David Er

This world is full of dark places and it's teeth sharp, like rust on a razor, like madness full of lust, where to it screams, where to it leads, where to it wants, into this bipolar storm, into this patho s setting sun.
...

Im tired and afraid couse I can't find myself in this world today.so I struggle and I fight, then I put my hands down and run towards the light.but it's a lie, or it's a dream, or it's a diversion filled with colours, and myth, and funny looking freaks.and then I pick up the phone and listen to my mom say, don't worry, every thing will be alright.
...

I'm a child of God with broken and dented parts, and this wine I drink is not from the lord.I'm on a ship that's about to go down, and I wonder will all these people will drown or go up.I'm a child of God with broken and dented parts and this wine I drink is not from the lord.still I eat this bread and drink this wine, cause maybe one day I will be able to fly.
...

It's a lie that carries no wait, a cartoon figure with a dirty smile, it's a promise with a prop, and a fat man wearing a orange political suit.his name starts with a d then ends with a t, if you don't know this man I'm referring to, ask some people in the state of everywhere, but be careful cause they might just carry guns.
...

The paper is empty, the pen is out of ink, the idea is tired, so the artist puts it's to sleep, the writer pulls his hands away, then begines to weep.
...

The nails cut deep, the body speechless and broke, his hair dripping with cold sweat, and blood, so much blood, and he cries, this is my cup and this is my bread, and this is my recital and you my lovers and friends.The thunder snaps, the fugitives hide, and the devil laughs and drinks more wine, still the man on the cross prays, this is my bread and this is my wine, and this is my recital.the nails cut deep, the body speechless and bent, and his hair dripping in sweat and blood, so much blood.and a new beginning that leaves some people lost and afraid.
...

She's taken all my exits, one by one.And the harder I try to get away, the harder I fall.but it's only poison I get, mixed with love.and then I realized, with out it, I'm lost.
...

Drunkard fiddlers fill your legs with song.Your body shakes and tumbles then drops to the floor.but I digress says the moon and stars, for it was the spider that started it all.then the rabbit started laughing as the cat walked away, it was me says the rabbit, not the spider or his web.
...

She opens up with a crooked smile, then falls on her knees like a broken child, she lifts her hands like a lost prophet, then laughs out load like a convicted thief, she rips open the sky above, then throws it in a empty trash can.she raise s the dead with her imagination then backs away in a another direction, she sinks the needle into her dead skin, then waits for the last and final trip to begin.she open s up with a crooked smile, , , for the last time.
...

Invisible kingdom's, filled with naked nymphs, wicked pot holes at the end of the street.Fire spitting dragons that are to cold to speak.and you in the bathroom smoking weed.your music music, is every ware so you turn it up loud just to piss off the people who care..so buz off you tell the spider and t ell that bird it's rude to poop on m y window.
...

She was a gween once so beautiful and young.when it came to her family she got stuff done.she use to be in love once, to a man who become a father and dad.now she's a lost woman, who is not even on the map.her children tried to help her but they were to young to understand.so they ran and ran and ran into a place, their bedroom, their house, their land.her friends try to help he l.p. Her, even her mom and dad.but the beautiful gween with a broken heart could only get stuff done in a house that become a house not a home.
...

The saintly maiden stretched herself into a cross.with a quiet contemplation and a holy relic she becomes a nuptial couch.with a pallid face and spiritual labour she laughs out
loud with her father s bitter anger and runs toward her pills and drink, falling once again into her painting s of her youth.
...

It's all about cemetery lights and concrete slippers and guns filled with endless bullets, while the carmelite nuns pray for us, they stand outside and blame and murder are children in the name of peace, and the sad part is we now come to expect it.
...