Picture poison paraphernalia

Prick your finger on the spindle of a spinning wheel
cough into a white handkerchief  
spotted with blood
i spot you on the street corner waiting with your bike
yellow broken light
spot upon black dresses  
white collars
woven  
wind witches
tossing leaves in the air
picture perfect for flying a kite
running through fields with you
over dried yellow grass
beauty beyond compare
who wanders  
through flash effects
 
endless tall growing stalks  
grasping at the souls  
of silent demons
picture standing at the side
of violent crime scenes
feeding off the death
"we couldn't save them all"
laid out all the tricks in the book
i cannot concentrate on my creations
classic vial with the "XXX"
running up the side
fine print party
by the company and it's lawyers
laughing like hyena's
scream and torture
cannot cure this hex
picture sex
orifice
salty
but a sour secret
drowning victim in the light of the moons
some dreams are deadlier  
than heroin spoons
black as the bottom
lighter burning in hand
shaky photographs perish
let blood quench their thirst
shot the north star in the eye with a knife
the sky bled for a thousand winters
as did statues of Mary
evil consumed the world again
hearts of men will always be corrupt
crooked as the crying widow
consoled by the killers
picture perfect crimes are committed
on a case by case basis
blasted  
like a 12 gauge shell
to the side of a briefcase  
full of bank robberies gone bad
and one hundred dollar bills
stacked in neat consecutive piles
that had touched more  
coke
and hookers asses than
Pablo Escobar or Ron Jeremery
fist fighting on a mountain of cocaine
and hookers it's self
hematoma
heartbreak
hail me a taxi to New York or LA
leave me by a bodega dumpster
or throw me in the Frisco bay
 
who knew it could still flourish  
take flight
i should try to fight these feelings for you
but i Love you
goddamn  
and i know it
none of these books hold the remedy
for a broken heart
i know you looked too
in songs
sounds
words
lets find a magician
turn us from
white spotted handkerchief's
to any kind of winged bird
it's hunting season  
so hold your hand bag close
we'll let the mortician make the call