Divulging

The whiskey bottle-capped secret
scent diffision,
if it is affirmative…
can crawl like dust mites
up the hearth of your home.

The lazily longitude of your slurring speech
cannot subdue the bottom card.
You will not ace my heart.
I will no longer live by your side.

If what I am telling you
is the utter truth,
you have my lips as your thirst
and below my girdle is your meal.

Upper or lower,
growing outwards in flesh,
rippling the molecules connecting
by infinite laws of science.

Let's have sex.

Chair Unusable: Rising Agony

When the sticker stuck,
it clung with dignity.
As for the others…
intestines do not
zing lightly.
The cultured pearl
on the epidermal regenerative
is a gender neutral narrative.
Grasping the slippery branch
with fluffy tail,
have no use for touchable snails.
Clipping sledgehammers
and jackhammers alike,
switching lanes to piss off the mice.
Cannot communicate with clandestine
mate in unnatural surroundings
before they are pulled into a void.
Within the void is only a chair…
a most unusable chair.

The Sparse Chichilad

Hovering above the bed
that gravity used to beat me
down on, all accounts comfortably,
has now been broken within sincerity.

Time has been sparse for writing about
my withering state of wanting to live.
I get no attention because I do not
know how to properly get attention.

Space has been expanding
in conjuncture to my never-ending
search for nothingness.
I will take myself to Starbucks.

Whoaaaaaaaaa

I exported my blog to wordpress just for experimenting.
I like what I've done with it.
I'll probably change the url
but here go look
http://amaworonecki.wordpress.com

Opulence at the Height of Anticipation

The moonstone glow is a sun dance away
crowning the glory of an observatory
kissing the King and Queen's feet.
Court jester stares at the unruly
actions of the cantankerous daughter
owning up to little just to cause a nuisance.
This is where the opulence began and ended.

At long last we have the cadence of peace,
the rhythm of returning souls to the population.
Dawning at the sky, purple and blues catch the clouds.
Remember to tuck away the monsters,
keep them away from the crowd.

The King and Queen tend the land in honor
of long held traditions,
however, the degradation occurs.
At the strike of noon, the book of hours
collapses creating a tare in reality of time.
Some unknown disruption leaks in.
No, it was not the wine.

It must have been the mercury
seeping out her pours
possessed by source of alien
activity that caused her to burst.
The King and Queen weep over
the torn flesh remnants.
The cour jester, capativaed by curiosity
touches the silver liquid
and his flesh develops painful marks
and exhales toxins into the air.

No one but a servant escapes
alive enough to wonder around to
the market place calling out for help.
The servant expels stronger toxins.
Thus, the plague shall spread.

Oh how I am looking forward to death…

Grating on the Edges

It sounds as if it hurts,
makes strobing lights fail,
seizes your rhythm
and brings ones eyes to close.
Before any face could speak to me
I've shut out my feelings
and left myself with
a tundra hybrid desert
all for you to burry me in.
If I am to be my own undoing,
here it is in writing,
Self defeating in every possibility
there is simply no future.
I am not meant for this earth.
No one was meant to see me
and if they have, they've now forgotten.
I do not exist.