Poetry

YOUR PEACHES

I lay under skies with eyes open wide with you in fields of nothing to hide.
The sweetness is in the air and in my mind.
Dancing dandelions and their soft fuzz left behind.
I run my fingers through your short grass.
It’s warm and soft. The spring is gone so fast.I can feel your moisture coming through the surface below.
Your warmth has melted through the snow.
The spring seeds will be sewn.
The orchard is ripe and supple.
Such fruits cause the mind to buckle.
Its soft pastels ignite the imagination.
Burning ice on a lake is like your flirtation.
The center of the peach is where all life begins.
…One of the wettest and slipperiest fruits…you taste like flesh.Your glorious flavor and our lips mesh.
Getting my nose soaked with the nectar is my enjoyment.
This is time well spent, all of the way to the end.
Your peaches are delicious and I will come again.

By: Blake Laramie/ 2000

UNLEASHED

I’ve got fishes for the vicious. Eat it up and grab a cup. You think I’m losing it, but I’m only choosing it. …Life that is and some day kids. Ones that will grow up just like you, cause I know what you are capable of. It’s all about the love and the times we share and care to be there when someone needs it. You can disappoint me but don’t disappoint my kids. I’m the animal coming after the cannibal. Hannibal had nothing on me. Your brains didn’t taste that good, but they should. It’s all your acid and drugs. Now you’re crawling with maggots and bugs. It gives me something to laugh at. I’ve go the visions about the decisions. …The ones that will change life as we know it. Show it. …Your heart that is. You know... that thing beating inside your chest. I’m embarrassed. I must confess. I have been blessed with the gift of gab and all that I’ve had and have. I’m honest and I’m a freak. So you can feel comfortable telling me what your uncle did to you as a kid. Shame is for the meek and weak. When I look inside and take a peak, I to speak and leak at the lips about those family trips, those skinny dips or the way she shakes her hips like rocket ships. What doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger and living longer. More confident and durable because it’s a bumpy ride and man I know it. About those kids, you may want to have them some day so don’t make the fake mistakes that were made to you. Going in circles only makes you blue like when you’re trying to inhale and all you do is fail. Stand up and nail that bastard to the cross and take sail, because life is the ocean and that’s not a notion. Going to confession doesn’t teach you a lesson if you just up and do it again. Oh, you are going to change that? When? You have a life and only one body. Now grab a hottie and rock the party. But remember…..I got inside you!

By: Blake Laramie/ 2002

THE HYPOCRITE’S PRAYER
Twisting under the lid to watch the world shit on me. Some pee, some bleed, some on their knees, a bowl sneeze with foul ease, others sick from turning a trick and sucking dick, like a time bobs tick. I’m dynamite, just like the wick. You make me sick when you don’t enjoy the view. Look around after you puke! Was it worth it? Did you or they deserve it? Do you hurt or just blurt and pretend to mend the bloody soul that you ignore, you whore to capitalism, fascism, nature and torture. Wish you were here. The hoard is my Shepard. They will taunt. They make me lie down in their sitcom laughter. They lead me with their political liars. They restore my lack of faith in politicians. They lead me through the path of plight and mess. For fuck sake! Why make the cycle continue? …Because it is on the menu? The Hypocrite’s Prayer… I kneel down before thee. I did.

