Pain, love, blood

there's a storm coming...
i can hear the rattling of bones...
the dead hate storms...
it floods their graves...
graves are like their homes you know

pain inspires poetry..
so does love..
pain inspires love,
or is it the other way round?

when it rains,
i dance
like the wind,
like the flightless bird
caught in the eye of the storm

its all a whirl out there tonight
the wind's blown the stars outta the sky
they slipped on the wet clouds and fell
to the ground
like raindrops...

Music inspires poetry
music inspires pain
music is love
its the only thing keeping me sane

nothing inspires poetry like insanity
the insane hurt all the time
which is why they never cry...

i cut my veins
my blood runs down my hand
thick drops fall off my fingertips
its the bloodiest red nail-paint you can get

where the drops fall
the earth becomes red
red mist rises from the spot
as if it were meat fat on a hot skewer

a little red sapling breaks through
a devil-shoot of a devil tree
it will bear devil-fruit
they will taste like my flesh
the juice will be red
like my blood, like wine.

in the land of the dead
the living are the condemned.