In whiskey sodden dreams I feel silky bedclothes encompass
my flimsy pretty negligee clad body
Whimsy takes a hold, bold dreams drape my mind
My dimly lit boudour welcomes the vibrancy of the dream
Unblushingly dis inhibited by the sweet sickly whiskey
I feel frisky, risky, risqué
I want the silkiness of the dark dimly lit night to
ignite, I want flimsy, gipsy, filthy, ***** love.
In whiskey sodden dreams I feel my inner *****,
in dreams I can open the door.

Within the cloistered silence, a whisper is heard.
~
I love you.
~
Who spoke those words?
Why did I hear them?
Were they meant for me?
~
I love you.
~
Deep in the silence they ring as loud as a bell.
Calling to those who need to know that they are loved.
~
I whispered those words.
I whispered to my heart.
I whispered and it became a shout.
~
Three words that take a lifetime of forever to understand,and believe.
~
Pious thunderous silence follow those words,when you believe your whisper.

Yes I laugh. Yes I smile.
But deep down I cry all the while.
Yes people like me. Yes, some love me.
But deep inside I want to shout go away.
Yes, I look sane (whatever that may be)
Yes, I look happy, not in pain.
But, happiness and pain share one thing, tears.
Tears of joy, tears of sadness. One and the same.
I cannot differentiate anymore.
Do you think some people are just born Eeyores? I do. I'm one.
If you always start low there's nowhere to fall.
So, who am I?
I'm a lie.

Woman born with a
Hope filled soul
Openly emotional and

Individually complex

Atypically childless yet,
M**other to man.

I'm sat at my window the snow softly falling,when I hear the telltale "clickity clack" of a pair of heels.
I imagine the wearer, tall by the time lapse in clicks,
wearing warm well cut clothes, due to the weather.
Her heels beat a tattoo, loud in the night time silence.
Echoing into the dark.

Hush, do you hear it? A softer step, masking its existence in time with her heels. No? Listen at the deep silence, stabbed by the staccato stilettos,
there, a soft crush in the snow. Her heels have quickened their tap,tap, tap on the pavement, the snowfall has also quickened, and so has the soft crushing steps of a man.
My heart imitates her stilettos, dread clutches at my core.

There it is the muffled scream that stops the stilettos,
snow is voicing a struggle, it's fresh crispness creaking and crying.
These noises are not new, they're why I sit at the window,
listening for the female, the male, the footsteps, the scream,
knowing that in the morning the news will feature the man dubbed
"The stiletto shredder".

Me, go as a witness you say, how?
He does what he does outside my window knowing I can never tell,
I'm his perfect witness,
I'm blind.

My window allows me to look out on a meadow.
Nothing but grass, shrubs, meadow flowers and weeds.
The trees are in my eye line yet,
so far away they stand like soldiers on parade.
So, just a simple window, with a view of nature.

This window though is more than glass
It's a portal to the past.
I know, I've been there, and barely came back.
Souls walk in the meadow, they emerge from the trees
They beckon me to walk with them in the Autumn breeze.

Once, as a child I ran outside to look at all the people
Some wore bonnets, some had swords, others axes
Such was the horde. I remember the scene vividly.
Yet, they were all grey, even in the sun. Then,
they all turned and saw me.

Their eyes were white, opaque, like a drowned person's
Tattered fabric clung to bleached bones
Mouths moved with soundless words
Pleading arms outstretched
To me the little girl that opened the door onto the meadow.

I ran from the meadow screaming, tears streaming
icy fingers creeping toward me, hands grabbing,
over my shoulder I turned and looked, they'd stopped
right at the meadow's boundary, pleading into thin air.
What did they want? I was just a child. I could do nothing for
those souls lost in limbo outside my window.

I'm four bottles into loving you.
How many are you?

