A man sits and strums his guitar on the curb in front of oasis Christian center

The strings breathe sound into the air

the guitars mouth reeks of we never were

its breath smells like regret

the man lights a cigarette and the smoke gets entangled with the music

the two transform and morph into a creature with a heart bigger than his fist is

hands that were always held open

more used to being taken than to take from

my father believes that you have to steal from the world what god allows and destroy the rest of it

hands

fists

the smoke cloud expanded into a child

limbs longer than Satan’s lies

a long face that held a slingshot mouth with a tongue made of rocks that were born in misleading characters

it speaks not our language and not the truth

Unholy as the winds of the guitar that opened up its ribcage and stuck a stick of dynamite the color of silence

that’s what all this sound is

silence

the chemical reaction of religion and human nature

pollution of the soul, the kind of thing that gods people destroy

me and my fathers relationship is made of silence

every time he hid under the night sky like a sin stained parka the save him from the holy rain

and strummed his guitar with hands that had the imprints of a crusade carved across his palms

strong hands that choked the god into my smoky ribcage with his music

strumming softly that sound echoed and became a natural disaster in the cosmos and I plummeted to earth

fell flat into the ground that has no love for things unholy and looked into his eyes

they looked like suicidal hurricanes

they reflected everything I fear

they burned away all my excess, shaping me into a david

he pulled a book from the mouth of his stormy eyes and it made my heart bleed murder

and so I thought its better to assassinate the book before he murders my humanity

I haven’t seen him since, I haven’t passed the choked ground where I first landed and joined the earth as an infidel

I don’t look at raindrops, they look to much like my brothers

The way my tears take the form of humans I prefer not to cry,

Crying brings back ghosts drowned in holy water

Everything that comes from the sky makes my heart bleed

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i don't know if its love or lust(maybe a combination of the two)but both halves of me finally agreethat they would be terriblyand perpetually incompleteif our eyes fail to lockif our fingers do not intertwineif I do not follow the roadfrom your collarboneup to brush the stray lockoff the side of your facethen end up comfortably at the small of your neckit'd be a tragedy of shakespearean proportionsfor our lips to not have the pleasure ofgetting acquaintedhow stale the air iswhen we do not share…See More
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