am i the only one that feels that hellopoetry is no longer the platform I fell in love with some years ago....

It's raining
And I Want You

The rain makes me overly sentimental, adding its ten drops worth to my ocean...
Nostalgia swells up; a monolithic wave of sadness and fractured memories
The borders imposed on my heart rebounds the lapping tongues of melancholy and send them back towards the centre towards
Me
Me; the centre of my own world
The Centre of my ocean

Frail ratty rafts of values drift brokenly across my ocean
The cracks in my character screech like strained metal; shouting at me that I'm sinking them
I'm sinking the morals and values that merge to form
Me
Me; the centre of my own world
The Centre of my ocean

The aquatic depths house the monsters of my mind
The Subconscious apparitions so large that a stirring of their serrated spines change the flow of my polluted basement of an ocean
The flow of my subconcious stinks stagnantly
It results in the drifting away of me from
Me
Me; the centre of my world
The Centre of my ocean

It's drizzling
And I want you

There is always somebody taller...somebody darker, more mysterious, better body, better kisser...
"Where do I fall short?" You ask yourself a hundred times. "Wherr is it that I was not good enough for you?"
You shout to the Angels, to heaven, to God, to nothingness. You shput because 1: you hope that maybe she will hear you and 2: Emotions such as this just aren't compatible with a calm quite and civil voice. You shout because a whisper cannot properly contain the pain you feel. A cup cannot hold the water destined for a jug.
Then, when nothing shouts back,  you liquify your pain...condense your emotions into tears and pour them into a chamber in your heart labelled: Heartache. Unfortunately that room is broken...Unfortunately that room leaks. And despite all your 'manly' efforts to not let your emotions betray you, the tears leak out of your hands and onto a page,  into a poem, onto a painting, interwoven into a drawing. Art depicting the day you heal; a distant dream... And as long as your hands are more porous than your eyes you shall never heal. As long as your eyes remain painfully Dry and your smile sincerely deceptive you shall never heal. So you wait...You wait till your pencils become blunt and your brushes obsolete. You wait until the emotion pushes against your being do violently a smile seems to tear into your very reasons for living. You wait until happiness seems a dream. And you know that these emotions are not meant to be within you... a cup cannot hold the water destined for a jug yet you hold what you know is not meant for you. So you collapse... physically, emotionally, mentally and in every conceivable way...You collapse. You break. You become a shell, a shdow of the man you used to be as the sluices in your eyes finally open and you cry. Your pain cascades down your face and mixed in between the heartwrenching sobs and the muffled choking you find a new emotion. One you've never felt before. Yet you know that it was there all along, waiting to be released. And as the personified memory of her swaying figure walking away from you appears so does the emotion. Written, nay, Burned in big red letters above her shrinking figure.
ABANDONED!
And you snap! A broken man snaps. He cries now more viciously than ever before. He stumbles to the cupboard to get a drink and proceeds to drink until those painful red letters disappear in a haze of inebriation. In a drunken stupour you grab the word and wrestle it into submission. You chuck the cursed word into another chamber in your heart labelled: Latet. Meanwhile the jagged A split your skin. The pitiless B ripped open your muscles. The cursed word is subdued, but not defeated. The cursed word left you with wounds and they are clear to the world around you. They expose/subject you to humiliation...To cruelty...To despair......
And all of this caused by a single girl. A girl who...Did not mean to hurt you. She did not mean to break you. Yet you sit on the floor, the wine mixing with angry mutterings of how much you miss her. Then you cry. Again. But this time you heal. This time the tears flow into the cracks in your soul and convince you that you'll be okay. They convince you that there will be a better day after this...That one day you will find the girl that will have another word burned above her head as she walks towards you....
*LOVE

She choose the wrong ******* guy..

And the right guy is sitting right here....his hands cut and sliced from the shattered pieces of his heart that crumble in his palms
He doesn't seem to comprehend yet....that his heart is broken
That his pitiful attempts to put it back together only results in his blood spilling
His soul spilling
His life spilling

If you were any other girl I wouldn't be sitting on the floor
Beating my emotions till their blood forms the body of my writings

If you were any other girl
These drunk thoughts that stumble around my head wouldn't **** on my dignity because I wouldn't hate myself for not being good enough for you
Never being good enough For you

If you were any other girl
my heart's wrist wouldn't bleed after I embarrassed myself in my eyes in front of yours

If you were any other girl
The chamber in my heart labelled "later" wouldn't be overflowing
Each twisted emotion screaming for my blood...your love

If you were any other girl
I would be drunk now
But I am not because you...I cannot understand you when I've drunken myself into pitiful inebriation

Our little forest still stands.*

That day...You told me that the best way to make a decision was to flip a coin....because in mid air you know exactly what you want.
So I took that ten cent and I said that if it was heads then I'd kiss you...and that tails would leave us sitting there awkwardly