By: Blake Laramie/ 2003

AT THE MORGUE

The strange thing about the morgue isn’t the bodies or the sterile, sweet scent. It isn’t how they got here. It’s about the people that put them here. This is the table speaking. Wouldn’t you like to be me? I can’t see. But I can feel. I can feel the bodies heat on top of me. Like the radiator that bleeds so it won’t crack or explode, but I’m just a table. What am I supposed to do? Pretend that there is no goo drizzling over my edges? I pretend that there is a god who pledges to be there for you and me. I pray for the bodies above me. Can’t you see? Cause I can not. I know that they are there. There is no hidden agenda other than the promotion of creative thinking. They were put here by the creators of fear. …The monsters with the knives, the guns and the bare hands that take and create the fate. Their pupils all dilated. …Eyes coming out of their sockets or sinking into their heads. I am the cold steel bed before and after the incision of the “Y”. Why…because I don’t have a choice? I am merely a flat cold table. I have many stories, but they do not fall flat. This is a story from the morgue about a whore. She is one that I adore… the whore. I wish I had experienced her because I can feel how real she was before she lay on top of me. I felt the tears at my feet left by the ones who identified her. I heard what they said about the dead. I heard what the badges said. The scary thing is that you dine. You drink your wine while you whine about your time here on earth. Do you truly hurt? Do you question your birth? You didn’t have a choice, but you don’t have anything else so deal with it! If you want to chicken shit your way out of it then you can become one of the bodies that lay on top of me with long slits down each arm. There are ones that cause harm, hurt, pain and death to make your last breath. What will be left…deception? The real lies are the ones you tell yourself. You didn’t cry for help. You cringe when you hear the dog yelp. Their heads bled. Some were in bed. Some were full of led. This isn’t an infatuation with wanting to die. It’s a cry in hopes that I can keep you alive. Choose life tonight. Stay in flight. Spread your wings tonight. Don’t say “hoga hae” or “odale” like “Thelma & Louise”. I’m begging you please. I’d continue the story and tell you about the serial killer or the jag off that wanted to duplicate a thriller. Here is the filler. You will never know. Don’t choose to become cold as the snow. Look out the window. Be happy that you have the choice or the chance. Don’t piss and shit your pants and end up on me…the table. Know that you are able. You were given the chance when you were put in the cradle.

By: Blake Laramie/ 2003

I’VE GOT TWO

I left the house when I was a junior in high school. You said that I was a fool.
Did you know that you were a tool in releasing my ambition and wishing we were still fishing? Fishing for the truth and why you never left that liar.
I’ve got the skills you wish you had to let go and set fire.
Choking in the dust, all she had was bust, but no trust. Lust can’t be good enough to marry and throw everything else away. You did it again in almost the same way, to my dismay. What a way to go out. Now it’s time to start the show with no blow. Just flow like the radio. Are you tuned in? Is it a sin for being me? Hell no! The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. When I screwed up you never said “you are pieces of me”. Well meet my right hand and shake it as I go. I won and never called you an asshole. I finished school, broke all your rules and maybe even your heart, but that was only the start. I moved to the other coast that I love the most. Now you are toast. Enjoy the roast. I like to boast that you said I would fail or end up in jail, so I listen to nine inch nails because my soul is not for sale. This pale white light you see before you is as transparent as the window you watched me leave through. Because of you I saw it through.
Now I travel the country in hopes to find that girl who will rock my world. Then I can wake up in her curves and have the nerve to practice what I preach, because my love is not beseeched. The only thing I have is my two feet. So I keep walking, because you know I’m not just talking. Every day there is a window and I will never ever let go. I will never stop, because my last step will never be the last. Everything else is the past, but I blast by it fast. I don’t need to carry a gun to show I am well hung. Now you’re well done. There are reinforcements. I pick up my balls and keep on walking, because I’ve got two!

By: Blake Laramie/ 2002

BLOOD THING

Start out panting

You say I’m wacked because I’m pantin’ and listening to Marilyn Manson. Or is it because I go down when it’s that time of the month. Your sister liked it and now she’s on her knees and begging me please. She says I’m like a swarm of bees or a disease that she doesn’t want a cure for. Who’s wacked now? Not her. You are if you’re the one thinking my point of view is too few and far between.…Between her legs, painting my face. I don’t care about the race. It’s all about the taste. Lick, suck, savor…it’s all about the flavor. Can I get this in a bottle…a container? Bottled up for the masses, like molasses while they are shaking their ass’s. She has a request for more. It doesn’t make her a whore. It makes me adore. It’s addictive. My tastes are eclectic…almost electric. Oh, the show? You have whips and chains to follow? This isn’t hollow. Now I’m a freight train chasing the night train, going insane, out of my brain. Is this lame or just entertainment? I hope you like it because I paid for it in blood.
…Now about the blood thing and the wacked thing. You say I’m weird because I eat red hole. Well what do you know? If you only knew, there is a sight on the web where I can eat people like you! Tastes like human, not chicken. Now that’s finger lickin’! No, I’m not telling you to go sticking. Put that blade away. That’s not what I’m trying to say. Now who’s wacked? You’re under attack, because you are the one assuming, not knowing. Well you don’t know me so let me be. I’m a man. …Me and myself. My shelf life is infinite, like that crap you shove in your body. …So many with car keys. Now take me to the park please. …Humping in the back seat. Aint that neat and sweet? Your little retreat…windows pressed with feet. …Her in my squeeze and begging me please. Here is your swarm of bees. Show me your honey. This isn’t funny. You’ve got the money. Your currency is blood. I would if I could. I can so I did. All you need is love…love…all you need is…playing on the radio. Love the show. Get sweet on me cause I’m sweet on you. If it’s that time of the moth I know what to do. Now I’m wacked just like you.It’s a blood thing…for two.

