contumacious imagery,

amorous intensity,

prostitution of the heart,

beating off the chart.

a brush of fingertips,

aching for the whisper of lips,

quicksand stare,

vulnerable and bare.

delicate pusillanimity,

accenting my pulmonary timidity

,hemorrhage of thought,

words of devotion wrought.

closure to desperation,

surrendering upon inclination,

innocence tainted by pain,

tears cleverly disguised as rain.

intoxicating appetite for sensation,

hesitation forcing isolation,

my attatchment never satiated,

my soul emaciated.

jilted girl am i,

you are the apple of my eye,

with you i am besot,

,my adoration not forgot.

there once was a peasant

who would come to walk a long road

on his way he took a rest settled down

he pulled an apple from his knapsack

and ate of its fruit

when finished he left only a core

and tossed it to the ground

he quickly commenced upon his way...

with what was left of itself

the apple bore life to the two tiny seeds left within

they sprouted and took root

and grew into two magnificent trees

they needn't be tended by the peasant

his new life made little matter to these them

the last efforts of that apple

gave rise to something great

god and mother earth tended these new trees

made their limbs sturdy no storm could bend them

they grew strong...

rushing to sew new oats

the peasant was quick to fail

the crops would yield no good unto him

the peasant would die hungry

and never taste of their success

this is what we get for being careless

casting off what we pay little mind to

but we all pay the price

some of us

pay dearly

woke up this morning seeing clips



stale taste of *** on my lips



just a few more ***** sips



listening to the lines and scripts



trying to remember the feel of his hips



exploring the swells and dips



reliving the sin feels like whips



his eyes on me as he watched me strip



each layer of clothing slips



and with each ****** my breath rips



from my lungs with a heartbeat, slips,



white knuckled headboard grips



in the sweat passion drips



look around desperate the room tips



the needle on the record skips



i'm losing the game you have my chips



bottoming out starting to trip



alas,



pretty boys sink ships

i want to write
but alas not tonight
for i strain and fight
words deprived of flight
feel it an act of spite
for i wondered if you were alright
darkness now too bright
turn out the light
goodnight
>.<

there's one crow left

this side of the ******

i'm the child with no socks and shoes

dancing delirious in a field of sunflowers

spinning in an industrial jungle

my arms wrapped around yours

like my hands on the monkey bars

the Indian magic wont heal this heart

can i drown in Valerian?

drunk on the missed sleep

your lips move at night

they spin tales of things long since past

i am the crow

singular

lonely

my broken oil drunk wings wont flap

you're crushing me

god the memories make me want to pull out my hair

the scars on your arm

speak volumes

i wish i could spin new ones

along my flesh

please my dear

lets not drag this out

lynch me quick

and i'll be the eternal child

in your grasp forever more

a secret romance

hidden in the back of my mind

deep in montauk...

god bless you my dear