Cross

Crosses are misconstrued and misused,
In opinion of one who has tattooed this misused,
Misconstrued item, on one shoulder to balance,
A cross is meant to me that of hard work,
Faith on a standard of things, not just "God",
I have faith in family and friends,
The closest of mine are my most faithful,
Being just as faithful to them in return,
Also meaning that hard work can change the world,
North, South, East and West,
Directions of the heart and soul,
Every which way and then some more,
Vines wrapping because vines are aging,
Opinions of others make me...,
Traversing and deep thinking and meditation,
All based on this one and only object,
Many years and many myths are based on this,
Loving mystery and mythology,
The Cross is one of the oldest and most sought,
The meaning to me is not the meaning to you.

Why joke about a bloke who took a toke from the hukkah of the unbelieveable blue berry tasting yum yum that makes your mind calm and happy like a balm of extacy instead of being sappy.
Standing handing a banding blinking light like blights of darkness in a flight of stormy clouds that pound with thunder and send the mind into blunder and caress the stress away without a thought that stokes the books on the fires of hell. Let the bell drum drum making kind lappy gestures of stasticity besaid jarring strapping young men.

Spent

Bowels ripping out like old english torture,
Spikes splitting stomach like an iron maiden,
Flinching from pain, crying out in exaustion,
Plotting minds of every one and every kind,
Tartness of copper blood filling the mouth,
Swish, swish, swish in between every tooth,
Needles piercing under finger nails,
Cadaver throwing becomes a sport,
Self mutilation, the kind that hurts but is still fun,
Using pliers on sharp vampiric teeth,
More spluttering blood in every direction,
Contracting lungs as air is sucked out like a vacuum,
Eyes tearing and buzzing with oh so much pain,
Veritable intrusion of nastiness,
The only way to get verification of truth,
To feel so much and yet go numb at the same time,
Conditioning ones soul so intensely to ignore and move on,
Forget the pain and harshness of life.

Pitch

Pitch black,
Not the black of night,
Not the black of a shadow,
Not the black of coal,
or the black of a burnt match,

This blackness is something only experianced by few,
The blackness you feel pushing in on you,
The blackness of the coldest of hearts,
Black that absorbs light,
Dictating the light like a black hole,

Fever black that sucks you in,
The blackness of death,
All thoughts pushing the darkness away,
Darker then the darkest of times,
When all lights go out deep in a cave.