I flipped it and as the coin spun recklessly the racing airborne revolutions synchronised with my insistent heartbeat....and I kissed you, I swear I saw bright explosions as I experienced the softness of your lips on mine
You took the 10 cent coin and we Both kissed it then despite my disbelieving protests you threw it into the slithering undergrowth....never to be seen again
From that day on....we called it 10 cent Forest
And if I could go back I wouldn't change a thing...except maybe.......use a 5 Rand coin....Maybe if i did that then it would have been worth more than a single ******* kiss

Maybe then it would have meant more than a pitiful...******* kiss

Maybe then you wouldn't have ******* discarded what it meant, like a failed artwork, for a luckier-than-he-knows 'Player'

And as I attempt to adjust to breathing without air I realize that it was never about me. For you... It was all about you. Just like my art

I'm sitting alone
The half dead fire struggling to breath again a half empty bottle of water; not enough to **** it...
It's flames start once again...but small
Like tiny faeries dancing across the face of the embers hoping to let their passion ignite the memories of past
The faeries grow and as their brilliant vibrant life comes to an abrupt but equally gorgeous end they are consumed by young saplings of fire
Their children consume them as roots of coal give rise to stems of life.....
Fire-like life
Vicious...short...abrupt...extreme
Each flame- when slowed to accommodate our laborious minds- lives a life more vibrant than ours
A sizzle from the evaporating water heralds the arrival of a beautiful spire of intense heat
It burns....brighter than the sun but only for a millisecond...
Then...It dies...
And so does its comrades...
Until now... one solitary veteran remains...
He will not die
He will not wink out of eternal existence
He ensures that his memory is maintained by the life he leaves behind for new flame to arise
Like a phoenix incarnate the fire Roars! but only in a whisper
For this fire has seen it's end
Now Only the sad memories of orange-red embers remain hidden amongst the ashes
Soon the ashes will smother the remnanats of a once brilliant life
The fire: destroyed by its own product
It is no more
It's brilliance....eradicated...



I remember.
I rember your Brilliance.

A memory of a man
Suspended from the coarse necklace; a punishment for his sin.

Motionless weight, dead weight.

Silky tufts of trembling silvery hair;
The only sign of life's abandonment.

Gently as the blissful breeze blows it's protest-
An empty gesture of grace-
His once young locks...revitalised.

A thought; even a pitiful gale would fail to summon but the swaying of a blue headed pale bodied dead man.

It's 01:42 in the morning.
If you're still up....tell me why

Dear.....(Someone)
I want you to know the distinction between the phrase :
"Dear (Someone)" and the meaning behind it.
See the phrase could be seen as the idle 'I Love you' dropped at your loving mother's desperate ear as she hugs you goodbye.....see:
"Dear (Someone)",
The meaning, is when you hold her shivering figure and as her sobs break her, you gently whisper:"I love you" into her ear

"Dear (Someone)"
It is a phrase used all to often and
Dear (Someone)
The meaning can change, resurrect and empower you,
Dear (Someone)
I want you to understand that when I talk about you
Dear (Someone)
And I say
Dear (You)
I do not use the phrase....I mean it
See
Dear (You)
You have taught me the significance of using that prefix and
Dear (You)
I want you to know that when I say Dear Mikyla....It is a phrase
But when I say Dear Elize....It is the meaning

I used to think that when I was with you I was getting drunk on life
Sipping on your smile like a classy merlot
Gulping down your twinkling laughter like a sprakling champagne
Savoring your eyes like a forty year old cabarnet
Drinking without care or consequence
Knowing that I'd wake up with a headache so bad it could split kilimanjaro itself
And that my body would Ache from withdrawal symptoms as I yearned for a palatable drink to moisten my lethargic tongue
Except...I didn't...
I woke up, my head Sparkling in its clarity
My body energised and full of movement
I got drunk on you
Yet...I had no hangover...
I got drunk on being with you...except...I didn't
I used to get drunk on 'Her' and when I left her company I left with an incomprehensible pain in my heart
My "Hangover"
But when I'm with you I'm not Drunk
No...I'm Sober
A Sober that allows the world to sparkle around me in painstaking detail
A Sober that allows me to experience the real beauty of life and not just float through it in a haze of intoxication
A Sober that allows me to look at you and experience that flame in my heart
The joy of life
The joy of knowing that my heart is content to not get drunk
My heart can feel joy without drinking its superficial counterpart
Getting drunk on life is a phrase I cannot use with you
You are just so much more

Dear Alcohol and.....'You'. You should meet up. You guys have so much in common. You'd be great friends

