what is this I see?
this giant ball, it\'s letters in a box.
I have yet to hear it bark a sodden tune
or heal the rift of ivory in chastity and chase.
it hides my spiders in it\'s eyes.
it smells of boredom, poverty, and lace.
will it float my soul to heaven,
or dare me grieve as satan stares me down?
who told me once that dying is an art?
to the mandatory needles,
each curtain made and pulled apart
from the right side of all miracles and dreams.
it found solace in my skull,
as pure as snow,
a paperchain to a cold world of my hurt.
to envy all I own, sweet paradise;
under a red-moon sky,
torso-white as naked as a bean.
each horse I see bolts it\'s doors
to live among the strays while summer sleeps,
while the ivy climbs as cavaliers
to decorate the glory of decay,
to grow green leaves of idle tears.
my jealous blood flows fury through the thorns.
what now I see
from the right side of my bed?