By: Blake Laramie/ 2002

CALIFORNIA

True story. Remember “If it doesn’t offend someone, it’s probably not the truth!”

Let me tell you about this trip I had. No, I’m not talking about shrooms and tabs. It was something made in the mind of this crazy scientist whose brain was mad and upset about what he couldn’t have. For the sake of argument we’ll call him Chester. OK. That’s enough talk about that. It’s making me sick. Silly old bastard, dicks are for chicks….at least for me. Now he must see the truth behind the truth and fix those screws that are loose. You say that a strait guy can’t know fashion and where that much jewelry. There is now way. Well you wouldn’t be saying that if I were ugly. Stop your manipulation for the situation, because you’re wasting time going after my behind. Am I lying? Hell, no! I don’t play with shit and no you can’t suck my dick. What? …Phobic?! Now wait a minute. Hold it! I’m not telling you what to do, but you are clearly missing my point of view. You say you’re not going to apologize for being gay, well fuck you! A lot of my friends are your term of ”Family” and they would discontinue you if they only knew. Knew that you were using their preference as a weapon for what’s wrong in that little mind of yours. You say you want equal rights? Well quit prancing in the parade and starting verbal fights. All it is, is another form of segregation for your mental masturbation and for the duration I want you to think about this and don’t think everyone is helpless to your money and charm. It will only harm. You don’t want to defend yourself for being gay. Well I’ve got something to say. I’m not that way and it’ll be the last day. …Until that day …A cold day in Hell. I’m not for sale! My desire will prevail and you will fail! Your ass belongs in jail, where it will get what it needs. You’re a child molester with pedophilic needs. Your deeds will be the seeds that seal your fate. It’s people like you that create hate, like a date rape crate full of lies while you placate. You’re thinking behind about this crime, because you are the one practicing hate! What are you crazy?! It wasn’t a date and I’m sure as Hell not going to apologize for being strait!

By: Blake Laramie/ 2002

SHE SAID, NO!

Not everyone plays the same game that is going on inside your mind.
You’re the one falling behind. What’s left behind and what you took. You shook her insides and made them quake. Did you see her head shake before you stuck it in and broke it off? …Her top? Oh, it was half way there anyway. She didn’t have to say she wanted it because you flaunted it. Your cheap cash and your sheepish ways. That plateful of food didn’t buy her innocents. Speaking of sense, you make none. Oh, maybe she’ll become one. …A nun that is and pray for your soul even though you don’t have one. You can never give it back. You made her shower after you were done and you didn’t even have a condom on! Once she realized you wouldn’t stop, she told you to put a hat on top. This doesn’t make it right to call her a trick and take it all night. It was in your head. Now you are dead…because of what she said. “NO!” Not “no don’t stop” I’m the other, the brother, the mother or just a concerned other who won’t be traced because I don’t know you. She trusted me. When she looked into my eyes she saw that I was nothing like you. Jail will rape the raper. Death will take the taker, because you can never give it back. It doesn’t matter if she was a virgin. She’s still hurting! You washed away the evidence. Well so did I. Look into my eyes! There are no lies, just the trials and tribulations of an innocent woman’s eyes and all that she will come to despise. You shucked her insides so I shucked your hide. I have nothing to hide. I am proud that she doesn’t have to hide from you or herself. I put your dick in a mason jar on a shelf with the rest of the castration collection, because there is no correction for your erection or what you did. But at least now she can sleep at night and maybe someday have kids.Goodnight!

By: Blake Laramie/ 2002

SHEEP IN WOLVES CLOTHING

The wolf frightened off the sheep before he had time to play.