I mean, you both got me aroused. You by your tantalizingly forbidden nature and Alcohol by.... Well alcohol. No seriously you guys are very similar! Neither of you have substance. You substituted your personality with a pretty face and a prettier body. And alcohol....Well you are a liquid. Both of you also look pretty on the outside while hiding your destructive nature on the inside. You, with a model's face and a statue's heart, and Alcohol with...well pretty bottles....you know? Even how I think of you two is similar. I mean....my therapist knows all about how both of you ****** my life up. I'm only 16 for ***** sake. You guys are so similar in fact that you only cause internal damage and extrenal signs only start manifesting as a result of prolonged exposure. Both of you got me intoxicated on a false promise of happiness. You promised a time of waiting and a future between us but only delivered heartache. Alcohol promises euphoria but delivers a hangover and liver damage. Both forcefully ripped happiness out of my future, stuffed it into the present, leaving only pain in my future....
See....You both helped me grasp onto the impossible hope of something intangible. And the funniest thing of them all is how you caused each other. You were attracted to my pain and angst caused by alcohol. And alcohol? Well we're good friends again after you.

"She is like a lily crafted from rubies. Gentle in the nature of the flower yet passionate and powerful in the nature of the gem. She is an anomaly. A contradiction in society boldly living: a woman...who is strong and bears God in her heart yet has not gone cold. Nay...she is not a lily of ruby alone...she is a lily made of ruby and burning with the fire of God."

I saw you yesterday
And I still haven't figured out if today is too soon to miss you

If you were Any Other Girl......
I wouldn't be writing this

If you were Any Other Grl......
All of these thoughts that stumble around my head like drunk men trying to find their way home wouldn't exist
And I say drunk men because it's easy to understand sober men
Yet these thoughts seem inexplicably intricate....

If you were Any Other Girl......
I'd be able to decipher all of these emotions and realize that after seven drafts of a poem I should probably give up on trying to explain that if I could I would nail my hands to the very stars themself if only it would give me a tongue crafted of pure gold....
Maybe then I'd be able to explain to every passing stranger how I can see a masterpiece in your very smile

If you were Any Other Girl.....
I wouldn't stumble over wanting to kiss you

If you were Any Other Girl.....
I wouldn't want to brush your hair back slowly, acting like a walking cliché in the desperate hope that your smile would inject my pitiful heart with enough courage to lean in and just be close to you

If you were Any Other Girl....
I would have kissed you a hundred times over

But you see the truth is that......
You're not Any Other Girl
You're gorgeous
Your smile seeps into me like water soaks into the parched land and gives it new life
Your hair seems to have a life of its own and I can't help but think that if you were Medusa's daughter, being turned into stone would be worth it because the last thing imprinted on my vision would be a walking artwork
And what I want you to know is that when you smile I feel the precious bud of bravery blossom within my chest
And I manage to convince myself that I will kiss the most beautiful girl I've ever had the privilege of knowing
Yet when confronted with a face as pure as a Mondrian painting
And more beautiful than a Vermeer or a Botticelli
Massive waves seem to form over me and I stand beneath behemoths of beauty and I laugh.....as these waves crash over me
My inconsequential bravery is washed away in the face of your beauty as I realize for the first time that this girl is....... worth the frustration
She is worth the wait
Worth the energy
Worth the embarrassment of letting an awkard attempt at a kiss melt into a more awkward hug....
But the simple truth is.....
You are not Any Other girl
You.
Are.
Worth.
The.
Journey.
And I can not wait to savour as much of it as I can with you

It's 23:45 and I'm sitting outside in the rain
It's chilly and this weather makes me want to cuddle
The lightning strikes while the thunder rumbles across my vision
Vivid flashes blind me and in the darkness followed by the bright flash I see you
I see your dark wet hair from after you showered
An auburn red that soaks into my memory
I see the navy blue boobtube dress you wore that day and I remember how amazing your neck and shoulders looked
I see your spine as I remember massaging your back in the softest most pleasurable way just so that you could be comfortable
I see your gorgeous legs draped over my lap as I remember tickling them and flirtatiously pushing your dress up a bit more each time
I see your giggly smile as I presented my hands to you and I remember how you put my hand on your hip And explored the other as if you could unlock all the secrets that lay within
I remember imagining kissing you

I remember each detail of that day just like I remember every single ******* book on my therapist's shelf because it doesn't matter how many time I call myself brave I still can't look him in the face as he helps me to dissect my morbid disgusting insecurities......

I remember how I told my friend that I fell harder for you than standards do at a new years party

I remember telling you my secret.....the one that you alone know on this earth...
What happened to that?
What happened to 'never letting me feel that way'
And I can't help but think that at the end of the day I was just a stupid ******* kid who fell for an amazingly ****** up woman....
And yes I said ****** up
And yes I said kid

I remember the stupid note I hid in your sketch book
And I ******* hope you don't find it
And at the same time I pray you do so that maybe you could fathom the pain you put me through

I remember how the abyss threatened to drag me down as I regretted not trying to kiss you

I remember thinking that I'm willing to dive into the abyss for you.....

