ken riccio riccio

we are all strangers

in a deceitful world of sin

until we find the one

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There are the special that walk among us

the unordinary, the deep thinkers

the ones we call genius with one breath

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She lives beneath the city

Entangled within the inner workings

Of the beast

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The sweet melody of love fills my heart

But it is she that fills my soul

Like some lost words torn from the pages of life

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I write these words at 3.00 a.m.

From a small room on the second floor

A worn-down lead point glides across

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Words are just words

Until somebody listens

What else do we really have?  

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The days of blue rain are upon us

they bring tears of sadness

and the artifice of joy

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A soul, black cold ever so Wick-it

Your face unrecognizable among men

Your destruction spread far and wide like some unholy disease

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Days drift in an out of time

Like synthetic waves

Lost within a sequence of emotion

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Grey shadow days

Impossible opaque mid-afternoons

Dense is the slaughterhouse dreams

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