I let my hands glide,
slide
ride up the back of your shirt
Flirting finger tips slowly dance a pas
stall
bra slips while other fingers edge your skirt
Gently waltzing the inside of your thighs
sighs
eyes closed as the sensations tingle and spurt
Violin fingers soon find a pantiless lip
slit
****, where strumming fingers begin to flirt
My lips start creeping down from yours
slower
lower until you're forced to remove your shirt
Rhythmic breathing gets heavier as my lips meet your chest
breast
invest my tongue along outlines of your vicious curve
Pressing with tongue and fingers until there is an uncontrolled moan
groan
hone in until resisted shivers race through before fingers insert
stroking you as tongue dances its way down gently
slowly
violently, your quivering lips utter a shaken moan to release a blissful squirt...

Too tired to understand
that the music inside my head
     forged nightmares on moldy bread
                         Oh look, my hand!
    Did you know that one band?
                    Wow! I found sand!
And officer, that is how it happened.

To the doctors in the room
   I'm a mental cased, half-crazed Insomniac
      on three days of possibly self inflicted mind space
         who can't decide on medically induced comas or Prozac
To the supervisors in the room
   I'm a potential hazard, a walking disaster
      bird-brained enough to end as scrambled gizzards
         who potentially could be as useful as worthless shinplaster
To the women in the room
   I'm a useless ***, nearly morbid
      too tired to mow the lawn in the mid-morning sun
          and too lazy to help with laundry, cooking, or raising kids
To the friends in the room
   I'm a constant joke, a hilarious prank
      mumbling non-sense with little need to be provoked
         laughing hysterically as they watch as my mind goes blank
To the voices in the room
   I'm a genius, an exasperated visionary
       I've have debated the complexities of owning a *****
          and the movements of my thumb is extremely revolutionary

Nothing here is ever as it seems
   O' Loathing, O' Self-pity
Curse thee as thy dance within my dreams
Invading whispers sent floating from the start
   Stopping all thoughts like a traffic in the city
Pressing my chest against my beating heart
Lethal to the lungs as it ***** at my soul
   Brain splatterings artistically unpretty
Yet, welcomely I embrace the voided hole
Longing for the coma that is sure to appear
   and to be sure, I'm not being witty
For the black would surely remove the untraceable fears
Relieving me of this awful self-loathing
   self-doubt, and self-pity
A swift defeat is the only solace for this whole thing
So this is how it appears to approach the inane
   I'll make sure it's not too gritty
But before I go, I must say, don't you go insane
For as I lay my head for one last rest, it seems
   I'll remember times before your lying bitty
And be assured to breathe in quivering sweet dreams

Steal the failing faith
fallen from the moving trains
boxcars, trampled stars,
unsettling rumors from porous scars
Forged on the blacksmith's lathe
Bloodied and barred, the laughter slowly bathes
Focus, Focus
tear away from this hocus-pocus
Absorbed in unwavering, clamorous doubt
Eyes that watch as you stumble about
muttering lies, stammering cries
observing the heart as it slowly dies
Happily forgotten, yet still  un-forgiven
Giving in is haphazardly driven
'Give it a wail', 'We'll never tell'
Then stand back and watch 'em fail
Falling, fading, never-ending
Visualize the further rending
Live and learn, hard to discern
Watch the Dreamers dreams begin to burn
Consider this path cruelly trudged through
As a warning meekly written to you

For set is the pain
heart's gain
Sustained! Your a mess
I'm impressed
       unless, you pulled the 'Grand'
heart in my hand
solid as sand, brain in my chest
Walking's what my hands do best
Twisted, and no less
Fore and for
                     the four, the floor
You slammed the door, such shame
You're not to blame
It's the fairest name says the Mirror's face
       Touching my eyes in disgrace
sub-scarred face, internal fingers
elbows that linger
knees of a choir singer,
I don't trust my thinking heart
and the tongue smells ****
         Beating brain's the start of the contusion
                             I reject your insulate solution
            Pardon the confusion