He grazed in the fields of grass eaten down to the roots.

…The blood fed greens created by the sun, life and the end of it. But where does life begin?

Every time one of the sheep fell over the flock would move on and the grass grew greener.

They will be back and so would the wolf. He would clean their wool while they are asleep.

One of the sheep would wake and scream in fear.

…Thousands of little baaas. The Shepard will come running rifle and all.

Days of the staff are over. A new age is amongst us and the unexplained will always be there.

The sheep gather and attack the wolf.

…Angry mob and victim.

…Howls, baaas and yips followed by an almost human cry.

All of the sheep…now red as Cardinals fade away.

…A crimson glow in a vibrating haze. What have we done? What have we become? The hide of a wolf beaten and torn with the sheep that was inside it lay dead and cold next to its own appearance. It is an all too common occurrence.

By: Blake Laramie/ 1997

WHEN WITCHES BURN

Run like the devil and run like Hell.
Know your enemies and know them well.
A witch hunt is afoot. …Clothes torn & nothing to hide but fear. Fear to fuel the run.Leaves crush into dust. Run, you must!
Sticks break into dreams of ecstasy and little girls’ tears as they are plucked from the grasp against their mother’s breast.Hoping they can hide in the dark as the sun sets in the west.
Mothers and midwives pressed against a tree stump after the accusers hump.
Your souls are going straight to Hell…or so the mob would yell. I don’t want these tears in my eyes, but they were tortured and killed over lies. There was a horrible stench when the witches burned. What were we to learn?
Not to be different…? The laws were more than bent!
Laws and spirits were broken while they stand there choking!
She was burning alive because they had so much to hide.
Their decisions were the incisions.
How does the blood taste? How is your faith?
The crimson glow is the reason for the show. It is the crowd’s repulsive afterglow. Take the time to rewind. Unbind what you have been taught is right and wrong.
We have been blind for so long.
There is no such thing as normal and why has death been turned into a formal?
Light the fire and let the executioner burn! Then you will learn.
I want to live and learn.
I still cry when witches burn.

By: Blake Laramie/ 2003

MIND’S EYE

The blind know beauty better than any other like a devout lover.
You can close your eyes to find how beautiful the flower is. Inhale its essence.
You can open your eyes to watch it bloom.
You’ll never forget how it lights up the room.If you start when the rose is in full bloom you may only watch it whither.
Come…hither.You can destroy its beauty with your own eyes.
You can only see the truth in the flower with your heart and your mind.
You are mine as I am yours. I just made it personal.
Your flower will live forever in my mind and in my heart as well as in my dreams.
My garden used to be half empty. Now it half full.
You will be my unending waterfall.

By: Blake Laramie/ 2000

THEIR PAIN

I hold hands with and angel. I swear she is the devils daughter. Maybe even his concubine. Her slithering walk be stills even me. …Her caress like coral. …Her lips, a salty sting on my neck. She hand delivers roses clutched against her naked bosom. The petals stick to her like wet leaves after the Winter’s snow has washed away. I swear that they appear to wilt. The screaming coming from inside the bouquet strikes a fearful chord in me. The thorns are wet with blood. The stems tremble. My hair stands up on the back of my neck and I can feel their pain. I can feel their pain so well that I am their mother. My babies are dying and she just clings to them tighter. I tremble.

By: Blake Laramie/ 1998

THE PUPIL

Ravaged for a week with nothing left but distrust…I find my lust in her bust. The only trust left is lying between her thighs. Her painted flesh is clad with leather and pleather. Her cat of nine tails drags behind her like the devils pitchfork. …After an exhausting day at bay with fallen angels plunging sinners into the molten abyss. She railed a trail of my own blood like coke on a mirror. I swear she used one of my bones as a straw. With a grin she licks her chin and grabs me by the balls. All I can do is excrete muffled moans over my rubber ball gag. “I want a tear! Give me a God damned tear!” She wants me to recognize the pain…and all I can do is love her. She sticks the butt of her whip under my chin and gives me a kiss…proud of her student she leaves so listless.

