The aromatic blend of smiles and clean laundry pervaded my senses as I let her take hold of me
All that, and a glimpse of the ocean

I could never guess how deep her gaze was, as I looked away too quickly, but the striking blue galaxies swirled endlessly and paraded through the souls like a goddess of knowledge

If ever there was flight, this would be my preferred fancy; another flashback reverie of that corner to corner grin that pierced hearts like a saber-toothed javelin, yet lips that would ever so softly provide butterfly sutures, a tourniquet of relief

Never could it be purely aesthetic, as a beauty lacking worth...
...for here was a well of untapped expression and severed emotions, sweet to the taste with an undertone of sadness

I had tasted this before

To hear such words reverberate through the chasms of my vaulted ears brought a touch of closeness, the awe of similarity
There, behind that modest smile was a voice of millions, yet spoken only by the caress of let goes and memories

I could never guess how deep her gaze was, as I looked away too quickly, but life has a strange way of fulfilling the desire to explore mysteries and enigmas alike

Perhaps as a beginning I shall avert my eyes from hindsight to foresight, eluding darkness in the glow of a wondrous, deep blue

Here's hoping she looks back...

I once had a dream
Though I’m not even sure if it’s a dream

I was in this forest, see
It was cold, damp, and foggy
With me was my Dahlia, dressed in white
My oh so pretty Dahlia

She was just standing right there
Far from me, and we both couldn’t move
As if time had died for the both of us
And she was shaking her head
Uncontrollably, violently, shaking her head

I knew she was crying
Wait, was she crying?
Or was she just bleeding through her eyes?
I don’t know, but there was blood all over her

Then, right in front of us was a wolf
Black fur, eyes drenched in vermillion
It—or he?—was staring at me, growling
And then, it—or he?—began to grin

I looked the wolf in the eyes
They were fiery, like windows to hell
And the wolf kept on grinning,
Its sharp teeth like demonic horns

I don’t know, but it seems like
The wolf is there physically in front of me
But its soul—or his?—was trying to **** my Dahlia
To strip her of her innocence
Not to mention her clothes

But of course, dreams are severed by waking up
And I did wake up, to the smell of decaying flesh
With dried-up blood painted all over my skin
I turned around, and there she was
My Dahlia, cold and lifeless

Like her heart

I guess I was the odd puzzle piece that was made by mistake.

The pen, they say, is mightier,
but is it keener than a knife?
This brittle blade of insolence,
unleashed to lash at life.

'Yeah, innit, Bruv, he got right up in my face,
cos my phone was out in lesson time
and he called me a disgrace.
Like, so, whatever, mate,
I told him where to go,
trying to tell me English,
while I'm textin' my new ***.'

The pen is not mightier,
it is tarnished and obtuse,
a vision of a different age,
wrought blind from its misuse.

Its sapling song of innocence,
split south across the grain
and cast across the classroom,
yanked up and lobbed again.

'Do you get me, Blood?
He was pointing at a seat,
expectin' ME to sit there,
as if it were a treat.
I told him where to stick it
and called him out a clown,
I **** this one-way death pit
as I'm walkin' round and round.'

The pen should still be mighty
and not a strangled stream,
that's crawling up an incline,
like an M. C. Escher dream.

Its muddy banks lie dormant,
both acorn and an oak.

'Cut that ****, you KEENO,
let's ******* for a smoke.'