I cannot write.
I cannot focus.
You timid maleficent virus,
Who do you think you are?

Pulsating pressure, provoking a pandemonium of preconceived panic.

A mind of mush, intertwined within the stroke of tension and resilience.

An urge to fast forward, to leap over the walk way that flattens my belonging.

Dishearted. Dismayed. Tired. Tired of imperfections. Impressions imploding on the intangible beings of the Id.

You looked at me with those heavy limpid eyes, tears dissipating into a million endless nights.

The echoing silence piercing through the curious walls, wanting to hear her voice one more time.

I wonder what you would write,
If you had the inclination to dissipate such woes.
What would be on your paper?
What if my persisting persistence and boastful amount of
hyperbolic word arrangements could be yours?
I would love to read your writes and write your wrongs,
Hopefully your wrongs are just writes
And not a totality of havoc carefully spaced between blue lines,
Whilst chaotic linguistics tend to rise from a certain muse
I guess what I'm saying is,
That I am curious to visually participate in a what seems to be
Something near impossible.
Unless you are me and I am you.
Then my job is complete and I can happily say,
Its not half bad.

You are so beautiful.

I tell her every single day.
That cute smile on your face and
your wrinkled nose when you say,

thank you.
your red plush, warm cheeks.

I look into those big bright
temptatious eyes, seemingly coated
with innocence

my mind sinking away
slowly drifting

happiness
knowing I found you
that's more than enough,
knowing that you love me
that's everything.

You are so beautiful.

Her head silently dwindles on a cold plush pillow,
looking into the eyes of her perfect bliss.
An afternoon made from happiness,
a simple Sunday and a drop of Heaven.
Lying down, the August serenity making her blush,
The echo of the pleasing bashful breeze,
A slow pluck of eternity on the strings of love.
Grasping one another's hand,
Vowing to never let go.
Her beautiful eyes glossed in his desire,
A last warm and subtle kiss,
the final memory and the first chapter,
of love vanishing into the abyss.


What will you remember?

When the oceans are still.
When there are no wars.
When the sun stops shining.

When its all over. I'll still hear her voice.
Forever is a scary place,
but I wouldn't want to go there with anyone else,

but you.

When life takes a halt,
that is just the beginning.
My Heaven is simple,
I call it Sunday with you.

You filthy inadequate loathsome speck of worthless rust.

Sitting there rotting away - your idiotic, incoherent task you call life.

Sipping away respect with each pitiful ounce of liquid waste.

I hold back my aggression.

I hold back my remorse.

I am sad for you,

... Because when you fall, I won't be there,

Be there to witness your progression,

Your progression toward a total downfall.

Get out of your placebo happy world and into the ring of honour.

Listen for my name.

You will hear it.

You will hear it when you hit the canvas and when it echoes throughout your casket.