What if life was played in fast forward?
Would you look more, out the window?
See the buildings, the missing trees?
The colors changed, painted in steel?
Focus on folds, beneath your cheeks?
Spend time with the once, called lonely?

What if life was played in reverse?
Would you redo things, differently?
Experience reality?
Change your lack of identity?
Free your mind of not feeling free?
Rethink responsibilities?

What if life was paused?
Would you be doing, what you are doing right now?
What is the first thing that comes to mind?
What about the colors on your brush?
Do you think that they are enough?
Are you still on the right track?

What if life had to be lonely?
Would you use your voice to speak?
Is there a reason to listen?
What rules would you want to create?
Would you understand heartbreak?
Would you bother to hit replay?

Either way we all reach the end.
But we write separate screenplays.
Decide our fate and how we blend.
And how we fast forward our days.

Hopefully we are not the same.
Get to use our voice and listen.
To lose ourselves would be a shame.
Or to move forward, not driven.

Remember, your life is in play.
And should not be thrown away.

I write what I see,
Because I am blind.
I write what I hear,
But I am deaf.
I write what I feel,
But paralyzed.
I write what I smell,
In my burnt nose.
I write what I taste,
The only sense left,
And thank the day,
Because it can be worse.

The wound
So deeply bitten
It left but mangled flesh,
Young God
Picked apart
So savagely under the
weight of love.

Hung on hooks!
Hung on hooks!
A heart
With nothing left.
Remove
The offal
Without a motive,
Sitting in my chest.
Chase the soul out
from its
Ugly cage,
**** the light
That lived inside.
Don't look for me
Anymore,
Just let them know
I tried.

she opens her soft arms
The glowing light
Shown to the world

A frail shell
Open at last
As she reveals
Her smallest secrets

Allowing her sweet beauty
To flow through
Untampered with
By her beautiful protective arms

She is natures greatest beauty

the continental way is tighter, grip

the thread, there will be no loopy

stitches, no more.

this is the way to speak, gentle, no

inuendos, benny hill or carry on films.



nothing wrong with none of that, yet

carrying on your own way is honest.



the knitting will be neater now, the

patterns more selective, we are



wool gatherers.



sbm.

Hopes and dreams too big to contain in a body and mind so torn and broken.

You're a constellation of stars
The only constellation of stars
In my sky.