Curiosity of the hand-written speaker

We passed your house the other day to tell you where we
sleep. We went on to enter and you yanked that chain and
kept hitting us. We bled from ours arms and noses, our teeth
swimming in a pool of blood and snot and you yelling "yank
it". So we left, without telling you where we would go, and
you danced your feet out of their sockets on the streets
that night. We will conclude this our formal apology, we
will see that the chains will be yanked no more.

Merry the merry

See if I care where you plant your garden, amidst burning
cinder or smoking oak. Rely on your words only when I tell
you how to speak. I love you when you rot away. Under a
mouthful of chocolate I see your puppy choking, I see him
wheezing life away. A bag of black will come for him, filled
with a smell of surgery, filled with spat-out blood. I'd
like to see your face among the ghosts you claim to see, to
talk to them while I breathe so heavily on you. I'd like for
you to tell them I love you, I'd like for them to cry.

Pee on the sky

Where would you be if I had walked you home last night?
In the bedroom I see a shadow, singing ta la la. You say
it's ok and I believe you. I lay you on my bed, you smell my
perfume. There's a spinning mirror while we're at it and a
sense of tragedy in your tears of happiness. You say the
rain smells funny, I say the buildings look sad. Your wet
hands wrap around me and the drops start dropping. We're
squeaking as I rush into you so hard between the rain the
moon breaks.

Just turn left

She feels a little different every day. There's a tube with
a bag lost somewhere in her veins. There are always ice
chips and bright balloons. In her haze she would like for me
to appear, but a long wreck separates us, filled with words
and gestures I can't see anymore. In her haze it's like a
big déjà vu; there are puppets you've already
seen and sex you've just had. There's a talking house and
some oak, there's a sense of someone constantly present. Or
maybe not:  in a haze I appear kind, not cruel. I hit and
run down only outside, only in real life. She has no ghosts
there.

Triple

Scab a knife with a fresh for the taking. Hold to your
sisters and aunts. Achieve greatness through weary eyes then
pay for the chemicals. Touch everything.
Here's a soul for you - eat it. Swallow it, drain it down.
Spit it out. Repeat.
We provide so little for free. You'll have to pay, feed the
slot machine, waste your money on this, your moment's
comforts, your nexus' report.