Once you understand
there is no truth
beyond magick,
you know
that sometimes
silence is a poem.
   ~mce

allow my words to
              penetrate yours mind,
                       as they crawl across your thoughts
                                    serenading your mind with passage;
   saturated
            with honesty,
  dripping
             with insight.
                  perceived
                  brilliance
                  conceived
                   through
                   insanity.

                                        Thoughts running rampant,
                                              shrouded by vanity.

Self approval.
Self denial.
I can't seem to find the file that allows
self defile.
Innocent youth.
Corrupted age.
Read a book without a page.
Impossible.
What is a book without a page it's nonexistent.
Like the lack of confidence.
It's,
absent bliss on a kiss to the dis one kid says to the other,
like the abuse of, from the father to her brother and mother,
or,
hate that discriminates and makes race the way to keep pace.
We're nameless.

If my heart stopped beating
Would it even occur to you?
If I suddenly disappeared
What would you do?
Would there be a disturbance
In your strange world?
Would you feel an ache in the pit of your stomach
For that troubled girl?
Of course you wouldn't
You wouldn't realize
You wouldn't care
And neither would I

Perfect wives
Living perfect lives
Hiding bruises
Under perfect lies
Perfect children
Can do no wrong
Singing in tune
To their parents song
But I refuse
To go along
With crooked systems
And ****** traditions
I won't sing
I'll scream
Everyone's ashamed
Of me

Lovey Dovey had no say,
Lovey Dovey fade away.
Lovey Dovey turning gray,
Lovey Dovey died today.

I wish I could have stayed in bed all day today,
Writing poems about entertwining fingers and tangled legs;
About lips that never moisten themselves; About tickles that, abruptly, turn into
caresses and lingering touches.
I would have written about cuddles and tight ******* embraces that didnt require that "thing" they like to do most;
About kisses that make you yearn for nothing less than a lifetime supply of Them.
I, simply, wish I'd have just stayed in my room
In my bed and
Penned all morning about the complex simplicities of coexisting with Desire.
I'd have written about how Competition was welcomed with unfurled arms, kissed and un-coated at the door.
I'd have written about how it was welcomed as a third party to the bed;
how we would vye for its approval and battle for 1st place as Best Giver of Love.

..But, instead, I'll just write a poem about the poem id have written had I just stayed in bed today.