The last man alive
raised his gun
and emptied it
into the sun
as it sank
out of sight
left alone
in the night
he couldn't decide
what he'd won.

A frangipani candle,
Sandalwood perfume
The shimmer of the shadows,
That light up the room

A hard covered book
With a silver inscription,
Warm jasmine tea,
Baklava from the kitchen

Soft red lipstick
And a robe of white silk
Dark lash rimmed eyes,
A bath of rose petals, floating in milk

Sweet drifting music
From the balmy outside,
The chirping of cicadas
And the whisper of the tide

Gentle gold jewellery
Which can carry you away
A feather pillow on the wooden floor,
The start
                          To the end
                                                       Of the day

Others have tried to please me,
They failed, because, deep down
They were trying to please themselves.

You don't try.
You just do.

Before you, I fed on happiness scraps.
They tasted good
but I was starving,
I gobbled up and pleaded; give me more,
I tried to be deserving.

But you and I...We don't need to give, or take, or bargain,
Ever-friend, always-love,
We are happy just to hold each others hopes, and hearts, and secret dreams.
There are no conditions, no expectations
Our lives are both complex and impossible, simple and limitless.

I will pour myself into you, fill the aching places of need
You will never, ever let me beg, or cringe, or weep, or plead.

I can smell him on my sheets
      I can taste him in my dreams
             I can still feel every inch where he's touched me
I hear his laughter echoing in the walls
             I can still see him in all these pictures I saved for
           memories

But this bed is bare
My dream's a nightmare
       I can't hear
             His laughter
       He's not near
             Enough to touch
My eyes are blinded by tears
He's killed my senses,  
      I'm no longer aware

Everything around me,  slowly fading away
His face, his scent, his laughter,  his touch
Maybe I'll just pop a few pills and sleep away the day
At least he's in my nightmares, the pain of reality is too much

I have no soul

I have been cored harshly like apples ready to be sauced

The only things in my life I willed to keep were stolen away

Too afraid to do it myself could Kevorkian help me out?

Oddly, after all the talking I've done, I've no fight left

Just tears of self-pity

Two innocent lives will relive the cycle of my life

Due to the meddling of a horrible girl

Too obsessed with her own gain to realize their loss

If there were a God, He would strike her dead

If I were God...

Those things are better left unsaid.

He has the acumen to charm
His words don’t reveal his mind
With your emotions he plays with skill
He is a charmer deft in his art!

He preaches what he doesn’t practice
His craft hides from you his real face
In his life he has never given peace
Never brought one soul happiness!

His art keeps the audience enthralled
His songs make the listeners sway wild
But in him is a devil installed
He is farthest from innocence of a child!

What he shows to you is the husk
You never get to see the real face
A charmer his art is a mask
In life he **** cares goodness!

Simple yet delicate findings come to mirror my emotions (m)


I have half a notion to hide from them, like I do my reflection (n)


The coarse expectations from peers leave me drowning (m)


And I know I can't go around allowing them to control me (n)

If I walk the path that isn't made for me then there is no light that dwells in the dim tunnel


and the trouble is ,my tunnel is supposed to end with you, You're supposed to be the light that shines on me and right on through . I'll be the prism of colors you yearn for when depression hovers over you

Just a Vegas city boy

And a Kansas city girl

Sometimes they are never home

And Sometimes it makes me feel like an unopened expired bag of M&N;'s

There is a forest called Truth around the corner. I go in search for dialogue. So many perspectives there are to offer. One comes back more alive in their concept of God.
I feel a lightness in the falling leaves, stirs within me a freedom and acceptance of dying. Many creatures shuffle amongst the brush, skyward eyes enjoy the critters busy climbing. Up the Tree trunk towers, along the arm~like branches, up and down collecting food in preparation for the season called Winter. So many intricate sounds joined together of varied pitch, tone and timber make for lively conversation. Philosophies smooth ******* mates for various creations of Thought to incubate my ever expanding Understanding, the flowered fruit of Reason.