I am at a loss for words.
Why do I feel like a corpse
Day in, day out?
Today I am famished.
Not with a hunger to be satiated with thought
But with a candid urgency
And a hankering for vengeance.
I boil, I seeth.
I teeter on the brink.
I kiss with tongue
And spit out my entrails.
They say your ******* is just the end of your mouth,
But that's common sense.
Have you ever felt terror strike and shine
All down your spine?
Have you ever been unable to breathe?

Sometimes when it's cold outside
And you blow cigarette smoke from your mouth
You can't tell where the smoke ends
And your chilled breath begins.
This is what it's like to completely lose yourself.
Where do I begin and, more importantly,
Where do I end?

Am I just smoke on the end of your cigarette?
Or am I the glowing ember?

Smile
okay
a real one
sorry
about what?
this is the best I can do

what happened to the happy girl
I honestly don't know
why are you always so distant
I think
about what?
everything
what is wrong with you
I don't know...

Be happy
okay
actually happy
sorry
about what?
*this is the best I can do

He bravely went and asked her to dance,
A blush lightened up her face.
He held out his hand to lead her out,
His heart quickened in pace.

The music played a slow waltz,
He kept to the rhythm in time.
His thoughts ran away with him,
If only she was really mine.

As the music slowly halted,
He showed her back to her seat.
The thought swam around her head,
Oh my god! how sweet.

His pace quickened as he walked away,
His stature now elevated and tall.
Asking the teacher to dance with him,
Is no bother at all.

His mates all started cheering,
His triumph is now complete.
He is so darned relieved,
He didn't have two left feet.

Sheila
19/11/14

Her name was Paris, *** she never had been.
Tattooed wings of an angel, like she never had sinned.
Up and down the pole, the place reeks of Aspen and gin.
But she cant help her love of dollars, so shes keeping the grin.

Her and I, are more similar than different.

she undresses on the stage,
I undress with my soul.
she moves her body to the music,
I move the pen with the flow.

We both ain't getting rich of it ,
But the stage is like a rhythm its hard to stay off...


-afj