The best thing about life, Is knowing you put it together

"They look like big strong hands... don't they?"

Water rolls down the skin like tiny beads..
Eyes close so that they might see.
Illum tangendo (touching him)
This sun is a star in someone else's sky
Illum tangendo (touching him)
This moon is making someone cry...
Illum tangendo (touching him)

Captain PirateFace say's "Ahoy!"

Captain PirateFace say's "Ahoy!"
Updated by, Captain PirateFace

The Captain

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This is not an Exit

Never Say Die!!!





























"the tigers have found me
and I do not care."

Charles Bukowski

there is no fear here

there is no fear here
there is a fear here

Wednesday, January 09, 2008

who is this villain staring back at me from the mirror?


When I get to Hell I will be greeted "Warmly".... hehehe










She gave me her love like a mouth full of rusted screws.

Sour was the hard taste that would overcome my senses
when we pulled away from a kiss.
She left me exposed like a raw nerve.
Pained and unforgotten.
I couldn't shake her...
like a bad dream that continues to haunt me throughout my daytime thoughts.
My routine has been disrupted and consumed by the guilt of lusting after you.
Loving you has taught me how to die slowly...
And I can feel it when we kiss, when we embrace.
I can't help but feel you are enjoying every minute.



Putting the penny on the train tracks.

Swallowing a cool liquid from a metal flask that has been safely guarded in my pants pocket.
I couldn't really stand to be here in the first place...
With this terrible moonlight making every smile seem wicked and cold.
I swallow another drink and hope the burning in my throat and chest erases all hint of the shaking in my voice.
Every corner I find keeps me in constant lonesome company, Pleasing the crowd that this outsider remains outside.
I swallow another drink.
It could be Drano and I would still sip away... trying to fade myself out of existence.
I remember the days I would walk a creature of the night to it's front door and supply an injection of romance with one teasing kiss goodnight.
Lightly patting away a few tears of want and need.
Now I find myself in strange restrooms splashing my face with cold tap water drying tears that belong only to the wreck standing before me, filling up the mirror with a fat man's girth.
I just can't help ruining it all...
I swallow another drink and hope as I finish the flask's contents that it may be that mysterious last drop that sends me home crashing onto a lonely bed.
And I forget that it's empty holding it above my head and waiting for a drop of liquid that will never come.
And I always wait too long.


The sky is on fire and the souls go tearing from our boring bodies to get in on the action.

We are nowhere.
The clock ticks away at a numberless face where the minute hand hangs loose and dead pointing straight to hell.
The smell of sex in the air brings out the bastards from their dank and dark places too horrible for us "decent" folks to even consider going.
I wave at a group of amputee's and wait patiently for them to wave back and only get dagger eyes and a unconfirmed curse word.
I am breathing in the longing and fear and panic and love of the world around me.
And when I shower I can't decide if I want to leave the filth on or scrub until the flesh is raw and painful to even a slight caress.
I keep photographs of everyone I have ever fell deeply in love with, only able to look at severed necks as I tore the heads off long ago.
Calling random phone numbers I plead with tears in my eyes and a heavy dose of narcotic's to the listener...
"Fuck it up let's make some God damned noise!"
And as strange as it may seem...
They "almost" always hang up.


Listen to the breathing.

Does this shallow breath coming out in hot steam on this cold winter night signify the breaking heart that is almost audible?
Or,
Is the mind slowing down to a crawl as the sanity is swept into the poison filled insect nest in the corner of those depraved thoughts?
They want to hold you and embrace you and squeeze the life from that shaking body.
Do you need a coat or is this a seizure?
Will it bite or simply drag a dry and wounded tongue across this fist clenched hand?
Those eyes show depth of beauty as you try to form words and tell us how you feel...
what you want to say.
Beautiful eyes that we can see.. that they can see...
beyond the bloodshot and pain.
You would make an exquisite painting, as these photo's do you no justice.
We walk away now almost too embarrassed to have known you at all...
we leave you shaking and gagging and trying to mouth those words that we can't even hear.
Those words that could have meant so much to us.
You spit out the words "I love you"...
but we can't understand you anymore.
You never existed for us...
in fact, we were never here.



Not today.

I obey that fractured heart that still beats softly in my chest.
That heart held together with staples and masking tape, rubber cement and half true promises.
I became a ghost the day I fell in love with you.
Haunting every three steps behind you.
Trying to make sense of the places you had been.
Burying myself under covers that still carry the strong scent of your perfume.
This world has divided us into fools and liars.
And my truest of Love's I think we can be categorized as both, can't we?
But my place is usually alongside the many fools that have loved you.
As you kept the lies strong and nearly believable...
nearly.
I will write and read to you hundreds of poems professing my love.
And you will smile and nod, listening to every single one...
but never really "hearing" them.
I will still be here...
your ghost.
your fool.







Thats all for tonight my friends.

Captain PirateFace








(A Secret fucked up short) Smiling at me, I wonder if she is mentally retarded? The sick bastard thinks to himself... Could be fun... She probably already wears diapers. I wonder if she digs electrocution?

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

And he's back....

S

How can you save me when you can't save yourself?

"nothing can save
you
except
writing.
it keeps the walls
from
failing."

Charles Bukowski