By: Blake Laramie/ 2000

Painting The Butterfly

In painstaking agility and preciseness she raises the ax clutched within both of her hands from the lake of swirled paint in which she stands.
Fluttering in front of her is a large white moth that she wanted so badly to paint and call a butterfly.
Little does she know that chasing her own dream would soon result in her own nightmare?
She was in the hourglass for a long time with the sand pouring in over her head and no one to hear the screams that will echo inside of her mind forever.
She spent much time painting her favorite heart. It was so special that she kept it in a separate box away from the other hearts in her collection.
While she wades in her water of twisting colors focusing so hard on trying to turn her moth into a butterfly she forgets that she has put her favorite heart above her head tucked safely into a tree branch.
Every time she swung her ax to throw blues and yellows, greens and violet, puce and lavender, white and black she would break through the box and gash the heart open.
The sad thing is that she doesn’t hear the axe hitting the box. The screams inside of her head are too loud. By the time she realizes it, her paint just isn’t thick enough to seal the slices in her favorite heart.
She has all but won and her butterfly, comes crashing to the ground.

By: Blake Laramie/ 1996

LEMON DROP

She cries because she can’t follow her heart…a crystal freak…a teardrop in the dark.Huddled in her own mass…what’s left of it. Shrouded in her own desire for bliss…or her desire for it.If she only knew how to breath without blasting that shit in her face.
She tries to be her own hero, but ends in disgrace.
She doesn’t eat. She only tweaks. There is no future in her future. She has no life and no one to call her own.
The walls she builds are her home.
Sometimes she makes me sick…my jello-shot…my pixie stick.She bows down before her crushed god…her lemon drop…her lines of glass.…And every time she comes back up, her nose is more torn up than the last.The last…

By: Blake Laramie/ 1995

ANGEL ECLIPSE

Romanced by the night as it brought me outside, the sky whispered to me with arms opened wide. Looking at the moon, I could see an angel with flowing hair. She comes to me and covers us both with iridescent wings. She said “When tonight ends will I still mean something?” She looked into my eyes and decided to stay. After tonight I will have to wait for the next full moon to my dismay. As long as moonbeams reflect from her porcelain skin on this night, we will stay together and stay in flight. Soaring through the air at great speed, this angel of the night loves to lead. Racing against time to spend ours well, she has so many secrets she needs to tell. It seemed like midnight was only moments ago. She gave me a kiss that would melt snow. We were in paradise and the sky was our lagoon. All I could see was her silhouette against the golden moon. A combination of night and day…her shimmering wings will take me away.

By: Blake Laramie/ 1993

PIANIST

Music filled imagination is her melodic creation. The pings, dings and moans that she makes, with each caress of the ivory keys, it’s my breath she takes. Each stroke massages me. It tingles and holds me. Her finger tips and their wonderful magic. Her perfect rhythm like a Swiss clock ticks. Her elbows move like waves filled with such extraordinary motion. Her hands dance with hear felt emotion. Ebony and ivory skin, not a single chord missed. I am her box of wood and keys. She is my Pianist.

By: Blake Laramie/ 1994

ADDICT

…Drugs to hide…Drugs for lack of pride…Drugs to numb, solemn and dumb.Swallow your pills. Eat the new disease. Beg your doctor for another prescription.
Suck, blow, slam your addiction. Hit for a vision. …Fucked decisions. Fuck for more! Turn your life into an all out war.

…Drugs to make you a whore. A fool drowning in your own drool…or some glycerin for you stool. Lose it all. Stand tall and smile through your yellow, half eaten teeth and watch the bugs crawl underneath your skin.

You let them in. Enjoy your addiction.

By: Blake Laramie/ 2003

OCEAN

Eyes close while lips part. Finger nails zip across the sheets. A pop of air leaves your throat.

…Deep inside you and spinning into a whirl of sudden climaxes. “More” and “Harder” follow with every pounding thrust inside. Fruits crush, limbs tremble as the headboard jostles against the wall. Rhythmically moans follow cries. Melodically cries follow moans. Suddenly your throbs are followed by tidal waves crashing onto the shore of my stomach. Quivering against my hips and falling in love with your potion…I am the beach. You are my ocean.