At the end of the day I never did jump
I never needed to
Why would somebody jump if they had someone willing to push them

This melodious clamour
Stumbles around inside my head
Drunk on thoughts of you
Intoxicated on the memories of your hugs
A clang of the sparkle in your eyes
A ba-dumm of the freckles that were scattered across your face like the stars scattered across the skies
And if I could I'd nail my soul to those very same stars if only it would give me the tongue that could explain to the blind world how precious you are...
How much I love your smile
How I want to reach up to your face and gentle gather up your star freckles and count them
Just to know how many freckles there are on your body
And I would....but only if I could because our meetings will be farther apart and fewer than the very freckle-stars upon your face
And at the very least the memory of your hugs will be the supernovas scattered across the fractured galaxy comprised of the precious memories of your presence
And when I remember your smile
My galaxy will tremble
It will shake as the light of transcendental beauty graces it
And when I remember your blush the galaxy will collapse....my galaxy will fall into itself and my memories turn on me...
A black hole will form and **** in all the emotions that aren't you
And In the end I'll have lost my heart
Taken over by the memory of you....
And my chest will ache
My stomach will knot and fight it's master
My longing and desperation to see you will manifest in the form of physical pain
And as I sit in my room
Writhing in pain
I will look up and close my eyes
And an image of you will form in my mind's eye
I will remember seeing you sitting in Tribeca....eating Red Velvet Cheescake....the cake a deep blood red
A red of passion
And I will remember how when you pulled out your cake fork
How two or three lines of that very same passionate red would form on your lips.....
And as I remember this I'll sit up
Smile
Stand
And stride into the future
Because I will miss you
I will want to see you
I will want to hold you
But I will walk on because all that lies between us is ....time.....right?
And that isn't so bad.....right?

I sit outside here alone
The chilly air suspendes around me
The smell of wetness resonates boldly from the rain some twentt minutes ago
I wear my white formal shirt wrinkled and undone at the top and bottom as well as my black formal pants that protects my legs from the cold
It's dark....
Lights in the distance remind me of the isolation which beats in time to my heart
My fumbling hands reach for tge carton and I remove one
Placing it in between my lips, the taste making me anxious for what is to come
A scrape and a fizzle then a sudden yet small blaze of light erupts as the damp matches are lit
The frenzy of letting the flame touch the lip before the dampness kills it
The matche's flame burns out, ending its bright career
But not before it ignites the cigarette and leaves the tobacco smoldering like miniature embers
I inhale.... tasting the smoke and exhale, watching in awe at how the smoke lazily twists and curls in the air
I enjoy the taste of it in my mouth
I don't allow it to go further than my mouth simply enjoying the flavour
I finish one, staring at it as the sliver of doubt creeps in....
Better light another to make sure
I repeat the process but this time I inhale deeply on the first drag, allowing the bitter smoke to enter my lungs
Yup...There it is: the disgust
I sit in the dark like some kind of thief smoking a *** just for the sake of smoking it
I do what my friend taught me
I inhale deeply and take a big drag into my mouth and sharply breath it into my lungs
It stings......
It burns......
And I wait...wait for the- Ahh! There it is. The lightheadedness.
The only immediate effect I feel from smoking
It hits me harder than my freight train of insecurities
Here I'm sitting...
Outside in the dark as if I was a common criminal
My legs are on the table in front of me spread like a cheap *****'s
And in a way I'm allowing my insecurities to **** me as if I'm the cheap *****
I start to taste the disgustingness of the bile-bitter smoke in my mouth
The pretty patterns of smoke no longer making it worth it
I close my eyes and the dizziness causes me to feel like I'm on a boat in a sea somewhere about to drown
I'm never had seasickness but the nausea cripples me
I open my eyes and look at the half burnt stub I hold between my fingers like some posh *******
It smolders and despite the hate I feel towards its ugliness I love the beauty of the smoke
I realize how disgusting I am
How the smoke in my hand tastes like cud
How my below average body screams for attention
How the oily pimples on my chest swear at me each time I look in the mirror
I am disgusting
And so is this smoke
I close my eyes again and I feel like I'm falling forward
Towards the darkness within me
The darkness I kept locked away for so long
I plummet and right before the abyss I open my eyes and look at the now dead *** in my hand....

Maybe I need a new brand...

An emptiness
Defined by isolationism...
A lonliness
Defined by desire...
A lack
Defined by me...

A desire
To fill the emotions
With substantial satiation
Enough to satisfy
The animal within
'Beast mode' never ends for me
A horror
Committed by me
Condemned by most
Cursed by all.....
Is this me?
Is this path mine?  
Am I destined...
To be a sojourner all my days
Is it predetermined?  
Or is this a path yet to be defined
By Him
And me....
Is it past that time?
The time or redefining reality?

....

