Divine Stanzas

Poetry brought me to prayer.
I would show you how, but I'm selfish with God.
I want to keep God all to myself.

So pray.

It will be my unwritten poetry.

Give me God.

I give you poetry.

And we can pray together.

-CH

Playing With Pain

Fuck fire.

i need fire. fire is electric.

But fuck it.
I want to touch it, but I can't.

The blue of the flame ignites my inner child.
The tangerine dream informs me of danger.
The white tip.

This cigarette is my victim.

Alas, my beloved doobie...

Fire brings pain.
I burn my palms, in anticipation of weed.

Or something stronger.

Fire in the rain.
Cigarettes don't last forever.
That's why they kill.

I need to set something on fire.
I need to be The Artic Arsonist. 

I'll write a spell and burn the paper.
Make your wish come true.

The Devil is my chin hair.

Instead of shaving,

I burn it.

Fuck fire.

-CH

Darlin'

Sweet Jesus.
You taste like ecstacy.
I need more to feel better.
I drink your sweat
by licking your palms.

Your sweet ecstacy tastes like Jesus.
Wine, dripping from my plaque-covered teeth.

This addiction can't be kicked.

I can't kick my addiction to Jesus.
I mean, you.

Jesus.
What do you mean?

I need more of your sweet ecstacy, Jesus!

Jesus doesn't provide ecstacy.

My Blood Itches

Just another overdose!

I find myself reminiscing on the drugs done and done in.

In my younger years, I was the life of the party.

When the drugs got TOO weird, I left it alone.

For a while.

I returned to it on my own.

Dabbled for a while.

When I had the big money, it was all weed.

Except for "Intervention".

I barely remember Intervention.

Or am I thinking of Sonic the Hamilton?

Just another overdose!

Intricate Promiscuity

Intimate at all times.
In this moment, I am professional.
The transition is noteworthy.
No one is worthy of intimacy.

Or am I closing a door?

Leaving a door open?.!.

Leaving a door open.

Regardless, I know when to give it all away.
I do.

I prove it with every word I don't write.

And no one is intimate enough with me to get the professional censorship.

I say not things of hate.
I display my peace of mind.

And you can hear it! 

I've given so much of myself away, that I need to reload.
Rebuild.
Recalibrate. 

But inspiration knows no boundaries of fatigue.

When it's time to go, I go all out.

For me to be this intimate, and await the professional, brings out the promiscuity.

Promiscuity decreases your value.

Special

This mouse was my friend
until I saw it in the neighbor's room.

Now I don't feel special.

I made the mouse feel special.

I left it crumbs.

I built a mini maze for it.

Named it, bathed it, 

you name it!

Yet the neighbor took precidence. 

He neglected it.

Chased it.

Trapped it, eventually.

I'm not mad at the neighbor.

I'm not mad at the mouse.

No one can handle being special.

Live Studio Audience

Right in front of you.
My words peak the light in your left eye.
As I irritate the right one.
The little light, right in the center of your eye.

That's my spotlight.

Yet, I don't know how to perform!
Or forgot how to.
Or lost my drive.

I feel that your left eye is occupied by the desire of wealth.

You neglect the right one.

Well, here I am.
With eyedrops.

Like this

.

Turn to your neighbor.
Find the light in their eyes.
Can't find it?

It can't be because your here...

In front of a live studio audience...

Unfair Lady

My fair lady.
My fair lady is unfair.
She is unfair as my lady.
Which I said was fair.

At first.

Then I started playing the game
for myself.
I needed the me that I gave she.
She found it unfair.
So I gave less to the game for more of she.
She took what I gave her and left.

Unfair lady.

In the time I was fair to her, she was someone else's fair lady.

Now she's not a lady at all.

She's a harlot.

Yet it's unfair to call her such.

Because she's a lady.

Even a girl can be a lady.

Especially with the standards of she.
And others like her.

They will always get the first buck.
Until the buck stops.

Here.

My fair lady.