William Moss

The Suicide Machine: Surreal Poems William Moss

Lye down upon burnt black pasturesOf blossoming red flowers of fresh cut roses and yellow tulipsThat last no more than a life's hour I tried to keep laughing with themAt myself, and join em'But my throat and mind became dryOnly then, I knew my escape would be suicideDon't slit wrists around vampiresThey'll suck flesh to boneOr leave hair torn and without a combWhile organs and muscles become a new empire of stoneI was going to commit suicide because of themBecause of himBecause of herBecause of meBut now that I can seeWhat I have seenI have realizedLife is too grand to ruinOver my whims of them.