Parisian Ossuary

City of lights, city of romance,
words lost on your breath,

the catacombs are blood
beneath the streets in
the city of death.

Fueled by the eternal
mortality of human flesh,
fueled by the red-eyed lovers
lost with empty chests.

Its hard to breath again,
the floor is gone to screaming
haikus over the starfull sky.

Listening to my head,
whispering the thoughts
I never wanted, the golden
lie was told, the leather
cross shines with an
unimitable strobe
of humanity.

My poems reek of
solemn solace,
they start to hyperventilate
behind my back,
they kiss the sun
and burn in violet fire.

Yesterday’s cigarette ash
waits in my driveway
for the rain.

The rain that never comes.

The knife in my neck believed me.

The rooster didn’t wait until morning.

Menthol breath and bleeding
gums, the marriage of the crows
roaming Roman alleyways,
the perfect girl’s tongue-in-teeth
and love in vain,
once more.

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