I will redefine myself

People say that they never forget the day they met the love of their life. I'm different. I can't remember the day nor the week nor the month. I only remember Her.

She was standing there, at some party I assume, but in my minds eye she was standing alone in a room dominated by pure white. Nothing around her mattered. She took over ever part of what I saw. Her memory fought with and mercilessly destroyed the other inconsequential memories of that month until it had found a space big enough within my brain for The Memory of her to be embedded within my consciousness.

Eventually as the years passed so did our fire and our beauty,  replaced with embers and wrinkles. The embers,  not signs of a waning love, but if a strong, steady, rooted love that burns with with consistency and deceptive passion. The wrinkles,  representatives of each kiss, each hug, each wink, each Smile, each frown, and each joyous moment that ever reverberated between us. The twinkles within our eyes fueled by the countless 'I-Love-You' s that we gifted to each other. I started to forget things: where I put my shoes... what I ate for supper... what my job was... my family... my birthday... my name...

I write now not remembering the start of this story. I have holes within my memories... Blank spaces, large and small, where I kept my treasures.

I forgot Her.

She left my memory long ago, preferring my soul. I lie on this bed recalling two things: I can Write and I have a Wife.

She is in my soul. I forgot the day I met her and I forgot her. Yet our love ensured that she would never leave me.

Shall we seek the variations between the pen and the brush?
And a long journey it is
Long and winding
Like the meandering path of a pen
Continously fickle marks,
Trickled onto the page
By a thin reedy man
Pretentious preservation of seemingly inconsequential information
Unlike the brush it is steady and small pain
The brush casts vast swathes of colour about it
Wild uncontrolled vortexes of pure passion
Powered by the fire of the caster
Energetic excitement epitomising the intention of the information
Wild and Free
A powerful and crippling instantaneous pain
Lasting only briefly
Shall we seek the variations between the pen and the brush?

I went through a lot for you
Said the nicest things
Treated you like what you were
And I hurt you
And you hurt me
Yet I know that I put way more effort in
I tried harder for you
And yes on many ways it was a little boy crying for attention
Wanting to be special
And yes that's pathetic
But you still took advantage of that
You still led me on
Even if you didn't notice you still did it
Even if you never wanted to hurt me you did
I keep on telling people that of the two girls I've ever truly liked one ****** with my emotions and the other lives in Durban
And this might just be it
This might be me finally letting it go
Saying *******
*******
for being the ***** you were that played with me until you got somebody else
Then literally dumped me like the fake emotions you had for me
You used me like a ******* experiment
And I just wanna say *******
Not in passing
Or in anger
But a real one
One that hopes you suffer for what you did to me
Onw that hopes one day I'll see you and you'll feel my pain
And you'll regret it all
One that hopes you see me years from now and you'll realise what you did to me
How you completely ****** with me
So *******
'My ******* orange princess.'

The two skipped through the world
Her paint was red
His was black
They ran through life complimenting each other perfectly
Her red streaked jagged lines across people's vision
His black smoothed over the rest of the space
People would be blinded by black and red and find themselves stunned by who these two people were
Wearing their hearts on their sleeves
Displaying their paints so precariously
Loving life and living life
The Red Rose
The Black Thorn

Two beings converge upon Destiny's pathway
Two skins exist in contradiction
His is Icy, colder than his heart
Hers is fire, hotter than her soul
A hug...
A handshake...
Contradictory beings destined for unison
Then a kiss....

Two lips converge upon Destiny's pathway
Ice kisses fire
And they pull apart
His lips are steaming, smouldering like half-dead embers
Her lips freeze over slowly, the frost crawling like an uncertain wave
Then a smile...

Two souls converge upon Destiny's pathway
They smile
And as he smiles his cheeks split apart
The ice upon him cracking
The fire from her lips ignites his soul, his passion
And spreads till his soul burns
The smoldering coals in his soul ignited by her passion
And in a second a perfect moment is achieved
He is burning
For none but her

Imagine that your skin was constantly damp and cold.
Then you met somebody who's skin feels like fire.
With every handshake, hug, or kiss you suddenly switch on just those two specific areas.
Your lips are hot and smoking. Smouldering like embers.
While her lips freeze a bit.
Frost crawling over them like a wave.
And in a perfect moment you two have given parts of your being to each other.
For your lips are burning
For none but her

I've been reading over my old writing
And I see something in my art
It's scary and I don't know why
I'm scared of what my most visceral art is
That raw ******* emotion will rip me apart if I drew it
Or painted it
Or bleached it
Or whatever
I created a prison of words for my most painful emotions
It ******* hurts so ******* much
And I'm so ******* scared of who I am

