I eat love poems for breakfast
and dull landscape poems for lunch,
then I sit down and crush the mountains
with my irrational
yet devastatingly beautiful eloquence,
as I write my poems on my arm with a knife.
Iced dreams weigh heavy
on my heart;
and while I sleep my demons die,
but when I wake the echoes cry.
Sad yet sexy shivers
from a little lady on the street corner,
She’s as breezy as last week
My swiss bank account
is loaded with four dollars
and a million pounds of cheese.
In order to maintain this status
The disappearance of miss Emilie Devine
Weighed heavy on our broken minds.
She slipped into the punch bowl
And blew a kiss to our troubled souls.