Fields of green now turned red,
black & grey,the places we used
to play,now the fields of green
only in patches the green has
gone away.

We used to play in the long
tall grass, in the trees I would
stay for hours each day. But
then the trees fell one at a time
like dominos till on the floor
was dry wood and leaves that died.

Then the grass had its turn,
torn up family to wild life no
more, replaced by brick mortar
and wood, once the trees we
played in now no more.

Are innocent play time gone
for ever frozen in brick and
stone, the long grass that
tickled are feet and faces,
now trimmed and square
now owned by others who
call it home.

⠀
             ⠀
               ⠀            you
                   have bright eyes
                              and
                    lips that spelled
                       d i s a s t e r

                             -BZQ

⠀
              
⠀             i thought blue eyes
           were the most beautiful.
             then i saw your brown.
              and let me gladly say
            your eyes are like oceans
               and i want to drown

                            -BZQ

The hands of time a guillotine
on my life, counting down my
limited existence, in seconds
counting down from birth to
that second my life ends.

As it comes down ending those
moments I called my life, time
never counts up it always counts
down on everything in life.

The clock ticks away, never waiting
it continues to move on, like a
guillotine the hands come shapely
down, then a last breath as time
ends my life.

The hands of time will come down
on all, from the smallest to the
largest things in life. Live what
little time you have, before the
guillotine comes to collect, when
there is only seconds left of this life.

The world talks in whispers, but
to loud for me, I cant catch a
breath I need to breath, whispers
deafen me.

I wish for silence in a world of
noise, words pierce me like knifes
cutting at me I feel like I'm going
out of my mind.

I can hear you from here, thoughts
shout out louder then your mouth
speaking words.

I wish for silence, to loud is the
world around me, why does every
thing have to vibrate through my
mind. An echo chamber for the world
around, I just wish for a world
of quiet thoughts within.

Why do I have to be like you
a copy, I don't wish to be, I'm
dragged down in your image
I want to be myself not a copy
of you or others I want to be
myself not you.

They look with disappoint, of
who they think I am, thinking
I'm you.

A copy of a life not my own, a
mirror image of two, who want
to be themselves. To be free,
not labelled as the other independence
they want, individuality to walk
there own path not labelled like
either or one just me.

We are stars in the sky, for each
shining beacon is a spirit up high.
Gleaming with the purity, now it
has left its mortal coil behind, for
if you ever lose that one close or
some one known, they are still
watching you from up high.

They are seeding the skies to light
the earth from above, never moving
guiding those below with there eternal
love.

They illuminate the skies, so we are
never in darkness, that there will
always be a light. To show those who
are mourning that there spirit is looking
down shimmering in the heavens.

For no one is really lost, they are just
on a journey in the heavens, and will
always shine there love for you from
above. If ever in doubt look to the sky
and see that one twinkle that is them
shining there love.

A flasher opens
his trench coat,
the ladies laugh
out loud,
HOW SMALL IS THAT
Is it that  COLD
the ladies are
heard shouting
out, the flasher
embarrassed sulks
away, with his belittled
ego and his tiny
mushroom under
his rain coat, never
was he seen again.

My fingers caress your body
like a paint brush, I paint each
part slowly to know the points
which are the sensitive to my
brush on your canvas skin.

My lips are the red, they touch
your canvas slowly, as I move
over it goose bumps and moans
as sensitive parts are touched
skin to lips the canvas reacts.

I dip my fingers in to your awaiting
paint box, your ecstasy as my
brushes slowly dip in and out,
I dip once more and lick the
tips a taste of perfection now
painted on my lips.

You are my canvas of sin, I will
paint pleasure on your skin, my
fine brushes are lips as they
caress the canvas and my fingers
are the the hard brush strokes
against your flesh as they dip in
around your paint box my fingers
tasted your pleasure within.

You are my naked canvas, that I
will turn in to my master piece of
pleasure, skin to skin are paints
will mix and pleasure is our brush
stokes on each others skin.

Your loving smile
melts the pains of
the day away...

The difference
three little words
can make.

What are yours?