And she painted
It was ugly
Scenes of  dismemberment
Blood drops raining down on her soul
Heavier when they accumulate
And she painted
Until the weight
Crushed her belief
In goodness
And  she painted
Because men are all the same
And the drugs never helped
And her daddy wanted a boy
And she painted
Because slapping her incredible pain onto a piece of ******* cloth
Was better than actually getting ****** on it
She painted
And it was ugly

She asked me:"  Why do we love?"
I thought a million thoughts
Amongst a sea of ravenous slippery thoughts
I grabbed one and replied:" Because we fear being alone. We know it will seem to be more than anything else but in that moment, in that second when your lips touch his you will be willing to go through it all ten times again just so that you could relive that imperfectly perfect moment again. "

they say infatuation makes you lose sense.
*infatuation passes Zoë

It's acold misty morning
The large grey cobblestones creating valleys by themselves
The old black lampposts casting the imaginings of light
The buildings shuffle between dark grey and black as if they were a depressed Chameleon
A man walks along this pathway
His dark black Brioni suit covered by the enveloping arms of his coat
The buttons undone as the coat ***** dramatically in the wind that isn't there
The outfit is completed with a black fedora which he wears upon his head
He walks down the pathway and passes a small man
With ragged clothes and a baggy hat
He barely notices the painter as he Iis consumed with his Own demons
The painter holds a brush in his right hand
An old thing with paint and chips on the wooden handle
The bristles are long
Not imacculate
But well used
In his left hand he holds his pallette
It has every colour imaginable
But only a small splotch of it
The painter walks behind the man with the fedora
And he painted
He painted galaxies on the cobblestones and valleys separating them
He painted patterns into the sidewalk and stories into the bricks
His style a rough painterly style
Jagged geometric lines creating organic spirals and waves
A Van Gogh style
Painfully wild strokes
That seem to contain the souls of suffering and pain
His flat yellows contrast to his vivid reds
Powerful imagery created by nothing but contrast
Emotions toyed with by jagged currants and swirls
The painter painted
Trying to catch up to the man with the fedora
Painting eruptions of beauty from the lampposts
And birds and flowers floating upon the air
As the fedora man's heels lifted paint was laid down in insane yellow
Driven insane by trying to catch up to this man
Driven insane by trying to show the man beauty
The painter ran out of paint
A masterpiece a mile long
Seen and admired by all who walked behind
But the artist had failed
His face Contorted as his emotional suffering manifested physically
His heart broke again as he realized that this man with the fedora wouldn't stop
He would live his whole life
Without seeing beauty
The painter was put in a nice jacket and a white padded room to live the rest of hus days
Forced to live in his misey....
His  emotion....
His failure...

I don't always write masterpieces
But if you sift through all the junk
You'll find a gem or two

I'll tell you a story
Of two people
One who was a goddess with luscious Black hair
The other who's only beauty existed in his paintbrushes
Their names were Manipulation and Empathy
Respectively
Manipulation walked through the streets
Wearing her insecurities upon the sleeves of her designer coats and upon the makeup she wore
Boys saw a woman
Men saw an intimidating figure
Gentlemen saw a woman
Empathy saw her
He felt the pain in her mascara
And the tears in her eye liner
So he pulled out his brush and followed her
Imagining what could make her eyes smile along with her mouth
He started painting
His mind filling with images and ideas
His eyes glazing over as the Channel opened
His mouth slightly parted in concentration
He painted flowers beneath her stilettos as she walked
And trees above her hair
He painted sensations of beauty and nature
He painted smells that invaded her nose
He painted sounds that bombarded her ears with elegance
He poured his soul into the birds that flew around her
His life force into the river that flowed with a furious crescendo
He painted until manipulation stopped and smiled
And as empathy lay there dying he never did know whether the smile reached her eyes
Because she was wearing sunglasses

I'll tell you a story
Of Two men
Who were best friends
One who had a predisposition to feeling nothing
The other who had a predisposition to sadness, suffering, and helping the people whom he loved
Their names were pity and melancholy
Respectively
One day pity said:"I want to be sad Mel. I want to feel sad. I wonder what being sad feels like?"
"Rather terrible I'd assume Pit." replied Melancholy
"Well I guess I'll never know." Said Pity and with that the two friends went their seperate ways
Melancholy was conflicted because he wanted to give Pity everything. Including sadness.
So he sat down and started planning. He thought of sadness and raindrops and death and tears and scars and pain and cruelty and anger and many sad things about the human race.
He drew things. Things that created tears in his eyes. Things that caused the void in his chest to deepen.
Then he was ready
He gathered all of his pencils and pictures and paints and brushes and palettes
And he set out to paint the streets with sorrow
He painted raindrops on the walls
And death on the floor
And cruelty on the lampposts
And suffering on the windows
He painted and painted
He painted a man's tears raining down from the walls
To drown the men on the floor
As the demons sniggered in delight from their lampposts
And their victims of torture hung fromm the windows
Melancholy painted.
He turned the river of tears into a river of blood
And when he ran out of red paint
He slit his wrists and used his own blood
Pouring his life into his sadness
Pouring his life into his river
And then it was finished
His masterpiece of sadness was complete
"Maybe Pit will feel sadness." he thought as he lay in the wet paint and blood with a small smile on his face
Pity walked around the corner and saw the tears and the demons and the corpses and he was scared
He followed the ominous river and at the end he found an extremely well painted corpse
It looked just like his friend Melancholy
He picked up the painting and as he watched the life abandon his sad friend's eyes he felt it
The pit
The void growing in his chest
Painful as if it were an acid that burnt up into his throat
As he watched the life abandon melancholy's life he cried
Because his friend was dead
And he was sad

