I'm invisible, forgotten, a memory in someone's head
I want to be remembered, lauded, loved
But you put paid to that.
I wonder how you sleep, dreamless, more likely
How do you sleep like an innocent? Teach me.

If I shouted would you hear me?
If I hurt you would you feel me?
If I threw a glass at you would you see me?
If I blew softly in your face would you get cold?
If I kissed you deeply would you ******* rotting corpse?

Is my shadow my soul?
Or is my soul my shadow?
Both come with me.
Why would they be separate?
Can my soul live also in my shadow?
Can my shadow hide my soul?
Shadow in the sun, indicates fun.
Shadows in the dark always give rise to fright.
Is my shadow the duality of my soul?
My inner struggle with bad and good?

A shadow is where direct light cannot reach due to
obstruction by an object.
This I know.
Is the obstruction my soul?
The soul, in many religious, philosophical, psychological,
and mythological traditions, is the incorporeal and,
the immortal essence of a person or living thing.
So what is the shadow?
The dark part of our souls?
Or, as many would have it a scientific result.
Soul = object of spirituality
Shadow= result of science

The ancient Greeks believed air, as opposed to solid earth, to be incorporeal.
Ancient Persians believed fire to be incorporeal in that every soul was said to be produced from it.
We humans are mostly water.
We humans live on earth.
Each of the four elements manifests in us.
Our shadows and souls must therefore,
relate to human activity on the principle of "as above, so below"
My shadow and soul are me

I gave you my heart
You gave me an **STD

Hazardous fire, purifier of all that is unclean.
Clean me. Purge my soul in a fire so hot there is no pain.
Blaze in me, like he once blazed in me.
Fire symbolic of Hell, yet contradictory, the symbol
of purification.
I want a bonfire, a conflagration of flames, so large it
obliterates me, my name, my deeds.
Paper, sticks, books, wood, lighter fuel, all in readiness.
I need, NO, desire, the soothing, licking, crackling heat.
I felt heat once before, a desirous heat that bore into my core.
He's gone, I'm cold.
Time now to fan these flames that lustfully lick at my bedroom door.

Traffic speeds past
People go slow.
Days are long
Nights are short.
Silence is deep
People are shallow.
Love is a need
Like water and air.
Food interrupts
A nice interruption.
Dolls for girls
Guns for boys.
Boys now men
Girls now mothers.
A Mothers tears flow faster than traffic
For the boy with a plastic gun, now a dead man,
a dead soldier.

Glass of red in hand, she watches the rain.
The pane of glass the only barrier between her and thunder.
Thinking whilst drinking should not be undertaken at any costs.
How old is too old?
Why does the thunder clap rather than sing?
Slowly she turns away from the window, sets the glass down
and turns the wheelchair toward the bedroom.
Still the storm rages, the thunder claps, and her heart sings
Q:How old is too old? : Answer: right now
The bottle of tablets falls to the floor, ironically timed with a thunderclap.

Its been written in the stars that I will be
Starstruck by your personality, and your
clenched fists
Supergiant of manliness that strikes soft
flesh, sparks bruises, causes pain.
Leave, people say, but I can't, love is a giant supernova.
Sparse is the love for me, infinite is the universe.
The stars I see now are not of distant galaxies though,
but rather the start of a concussion