What's been, is a shadow display,
that can curse or be exotic of play,
and wishes are often in the moon-shine,
and believing in rushes of the blind,
thinking a morning, can open eyes.

The dream of the incestualized,
a child once vividly opening presents,
And is that the wish of the memory,
terrible act of one of his parents?
Or the dying one-day blooming Xmas.
No-one knows what I'm on about here.

And the flares in his eyes were shining
like the stars above his bedroom ceiling.

And a broth to a sloth comes a modern,
and a finger snaps and there's no sudden,
Just looks at you coldly, and so off
and he won't mind a warm/cold coffin.

What's specific,
and anachronistic
doesn't belong,
in my song,
though the influence
is so, so long.

Wisdom is our aged,
until the brains smack,
and becomes so soft,
like junkies in the cold
scoring with no luck.

There's this street,
that still be-littles,
A little sweet corner
once of child-hood feat,
and the visions,
scatters little marbles
and waffles chocolatey
contrasts & hide illusions.

You can put my scars in boxes,
but in moves this family
and of course their children
will open me up like toys,
undiscovered like tombs,
in dusty old rooms.

Prettily are the saintly,
innocent to the history
of such an old mansion,
red with such suspicion.

Demons are not in hi-ways,
they belong in the temples
of pre-existing and our days
Only God helps them trembling.

Too many wraiths exist,
in such historic buildings,
They need to be bull-dozed
not kept like a museum.

You lit me up when dried like sardines
and I forgot and hopped it completely
There's this ocean where I forget,
a beaming and the cruelty,
And a smashing of my mind,
against sadistic of the rocks.
I bled to death and became alive.

When moons and co-ordination fakes
a cookie that pretends to have been baked
So cold is a lake in the summertime
Why so warm in the Winter-land?
I do not know.
All I know is when you swim
in such a snuggly of an ocean,
you'll trust the sting-rays,
until they'll zap you shockingly.

What's pretentiously
is often socio-pathic

What began is a life-time ago,
and when we die, it all re-starts,
and I bet this is what you didn't know.

We worry about this current life,
not knowing we live thousands
This one has no children or wife
& yet it serves no brevity

What stains and what is beautiful,
Its one we live or the other,
I'm either or so in love in full
I'm either your sister or your brother
and yet I'm ugly or eyes upon.
and the cars will pay their toll.

No point in suiciding,
it doesn't even matter,
Your next life,
may be so wonderful,
or it could be worse.
Best to live with regrets
and make the most of it.

I can't leave it a four-teen,
as its a number unlucky
though alcohol intoxication
has escaped my driven,
and has forwarded over me.
So I will write my 14th poem
after a bottle of high end gin
and a few milks & Baileys,  
to help me sleep,
So this is my 15th.
**** it, I'm going to bed.

They don't exist until they do.
There was the haunted mirror
of my lady who I loved,
and we shared a bed,
in this gothic old house.

I watched her comb her hair
and move her silkily soft arms.
But the demon on the other side,
could not mimic the movements,
of my angel but tried in vain.

It was a pathetic attempt
to claim her soul,
and we bailed out of there
and smashed the glass
into a thousand little shards.

frozen pea pack on my forehead,
won't ease the migraine I have,
of losing a lady of all the colours
and the two shades of opposites,
which come together as one.
Nothing ever happens in my mid-age
but memories of an old rocking chair
that still sits in a lonely white-filled attic.

How does being the best matter,
when you're so filled with loneliness
and the marbles that kiss shatter
and up-flies a chance of glassy bless

Mother  (1)

Bless this portrait as it calms me,
as my demonic form can wonder,
why they bullied and teased
until you're at my side.
Now, I only have dreams
that have long stopped
to bring me tears,
Years after your heart stopped.

All I conceal is the good and the bad,
massive explosions before we may fly,
black swans cannot take to the skies
and the white swans in their harmony
are just reminiscing before skies went dark.

The heavens won't spoil the skies,
unlike the hell that boils beneath us,
and unwrapped is the spoil of the prize
and head-on we walk into a bus.

I praise but could never had wished her
and her godly eyes and flesh perfection
is dreamy of a tanned and wonder colour
as my chest is like an athlete running.

I wish I could see her inner spirit,
and how she can pull back the tides
of those dreaming so desperately,
to corrupt the shores open so wide.

The beautiful up on black & white screen,
dress flies up and the world shall acclaim
Controversy follows as it's seen,
troubled minds come to deal with shame.
as lust has unleased as its been,
in our minds blackened for the decades
She was exploited by evil of man's way
and faded away from pristine.

I don't desire results,
just the small movements,
of my father's mouth,
as you see with elderly,
but with eyes not discarded
of shame and grunt-ful
but with a sparkle,
of pride and proud-ness.
If only for the time,
it takes for a flame
of a lit match
to burn out,
on a still day.

