If you're ever feeling blue,
sketch a smile onto your face
Draw the curve and dimples, too
But all in pencil, just in case
Just never sketch a smile in pen
For soon the time could come
A day or two or three or ten
When one starts to feel dumb
Damn the ever-smile
That can never be wiped, Or scraped, or covered fully
For the mockingish smirk
Would start to look like a jerk
And the smiler is now a big bully
And when a dangerous bloke
Asks Ink Face for smoke
And the latter hasn't got any,
The smile of pen is mistook for a poke
And the joke? Well, it's sadly unfunny
Never let the voice that whispers softly in your ear .
Dictate the direction of your soul.
As in his embrace you find passion but do you know truth?
Make no diffrence between the two.
For a fools logic often allows passion to blur the reallity .
For in blood promises writen agreements seem easy till the price need be paid.
Locked doors will not shield you from a end simply create your tomb .
On full moons and othet dark ocassions often there is light even within the darkness.
Did the promise not live up to the truth my dear.
Did that temptation just seem to sweet to deni .
We can ignore are nature but we are carnal animals just the same.
Death finds us empty as alone we must enter to whatever may be .
Never make promises your not willing to keep.
And so in your demise the whispers softly as they were spoken from a forgotten lovers release .
Were still lies just the same.
There is no greater tragedy then
that which slips from our fingers.
Without reason or rhyme,
without tender goodbyes.
Your eyes filled with the sea,
your heart ebbs with the tide.
Those things that whisper soft,
that tickle the skin
and are lead by desire.
Fill dreaming minds, with lush waves
of the sweetest afterglow.
Any reasoning why, flew away
on the dark wings of the night,
and carry no weight.
i have this tick…
as a pet…
i keep in a little plastic cage…
in my man purse…
it feeds on little mouse…
who i feed cheese…
and flick in the face if it ever misbehaves…
or pull off its legs or just strangle it…
and get a new feeder…
but it’s kind of annoying b/c mice cost 45 cents
which isn’t a lot but
it adds up quickly
If I could have a superpower,
it would be flying.
I would graze along the skylines, dip my toes in the clouds, and brush my cheeks with stardust.
I think I'd rather have super-strength.
I would help people carry heavy boxes,
or lift my bed to help my mom clean the floor underneath,
or at least be able to carry this heap pile of burden stacked upon my shoulders from every lover that chose to leave them there.
No. Wait. Too bulky.
Maybe I'd get super-speed.
Fast enough to win the Olympics,
or, run to the ends of the Earth in less than a day
or at least run fast enough to see him one last time.
How about the ability of mind-control?
Be able to move things without lifting a finger
I mean, I overthink every scenario before I go to bed,
Why not make it useful?
Funny thing is, I could only hope and wish for these things.
But I do have a super power,
and I thought that it was
Making you happy
Well, at least I thought I did.
It wasn't meant for you.
Your masculinity. I knew I was warm enough with alcohol, but when you patted my arm and then walked away, I felt a sudden chill. The next thing I know, I was caressing it.
Your immediacy. You crossed my mind before we even met. And when we did, you kept smiling at me, and I reciprocated. I was convenient with the lenity of it all. In no time, you were sniffing at me, and I was telling you my darkest secret.
Your charm. It was very much like listening to Pachelbel and drinking in a company of good friends. It is either I am comforted, stimulated, or besotted. It could be all at once.
(What had happened before we met and happened afterwards are oxymorons that only make sense with whatever is 'between' us.)
What once was
The way we thought that it did.
Become aware of how it has been,
And how it shall be again.
So when my mind
Concurs to you who
Loves to lie beneath my skin.
My truth divides
Truth and denial
At war within.
No thanks. I'm trying to give them up.
No chance. I've already spilt the cup.
At no price. I find they just don't pay.
No dice. I don't even want to play.
Yes. I still have those,
both night and day.
The day-dreams can be good,
but of the ones that come at night...
I'd rather not say.
Cursed are the doers
forever, filling the cup
Cursed are the brave
never ever, giving up
Cursed are the poets
words and thoughts sublime
Cursed are the artists
bound, by measured time
Cursed are the loved
pain and hurt, their's to endure
Cursed are the loving
never rich, but never poor
Cursed and eternally damned
pushed through hell's open door
Cursed, perpetually condemned
always, now and forever
coming back for more
Yeah, kinda dark, I know...