By: Blake Laramie/ 2000

JUNKIE

I look down to watch part of me disappear inside part of you.
…Your tavern from which I will drink and get drunk on your passions while my tongue lashes out in suggestive fashion.I like your taste so much it swells my tongue. Against the wall, you were flung.
An ominous voice will caress the nape of your neck.
Are you a junkie if I am the inviting, warm prick?
I am heroin. Feel my blanketing warm rush in your veins.
I am liquid sex. Do I make you insane?
We are pressed so close that bones crack. You hold tight and your nails split my back.
Lick the wounds and kiss me.
If you were my drug I would be a junkie.

By: Blake Laramie/ 1995

DEMENTIA

Listless
Silver lined clouds and their evil little grins. Their reputation follows them as they flee from their minions and execute vicious opinions. Their teeth glisten while their tongues come out to awaken the foam around their mouths before one has bitten. Purring like insatiable little kittens lunging for their mother’s tit. Swirls of blood circle their eyes. Electrodes coast through my wooden veins like the ones used to cure the insane as they burst into fragments of unease.…Repeating memories of an early life and visions of ecstasy. …Vibrating on the edge of a little girl’s broken heart only to be reminded of it by the smell of her strawberry lollipop.It sticks to my glow and I feel it will never stop.
Pretty please. with a cherry on top?
The scent of latex and the smell of my widow’s hair burning within her hands. The cloud’s secrets are their deadly demands. The hunt is at hand. Where do you come from Dementia…and where is your bitter end?

By: Blake Laramie/ 1995

DIVINE WIND

Teaching them a train of thought, it was total honor that the Japanese bought.
At a young age they would die for a war. Life without love, not even a whore.
Woe is me. They would man a plane and they would flee. …Loved ones and relatives crying inside. They could not show it because they had Japanese pride. Soaring through space to their final destination…high in the sky and high on Meth they would soon marry their own death. Crossing their fingers with eyes narrowed down, they would aim their propellers into our ships while many missed hitting the ocean and the ground. Concentration disrupted by a thunderous burst as they lost their target…their honor was cursed. They were the blindly led few…the Kamikaze pilots of World War II.

By: Blake Laramie/ 1994

THE ROSE

The dew trickles down her silken stem and over her thorns.
Her breasts heave and clothes torn.
She peels off her last few petals, only to make my heart pound and my mind unsettle.
Her lips part as she tilts her head back. Her body shudders, intimacy she does not lack.
Her soft pink tongue touches the top of her teeth. My arms curl around her hips as my hands slide beneath.
My knees slip under hers as she wraps her roots around me.
I see adore her blossom as the curtains flutter and the night air opens the door.
She sighs and whispers…more. Her petals fall out of place and unfold onto the pillow. We glide across the silk sheets as my mouth drops low…past her thorns and between her thighs. I look at her face as she closes her eyes.
Rapture is reached, but there will be another.
I will never forget such a rose…a wonderful lover.

By: Blake Laramie/ 1994

White Fear

How many people need to die over the lies we have come to despise?
We used to shape a fist and meet at the flag pole.
Now they wrap their hands around a gat. Ratatat tat! That’s all they know. Live and die by the gun.

Who won? Not the young one.
Life just started. How retarded. Dear, dear departed.
Dare me to carry and shoot like Oswald and watch it all unfold?
My bullets are lyrical. Fear it in full. School kids shouldn’t be used to the sound of gunfire. Now I’m on fire. Retire that 9 and elevate your mind to a higher plain of thinking. Now your balls are shrinking. Have you been hiding behind that gun?

The gravity that is coming after me is a heavy heart.
Lead poison is dead poison. Your lies are the head poison.
Whose conscience is being haunted? …All this talent being flaunted.…Silken words that coax the black soul and take control of the domino…effect.Respect the flecks of truth in these eyes. Hate the hater. I hate, Hate Groups!
Can we all get together and be negative? Do you have nothing left to give? I’d rather live. Smile and hold you down as I spit in your face and erase all the fate that you create. Live a little. Masturbate. I said it. I don’t regret it. Snap the neck of broken words. Destroy the Surbs. Respect the towers and the showers of bodies that hit the pavement and all of the men and women who gave it. …Life that is, to trade theirs to save so many others. Now we are missing our brothers, lovers and mothers. So we gave Assama drug money and nuclear arms to got to war with Russia so we could keep our hands clean. The deaths are the obscene, mean, dreams of a madman that we were warned of in 82. Who’s to sue? Enjoy the view… what’s left of it.

