An innocent noose

 
The moon grew grassy rocks that scribbled lovely lines
that lovers should live their life by
but they fell dead in the shapes of lies beneath the wake
of some mischievous afterthoughts of a titans tail

Grasping cutting lines of gilded hair
I will drag the tattered corpse of my passion
to the hecklers crowding my empty street
while the jeers muffle the dust
cut away a piece of once warm bosom that held the scent of burning pine
and biting down vain hopes of returning branding tongue-tips
 inside my cheeks before I spit

when I turn I wont trip
on the dangled strings of my pupils
my lips will open with snatching twangs of stretched dreams
I won't cry over tumbled hopes
but laughing lines of palms will mock me still

those lying grasses died
and these empty streets hold echoes enough