Oh, just one glass, can't hurt
Complex decision made.
A fermented drink to suit my mind
Red for blood
Bacchanalian ecstasies
Dionysian depravity
Ritual madness and ecstasy
A fermented grape
A fervered mind
Freedom, intoxication, liberty
The cult of souls to those who know Dionysis
The dead are fed blood by his maenads
Vampire women
Maenads a nymph, immortal goddesses of natural manifestations;
Maenads the extremes of pleasurable emotions and actions:
***, rage, inebriation, frenzy, and dance, original Manson women
He the bull, the ivy, the serpent surrounded by Satyrs
Sated, Satyrs offer another glass of wine;
Oh, go on, one more glass can't hurt.

Sedated and initiated my feelings have been
evaluated, and been found wanting.
Frayed dreams lie unravelling in the
decayed recesses of my mind.
Laid bare they seem displaced
and out of place with reality.

Concentrate, I tell myself,
eradicate, confiscate those decayed dreams
wipe the slate clean, chalk it all up to life
and it's experiences.
Better to take the bitter pill called reality
than eat the decay of a pretend life.

Wipe the slate clean, be born anew
culminate in a straight jacket, be the bait
for fate to step in and renew you.
Liberate, agitate, evaluate, educate yourself.
Don't give in. Don't give up, life is for living
good or bad, wipe the slate clean.

My words are my armour, my blade, my security.
I use their definitive purpose to strike, to wound, to ****.
I have no need to use an actual knife, my rapier bladed tongue
cuts with an accuracy of a surgeons scalpel.
If you have no parry, or riposte, I'll Épée a thrusting word like the sword.
Your entire being is a valid target, I cannot fight with fists, I cannot crush
you physically, but mentally I will make you my target for words.

"Sticks and stones may break my bones! but words will never hurt me"

Oh, but they will hurt. Long after a scar has healed, a cut has scabbed,
words will linger, haunt and remind your every waking moment of the day you picked a fight, a dalliance if you will with a lexicographer.

I feel the smothering darkness
Hear my cruel words
I want to take them back
But, they lay out in the darkness
Glittering like knives

Words will never hurt me
It's a lie
A platitude, a pretence
It trips off a mother's tongue
Like a drunk weaving home
Delusional in his happy addled mind

Words hurt deeper than a blade
A cut heals, scars, maybe, but
Words are forever, they multiply
They come out in the smothering dark nights
They drown you in sorrow, in pain

You lose yourself to each vowel and consonant that is constructed
You lose, you are defeated by memory.
And at the going down of the moon you will forget them
Those malicious words, those insidious remarks
But, remember night and her smothering blanket of darkness
She Returns.

Weave a spell with your words,
entwine the words with my heart strings.
Knot them tight so that they never loosen.
Hold fast your words upon my heart,
impart your loving syllables into the chambers of my heart and soul.
Gracefully guide the silver thread through my core.
My heart gracefully guides your hands as you work to bring what is truly your spirit to life, in me.
Teach me that love holds true, braid yourself to me.
Scarred though it may be, my heart belongs to thee

You lie next me
I smell your scent
You drift into sleep
I watch you breathe slow and deep
You mumble words that I strain to hear
I lean closer, feel your body's heat
You drape an arm over me
I start to drift away on the sleepy tide
You mumble once more
I hear the words now
You say her name, you nuzzle my hair
I fade into the darkness of sleep
I fade into obscurity by your side
You've forgotten me.

I awoke today to a truth,
one that I had been lying for
with potions and lotions.
I am old. I am fast approaching
the age when young, I thought
was ancient. Truth be told I'm not
that old but, the outside of me is
wearing thin, my mind is still proof of
my juvenile molecules.

Youth gave me bruises, when seen were
black and blue, age has bruised me but
with a different hue.
How true that poets refer to youth as green
and salad like, fresh and new, for if we knew
that age brought, not only wisdom, but a
wrinkling of the body and soul, we may take
a detour to a roof and shove off
falling, whilst calling for our younger days

There's a promise brought on the wind
A whisper that speeds to a shout
50 days of sand walls heralding spring
The promise of new beginnings
First as payment for this new birth, Mother Earth
Blows grains of sand into the eyes of humankind
Suffocating and choking all in the barren land
Spring is heralded by a claustrophobic cyclonic dust storm
A new beginning, fresh and clean
Above the howling rising sandstorm, spring is sprung.