By: Blake Laramie/ 2002

UNDEAD | spoken by the vampire

May the wind bring the sun down and eyes glaze again my night time friend. Glaze in the haze. Don the good and smell the blood of victims that trudged through the mud seeking shelter only if they could. Taste them now, he would.
He did and he does, because he can. It’s the bitter end. No way to defend against this unending rampage. Sage only works on the spirits, not the undead.The earth is his bed. All his victims bled. Their red heads popping like flies in a microwave. Who can be saved?
“No one! There is no salvation and no forgiveness!”Bless the child who lies there thinking her garlic necklace is going to save her from his embrace. The crippling gasp that leaves his larynx is almost as paralyzing as when he stares in your face, toe, to toe, eyeball to eyeball.Down the hall, it’s little Tommy and Paul. No gun. Tommy! Tommy, run! Tommy…gun! Need my crucifix! Who’s next? Need a hex. It worked on Bathory.“Now who’s after me?”(Father thinking) How…how did he get behind me? Slimy! His own sons blood still wet and caking to the vampire’s jowls. He howls! There are still pleasures he remembers before he became the undead.Wife is in bed and soon to be dead. She truly was a red head before she was dead. I can’t believe what he said.Her eyes like a dear in head lights. Misty breath on all of those cold nights. She lay immobile in her mobile home, almost all alone. After all “This isn’t real”, so she told herself. Candles fell off the shelf. She couldn’t help but fall in love as he plunged inside. Her flower opened and her sheets soaked in the blood, but not enough to put out the fire after his desire. It’s time to retire.…The home a blaze like a toaster oven. He’s all alone. Not even part of a coven. You say “No! That couldn’t have happened! No, it couldn’t!”“Well it did! I know, because I was there! I felt her wet hair. Look under my nails. Can’t you see?! “Oh, my god….it was me!”

By: Blake Laramie/ 2003

Beauty Is A Mind’s Eye... & Everything It Sees

When you want…I will give. When you kiss…I will.When you taste…I will give. When you suffer…I will.

To breathe is to live. To live is to love. Without it I won’t.
To desire a touch, to want it so much, without you I will…you I will let.Feeling inside, hunger I will hide…trust I will abide.

Wish I may, wish I might, if you hurt today…tonight you might.
Last words always leave the deepest scars.
…Not because they are meaningful, but because they are the last words.

Love can hate, but hate can’t love. Without it I might, but with it I won’t.
…So is the life of the woodpecker beating its head against a tree.

Or is it just knocking on wood that it is unlike the humans that need to be loved.

With you I can see and I like what I find. With others I am blind.
I haven’t the time to love my own kind for fear I will find what is hiding inside the creature of mine like the child I left behind.

If riddles were a witch, that I would be, to love my own self and all I can be without thought of what’s at the top of the tree.

For I know the fruit there is the fruit that is rotten.
…But none is forgotten, nor the love you have shown me.
Never will I forget what may be forgotten as the light I will follow into the night and the eyes that stare back at me so that I can see the beauty in my eyes … and the reflection of thee.

By: Blake Laramie/ 1996

THE VICIOUS CIRCLE

Controlled insanity is the blood that drips me.
It is the life that bleeds me as I need it.
When I’m having a fit it is the control that’s making me insane.

The Irony is that I must have control to keep from losing it.
The excess of insanity that is…but I believe in excess.

Yow can you find your limit unless you push yourself beyond it?
That just creates more insanity. I hate rules and laws, but I have to create them for myself to have control of the insanity that the control outside creates.
It is a vicious circle that makes me fear what’s inside of me when I loose time.When I unbind what is inside my mind I sometimes wish that I were blind. The insanity is my own design. I don’t belong here yet I am unclear of what to do to accomplish an unattainable goal which I can’t create because I don’t know where I am going.Sometimes I think it would be easier to watch TV’s news, sports and become a mindless idiot. I could watch the whole world cook around me. Luckily I have found me…or what’s left of me, but then again I am creating me. That is why I have controlled insanity.

By: Blake Laramie/ 2003

Copyright Blake Laramie 1995 - 2009. All Rights Reserved.