A sensual spirit playful
I hold my love letters
above the blazing flame of your beauty
As they heat,
  the past nearly catches fire
  memories to oblivion
  and a new warmth
  a new light
But no
not tonight
I go home.
To put these letters
back in the soft pocket they live in.
Unchanged, it seems.

I sleep
you die
I walk pavements as you cry,
I towards a bright red bus
You see Evil gates untrussed.

Not here,
but where you are.
Limbs are torn by flying masonary,
wails of pain pierce the air,
no one said this life was fair

Not here,
but there.
the death of loving family care
tears race through dried on dust
there's no one left that you can trust

I want your voice to take my thoughts away
I want your voice to lead me for the day

But I don't like who I am, when I listen to you.
I don't like who I am, nor do I like what I do.

For though your voice is melodic, and hypnotic,
  and far more artful than mine (moaning and neurotic),
the trouble is that you don't really know me,
  you cannot hear what I say,
and though your art goes on,
  I am wasting away.

As even though you write,  with body, mind and soul,
you're anaesthetising me,  and I'm losing control.

A billion voices in support of their cause
A billion voices firing without pause
Today I choose to turn you off,
  to forsake the never ending search

I choose the voices,  
  with which I can converse
I choose the voices,  
  that can see me getting worse.

let me carry your picture
  in my wallet,
let me carry your words
  in my mind,
let me tattoo these maps
  on my body,
so I drop anchor,
  this time,
  deep down into the fabric of reality,
a dead weight,
  holding my soul,
  strong chains,
  falling through these beautifully fatal waves,
  as winds bring wings to sweep me away
Let me hold your dreams
  in my heart,
Let me tend the deck you walk,
  lest it splinter apart.
For when this weather breaks,
  no matter light, no matter dark,
  we sail
when this weather breaks,
  we sail

For so long it was wrong
And it was so wrong that night
But How can I heal this?
Set this right?
Let the wounds breathe
And **** off the fight

Do you see a ****** bandage
If you look my way?
And is that ****** memory,
What makes you turn away?

Should I cut up the bandage?
And show you that there’s skin?
It’s scarred, but it works,
And it’s a place to begin

this beautiful wilderness
it will **** you
unflinching
wild waters raging higher in an instant
clouding your vision
til your gone
compost for those meadow flowers
no longer beautiful
unbeheld

summer descent
of a rocky lakeland path
astride a lively river,
   flowing low
with its winter underbelly exposed
tumbling down
meandering round
expansive sheets of smooth sun-dried stone,
which yearn for the touch of human skin.

cool, soda water pool,
memory of winter ice
tired feet, enveloped,
drink as they dangle in.