’s 17 and ¾ steps to the diner; yesterday it was 12 and half. The city’s growing.
This mornings’ troubled. The afternoon dreams are not sitting well. Pit vipers drinking from cow’s teats, blood, venom, milk and grass, fangs flashing I don’t understand what it means. The feral nature of the moments should have warned me to stay inside. Today control is not on my side.
It’s 17 and ¾ steps to the diner. I only wanted coffee.
The day seemed safe, except for the taste of doubt, it was like milk and blood, but sour somehow.
I only wanted coffee, something bitter to wash away the sweet…
4 blue cars on the right, 2 red on the left yesterday I saw green but not today.
42 steps to the mailbox, empty.
It’s 17 and ¾ steps to the diner. 17 and ¾ steps and a cup of coffee.
18 concrete blocks to the end of the block. I like this corner. There’s no cracks here. This corners smooth like a granite mirror. I wonder how many people have walked here, like she did.
Summers like a home. It’s warm and fuzzy, and full of breeze’s, and flowers.
I always run at this part. 29 steps to cross the street, then it’s 48 concrete blocks to her…
Just coffee I only went in for coffee.
48 concrete blocks to the stand, the flower stand. It’s always Summer near flowers.
It’s my routine. A sip of Summer then 17 and ¾ steps to the diner for coffee. But today she wasn’t there.
48 concrete blocks to her and she wasn’t there. 48 concrete blocks, then 17 and ¾ steps. I’d already had my Summer though. I’d brought a little piece with me. 17 and ¾ steps to the dinner. 17 and ¾ steps for my coffee. All I wanted was my coffee. 3rd stool from the cashier, 20 minutes to drink my cup, and then I would have been back to my Summer. But Ida screamed, she saw my smile, and the little piece of Summer I brought with me. She screamed and I knew they would tell, so I had to, I had to, I had to be the viper, otherwise they’d take my Summer away.
Tonight, tonight I take my Madonna, and my Summer, We’ll move and maybe, maybe I won’t have to be the viper for awhile.
XX/XX/XXXX