Lets go dancing in the moonlight of  the sky
take in all the sights and cosmic sounds,
What's beneath as the blast hits the Earth,
is now over to us dear.

Oh, we could fly to the moon for crater scones
and to the Mars for some red hot volcanic pleasures,
Emerge down to where Jupiter's lost its moon.
Oh, we could fly around like the Angels
lucky to be in heaven......

"I was sitting on the bleacher staring at the speaker
Reading his lips but I could not understand
So I opened up my ears and clearly I could hear
This detailed story all about a grain of sand"

"I'm in love with someone who's as pretty as a flower
Her life gives me power so i'm buying her a ring
She makes hats with her hands
She is such an artist
I'm her biggest fan and I'm teaching her to sing"

Ben Kweller - On My Way.

https://www.bing.com/videos/riverview/relatedvideo?q=ben+kweller+on+my+way&mid=3F2FDADBF42B1D56FE603F2FDADBF42B1D56FE60&FORM=VIRE&ajaxhist=0&ajaxserp=0

The secret to writing to music is to pick a song that has the right beat. Fast songs = rap. Love/pain songs, pick a song of a slow or moderate beat and separate yourself from the actual Lyrics and focus on the beat of the Lyrics/music which will be in time with each other. Its hard to evade the influence of the Lyrics but you will get to grasps with it, eventually.

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There's this pretty little thing
with  a burst of Rosey cheeks,
Angelic in the light and whispers in the dark,
Fluttering bird as she sings
graceful slow flow of fleets,
and the white roses in my local Park.

Ted.

Silently the leaves,
scatter in breezes,
and the cowardly,
try to sleep.
I'm alone,

Wisdom of creases,
as no co-existence,
Predators and prey,
peacefully belong?

The prescient shall poison,
apple core blackened
and eyes once brown,
in pitfalls that drown,

Green, splashes in the sea,
transparently wavery,
and with no fierce-ful rivalry
and peace I wish off my leash
Just let me go and make a wish
back in time as the child takes time,
to blow out and the smoke rises up,
and we end the day with little cups.

A bundle of contradictions,
so we look forward to birthdays.

The only thing I find comforting,
is the constant of rain and hopefully
the little tap upon windows of hail.
It reminds me, I will be alive again.

Its considered a lie
when un-able
to look another
in the eye.
Unless its shame
that the tide roars in
of a contrast of
black and white
that your father decrees
is a crime,
upon narrow-minded
perspective,
when two bellies collide.
Two shades meant
for each other.

What's written,
isn't smitten,
with love as
a timely bus,
and the lust,
is sitting,
on an eye,
of denial,
like a flannel,
in the bath-room.

What's my beef,
its the golden reef,
of all this pretending
how does it help the kids?
Their so and of Loneliness,
"Hey, you're one tough kid."

It doesn't pass the swings,
wishing for a friendly voice,
but the nearby trains
and the subtle of the rain,
Its denial and impressionist
and yet she is your exploitative

Undeniably, she stands and falls,
like a crumbling of no tall,
and none of this is sincerely
like a fake of considering them.

What once stood,
is killing them.
And the media
is killing them,
The internet
Is killing them
Pretenders
are killing them.

I stand before the wolves and the creeps
and I declare myself unable to weep,
No, I won't be a victim and exploitative
and swaying as storms amongst the fleet.

I can make just one promise,
I'll never feel so guilty,
for others' trespassing sins
I can only swear on this,
but ****** are the children,
that need our protection.
History of abuse of this,
cannot excuse repeatedly
or even for one second.

Dusty of window fly protection,
keeps out the mosquitos
after my blood and left of me,
and yet they bring on the *******,
of what's left
of the shallows that are breathing,
the flowing of red fountain bleeding.
Black marks on sheets of unrest resting
carpet's ***** as my mind can be,
showers and walks back into black,
my feet will never be clean like Jesus's.

I am but the demon God brought
into a dying and corrupted world.
My aim is to ******* destroy it
so we can all be free of him...

I need to uproot that tree,
the weeds are burning fire,
and there's this belief,
and barbed red cold wire.

And passion's aghast the wall,
whose fist is fighting for,
and bricks are smashed
in like wild demolition.

And a grain is worthy,
of only one poured glass,
and I bet its filthy
unlike this lovely lass.

Demons are salty spice,
contains shaky rice,
a pack of mi goreng
eases pain of dark sing.

A lover lies in my bed,
savoury and the wine,
like freshly baked bread
and a scent so fine.

What's a fling
presented ring
storms bring,
An  incisal
tooth ache,
A reprisal?
Doors opening
and closing
blue and grey,
of the dying
Hospitalized,
A granting wish?
Sobs and ashes
and comes death,
and forgetting,
you existed,
except brief thoughts
of a fish caught,
in this scheme,
Never asked for this.