If I asked you to make me sad
Would you paint the streets with sorrow?
If I asked you to make me angry
Would you tear peace asunder for me?  
If I asked you to make me nostalgic
Would you rip open your brain to present those sweet memories?
If I asked you to **** me
Would you?
Would you paint the streets with my blood?
Would you tear my heart asunder?
Would you rip open my skull?
Would you **** me?

I watched him punch the wall
And it all seemed so much more dramatic
Because he has cancer
And he was wearing some dramatic ninja clothing
I knew that he had hurt his hand
But all that went through my mind was the contrast
The contrast between how he hugged me
(Light...as if he didn't want to apply pressure in case he hurt me)
And how hard it was to hold up a man who collapsed out of fear
Because he has cancer
And it was dramatic because when he collapsed he did it as if he had pain
As if the physical manifestation of his crippling fear was too much for his
Good guy better heart to handle
And as he calmed down all that went through my mind was how his hands were trembling
Not from the fear or anger or the cancer
But because he punched the wall
And as per usual came off second best
And it was dramatic
Because he was wearing all black
And all I can think of is how he transformed from a man to a sobbing little boy
Who said things that burn my heart and cause me to want to panic
Because he said

I DON'T WANNA DIE MAN. I'M DYING!  MAN I'M SO SCARED

And I can't stop remembering how that was the most honest thing he has ever let himself believe
It was dramatic
Because I think he's dying

I want a her in my life
Like all those people
Who talk about her
The goddess they met
Or the date they're going on
And I know that I'll never be a wilfred owen
Or an ee Cummings
Or a sipho sepamla
But when I write about a her I feel closer to being a master than ever before

You have to be sure
You have to make a decision
Then you have to drag that decision outside and beat it with a stick
Then drag it back inside and put it in a chair and torture it
Until you have squeezed out every last drop out of that ****** and you know deep in your heart that you have made the best decision you could possibly have made

I'm stuck between an angry vent and a sad one
I'm sad
And I hide my true emotions behind anger
So I'm really angry about the fact that I feel empty
I'm angry about crying myself to sleep
I'm angry at her (like seriously this time I'm angry for real)
I'm angry that she doesn't really care much
I'm angry that I miss my family
I'm angry because of what I've done
I'm angry because I can't figure myself out...
I'm angry because one second I'm happy and I like who I've become
I'm angry because the next in fighting off the pit that's been growing in my stomach

A pit that I started filling too late
Because now I'm sitting at the bottom of this pit looking up at the better me throwing dirt onto me

It's as if I was floating along a trickle of water like a leaf
Meandering
Quite happily
Through my life
Happy that I was going where I wanted to go
That I was going where my plans intended for me to go
But then I hit a rock and by some magical combination ofthe wwater's flow and balance
I stayed pushed against that rock
And I stayed there for four hours
For four glorious hours
But then the trickle swept me away
But I should have taken maybe one extra minute
Just to feel your lips pressed onto mine
Just to feel your body pressed against mine
And I know that my plans
And my life
Will not allow for another second of me being pushed against that rock
But I regret that I didn't make my perfect memory better
So that when the incense that bursts alight when I think of you
Would smell
Even better

**** I want to kiss you....

I look at the picture
And my gaze falls upon your hair
Dark
Black
Hair that cascades down the sides of your face like a black churning waterfall
Black
A deep black
So deep it drags me into the embrace of your ravishing beauty...

...but this is not what commands my gaze.

I look at the picture
And my gaze falls upon your eyes
Sparkling
Riveting
Eyes that enchant me
The dark shadows of that perfectly frame your eyes
Highlight the tiny dot of contrast within
That seems to be the gateway to the most intricately beautiful soul
That I have ever had the blessing to bear witness to...

...but this is not what commands my gaze.

I look at the picture
And my gaze falls upon your lips
Lucious
Red
Lips slightly parted
As you seem to yearn for something
Your sense of vivacious earnestness
Multiplied tenfold
Just by those subtly parted lips...

...but this is not what commands my gaze.

