Mouse heads punching the square rings on my bloody fucking fingers. I’m made of empty anger. It fills, reaches, twists and twines coiling in my gut. I’m alittle bit of pain in a sea of worry. I’m just alittle scared. Scared, she’ll leave again.
I’m not here.
Babe hug the tears that crust against my skin.
Scrape the bruises from my skin and say you love me. I love you.

I still love you.

  – S.F.403


Piece of shit

Years to count down the days
An hour to count the seconds
Bullet proof rings and tattooed swaths of skin
She’s so pretty as tattoo ink
Table bread, violent thoughts
It’s all the pretty things she likes
But I’m a damned man
Been here far to long with the cracked dirt roads and tilted trees
Empty WiFi links and cold blankets
Down by that field where we had our first kiss
And all those wasted fights and balloon dresses
The bleachers you’d cheer on
The swings you’d sit on
This life you destroyed and skin you scraped
I’m the boy you left behind
Holdng the marks from your crushed cigarettes and beer caps
I’m stilll here
against all odds
Smile babe I’m happy

  – S.F.403

shades and shadows

Shades of perfect flowers
Daisies, roses, tulips
I run so far to scatter my blood on your cheek
Breath painting pictures
Poems written in your hair
Shades of black and blue
Purple, pink
Sunset colours in spilled ink
Crocheted lines in rainbows
My forever teardrop girl
Shades of I love you
All the things I’ve never spoken aloud
All the girls I’ve dated after us
Trying to find you in them
But memories wash away
But I still smell your cigarettes scratched into my skin

  – S.F.403

Pretty catch

It was a pretty girl party
Pretty boys came too
I wasn’t invited but that’s okay
She’s so prettyprettypretty
Jaywalking through my mind
Her sex, so fucking good
Angel wings and feathers
Beetles crawling under my skin
I wasn’t invited.
I dated many girls but I swear she’s got fish hooks in my chest
Sorry I’m not quite a catch, babe
Don’t look at me like that
I must be something to fall in love with
But people hate me because I can’t quite catch them
Pretty girl dolls and Barbie dresses
Such a fucking catch, babe
Let me be your one and only
Not quite a pretty boy with my too rough hands and inner thighs
I’m too used to movement
Go away.

  – S.F.403


We’re too sad to sing so softly.
We’d rather screech but sounds are beyond us.
Read us sonnets while we piss.
Shakespeare while we shit.
Our sketchpad is still empty.
Ladies love us
Men love us
But we’re too arrogant for love.
We’d rather cry.
Kill us, we’re too sad.
Deepdeep like a sinking rock that wants to fucking fly
Hour long tears stream down an endless slab of skin.
We can’t cry so we screech.
But sounds not longer slip past us.
We’re silent.

  – S.F.403

Waiting on a thought

It’s through sopping wet words and Wikipedia pages that we find our emotions.

Aesthetically pleasing.

We fall endlessly through time on a path of creation we burn behind us.

Fuck the world, babe.

I’m tired but I don’t sleep.
I let operas play in my head.
Evil minors allowed.

I don’t care.
I don’t care.
I’m gone, dear.

It’s over and down with it.
Shut in, shut out.
Closing eyes and doors for possibility to never escape.

Hold on.

I don’t care.


Aesthetically Pleasing

Immortal in a dead place
Cutting wounds
A sharp edged smile
She’s pretty
All sunken eyes and broken hopes
Alittle too dramatic though
But she’s enough
She’s always been enough
Cash 200
Turn around and lead her
She always follows
She’s immortal
The same person because she’s everyone
She’s anyone
Just another waste
Just another dollar