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



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



Snow flakes rain down like tears
So many thoughts float through the world
Empty fields of yellow flowers
Clouds painted in the sky
There’s so much I’ve been meaning to ask you
So many things I wish I said
Thoughts never fulfilled
I was wondering if I stayed here would you come back?
You’d just keep walking away from these messages
Leaving me on read
Months gone
Days wasted
I think I miss you
Do you miss me?
Your fairy lights burn out, one by one
If I wait here will you ever return
The edge of these cliffs look pretty without you
I could walk right off
Paint me falling for you
It’ll be quick I know
I think I miss you
Do you miss me?
Take these broken wings
They’re useless without you, babe
I fucking love you babe I always do
I’ll die on rebirth
Be created as a lost puzzle piece
Without you with me
I think I miss you
Do you miss me?

I think I love you

  – S.F.403

Being an ace of spades

Taping on the screen
Impossible things come to life
It seems we’re not made for this place
We open our eyes but only empty things meet our gaze
We don’t know much
Through a cat’s pur come the vision of miles and rivers
So far and stretched between
Is this all we will amount to?
We can sit and pout for all they care
We are the same
With a message we destroy the friends we’ve made
And the memories will be forgotten
Is it bad we have made it this far?
Take a step in the right direction
But it’s difficult when everyone tells you it’s wrong.

  – S.F.403

choking flowers

Breathing in sweet air no longer holds the same charm

I can’t imagine holding your paper skin hands anymore

Your words are a weight that tug on the skin of my throat

Inside, flesh and blood drip down

Tulips, daisies and mountain flowers

The ones that are cut and bought

Pencil marks make up your hair and petals fill your trashcan

Don’t mind me as I stuff flowers down my throat

Thorns cause stab wounds in my mouth

I choke them up like tears and choke them down like food

Swallowing future vomit never felt so good

I can trace them under my skin

Making outlines in my veins and on my bones

It’s not long before I feel them take root

I feel pretty inside

  – S.F.403