I look at the picture
And my gaze falls upon your shoulder
An elegant
Subtle
Olive-brown skin tone perfectly juxtaposed against your charcoal black hair
Your shoulder tantalizingly flaunts itself
Daring!
Any and all
To defy your beauty...

...but this is not what commands my gaze.

No.

What commands my gaze is your neck.

Your black waterfall of churning hair
Your bright soulful eyes
Your vivacious earnest red lips
Your tantalizingly olive-brown shoulder
All combine to form
An absolute
GODDESS
of beauty
They all point towards your neck
They all seem to show me where your true beauty lies
It makes me realize that this time it's different

I could run my hand through your churning black hair a million times
I could get lost in your soulful gaza day after day
I could kiss your lavish lips every second of my day
I could carress the flawless perfection of your shoulder until my hands foem calluses

But...

I would forego all of that
If you would but let me rest my head on your shoulder
Against your neck...
Where I wouls feel safe
And enough
And strong
And adequate
And beautiful

Yes
Indeed
It is your neck that commands my gaze

I look at the picture
And I see her hair
Dark
Black
Cascading down the sides of her face like a black churning waterfall
Black
A deep black
So deep it drags me into her charmfulness

But this is not what catches my eyes

I see her beautiful eyes
Cast in an enchanting gaze
As if she can see farther than us all
The shadows perfectly frame her eyes
And that tiny dot of reflection within seems to be the gateway to the most intricately beautiful soul ever

But this is not what catches my eye

I see her full luscious lips
Covered in lavish red lipstick
Her lips are slightly parted as she seems to yearn for something
The sense of earnestness about her multiplied tenfold
Just by parted lips

But this is not what catches my eye

I see her left shoulder exposed by her shirt that elegantly shows her subtle skin tone
Her black hair juxtaposed perfectly next to her dark olive brown skin
Her shoulder tantalizingly flaunts its beauty to the world
Daring any and all to defy her beauty

But this is not what catches my eye
No
What catches my eye is her neck...

The black waterfall of hair
The bright reflection of her soulful eyes
The vivaciously earnest red lips
The tantalizing olive brown shoulder
Combine to form what I have come to think of as a Goddess of beauty on this earth
They all seem to point to her neck and show where her true beauty lies for me
It makes me realise that this time it's different
I could run my hand through her hair a million times
I could stare into her soulful eyes for hours
I coukd kiss her beautiful lips a million times
I could carress her flawlessly smooth shoulder until I form calluses
But I would forgo all of that if she would just let me rest my head on her shoulder
Against her neck
Where I would feel safe
And enough
And adequate
And beautiful

Yes
Indeed
It is her neck that catches my eye

You are the kind of woman
That if
I were to put a flower in your hair
(Dark beautiful hair like a black churning waterfall)
It would make you the most beautiful woman
(Because beauty is indeed in the eye of the beholder)
On this world
You would be the type of woman that is imagined in the jungle
Wearing plants but somwhow making it look good
(Because that flower compliments you so well)
And you magnify that flower's beauty ten ******* hundred times more than any other woman
And it's a symbiotic relationship
Because you two perfectly compliment each other
But there's some nice irony to it
Because if I were the flower
I would be beautiful
And so would you
We would be perfectly beautiful
But it's not symbiotic
Because it doesn't matter how exceptional you are
I'd still ******* die when I'm plucked

I think about what it would be like
I imagine that it would taste fresh and minty
Cold and shockingly hot
I imagine my eyes glazing over in a total reverence for her soft lips
And hers igniting in a flame of....
Something
That makes this kiss better
And easier as if it were always meant to be
I imagine that after the kiss she would rest her head on my shoulder
And she would smile and feel safe while I held her
And I would finally feel what I suspect only she can make me feel
I would feel adequate

A cross is what I remember
Because her shirt formed a cross across her ***** perfectly framing her enticingly beautiful neck
I built up the courage and using a phenomenally cheesy one liner I started talking to a total beauty
I remember thinking that for once I cared more about the sparkle in her dazzlingly enchanting eyes
Than her curvaceously elegant body
Her perfect curves
I let my mind wander
And I think that maybe I'll get to see her and we'll get to know each other
I let my mind wander to that so called ffirst kiss and I can barely breath at that thought
I imagine all these things
As if it were possible
As if we weren't seperated by 8 hours of driving

This concept of a parodox haa fascinated me
It is
For example
Safe to say that there is an outside within our phones
(Assuming that you have a picture of the outdoors on your phone)
It's like taking freedom and free will and forcefully taking a part of it and putting freedom inside a cage
(A wonderful ring of irony in that)
And we can also create an outside within our minds
(Assuming that you have an imagination)
The difference being however that we steal nothing of that freedom
We just make our own one

So ask yourself

Which one am I?
The one that takes from freedom
Or the one that creates it

It's fascinating isn't it?
How we can be on an eight hour trip
And we see nothing outside
Excepts the outside inside our phones