Glorified pebbles
lie mingled
with tainted rocks
that met blood and flesh
of both tragedy
and a natural tide
that gilded the shore with starfish
and in the ghastly before
laced it with metal
stones
that were cloned and pressed into tubes
and riddled over
the worn shore beach
as the daylight aided
the mixture of
sweat
and
salt-water
before the now
when it gently warms
the arrival of those forgetting
and the ghosts of those remembered.

I've thoughts about the Swallows
and laments for my own
I've ears for tales
from sailor boys
who got to bring them home

The majesty of the thralling blue
entices me so vastly
but it's a land of sea I've never knew
Gaze o're the port
Await the crew
Pretend that ship come sailin' in
holds my own tattoos

But years ago I heard the news
of that return
that wasn't coming
The whales and waves
had 'come the graves
the Locker claimed
eight rocker'

But with my grief I felt not fear
though the depths
gulped my dear
And I've still the wish
of crossing tides
but by superstition
of the Hearty Folk
who prowl the shores
I shall abide!

And the legend uses the Swallow
one to depart
one on return
but I'd fall short
to qualify
for the journey coming home

With whopper tales I fell in love
That love took the rest
such is the Sea
I'll keep to the ground
easy to be found
though still dreamin' of
sailing free

But,

I.

can't.

ever.

simply put
my boys are dead
There's none to wait for me.

I've been distorted by a fleeting monster
that lingers wrapped between my legs
These sheets offer comfort at the slightest glance
But give them a thorough look
and you're entranced by the most disturbingly beautiful reflection
I can see
And what I see is the claws that rip into a face
I couldn't label as my own
Because from the sinking nails, all I feel is a gentle stroke

But the voices!
Assuredly are not mine-
I do not remember creating the sounds
So the dreams that speak
Must be only bed creaks
Forget that I'm lying on the ground

But frantic shivers have passed
I do not doubt my own mouth
Because the silence
cried out
"who's hurting me?"

but why should I answer
It's time to sleep
Pleasantly
with eyes shut tight
it blocks all sight
of the monster's creep

The pulsation of my heart as it flies across the keyboard
has broken the realm of reasonable
and the verdict for this insanity
is a rung bell
Let the open-ended battle
rake in my oppression until I'm begging
but my blood pumping-now gushing shall bring about
the enlightenment:
only the strongest survive the lies, and the cries
only add to their excitement

I've situated swell here, wrought wells near of a fear so ghastly
there's more salt than water
and somehow it's hotter than the older stories
of Hell in it's glories
with rivers for sinkers
run red from the clinkers
The fragile burn in my vile.

Then one little girl
up-heaved my determination
with a situation that left me speechless
An ice ripped my fire with the touch of those fingers
and hand in hand I watched her stand
and I couldn't see through
that colour blue
unknown to me
was the land of sea

I stayed there blind, unaware of wickedness
let alone the wrongs of my own
But she, in wiser, stood up to the ignorance
and bravely took an oath

"I am the strongest
You are the weakest
But I will save us both"

Your thoughts circle round my head,instead of the words heard,there's an
incredible song that soothes as I tread the waves of my mind
I'm in kind with my dreams,seems that streams of comfort nestle
me safe from dread at the thought that I ought
to've brought you with me
but lately,
the safety of your arms,when i can't hear you speak doesn't wreak
as much havoc as before,cause the core,you're being
I've been seeing in my thoughts,my seams-you've broken in between,
because in the lack of noise, your voice, rings out, o're the others
and before they infect,you're yelling
in the silence:
I'm here to protect.

I can break it down -
from paranormal
to spectral
because in ghosts
there lingers the attachment
of a life-timed
unfortunate, coincidental
contact
betwixt those two girls
who read each other
like a book
in my Grade 12 English classroom

strangers
with a connected tension
cut in half -
now the remnants of one
haunts the other
because of a lost goodbye
that licks her in her sleep
creating a wet surface
waiting for tears
but she's not yet torn
she's stuck in two
with dry eyes
and Gabrielle pleads "let me free"
but there's no sound
in the nighttime quiet
and Cassie is soothed
by the silence

Wind, weather, and gain
Closure, vision, pain
Blood, intrusion, rain

All of them

Collect to connect
for intersecting
that leads to dissecting
of those thought provoking situations
that wind up choking
their creations

And God! I can't stand it


    So let me expand
Let you understand

We have been gifted with elements
and our elemental understanding is that the basics are not good
not enough
not for us

Not when we have pried open vaults that are not our own -
to follow a nightmare
illusioned as a dream with wings

but we loosened the seams
and now we sing
of a broken thing; the noise
doesn't quite drown the screams

   And we're losing
On this planet

! And the broken, they were born
In view of world still torn, forlorn
They've met scorn
as intrusive bodies situate themselves in a momentum
that doesn't require their skills
And the monster roams free
as the people cry "help"
in this place of mine
because they see

The response is a little too late.
We let the quiet soothe
And don't have to choose
When the rain chains their fate
and washes away
the entire State




I've been told: "You're gifts and talents are enough"
But it's never enough
and tear drops will roll

I'm begging for love to brush this soul
and sometimes I wonder who's in control

*And I panic

It was many days
then moons
triple the bottles
turning to months
solstices passed
3 sweethearts later
still drowning
because he needed her

but you don't unearth the hollow ground
the only entrance
is to follow down

Haunting and longing
entangle my arms
limbs stretching so far
but they don't even match my height

We might reach for stars
but you
you could obtain cosmos

It's wrong, too strenuous
Maybe I can
Moreover do i want to?
No. no no no

I'm gasping
Simple is what I dream about

Haa   Hah

I love my dreams
perhaps because they are unobtainable
and no matter how often
You can, you will!
I can/andwill not

But tonight these sheets are too bright
I see them gleam in my darkness
It crawls beneath me

"Look at me! Your blank canvas!
      -    paint the world."

I let darkness devour me.
This is my apocalypse of shadows.

She could have been so much more
what drove her to madness
nobody comes back from an unbalance
such as hers: pitch and shimmer

This is my dream
I've settled in satisfaction
and I adore it all
I cannot recall a time I felt more alive.

Haa    Hah   Hah

...I cannot recall daylight

hmm? what importance does...

Shhhhh, whisper my shadows
*come deeper.

He wasn't particularly special,
certainly not tough to follow
but I only knew his nickname
and they called him "Nowhere Boy"

I knew too much about him
in the form of knowing little
and I quite considered all of it
humdrum scuttlebutt

Some I knew was feeble
such as: this boy did not have dreams
simply for the reason that
he never voiced imaginings

This oddity spread as wildfire
and the cacophony collaborated
to grant a title fitting; the beginning
of that Nowhere Boy

All thought it preposterous
that he'd never had an outing,
none with friends, none to see the world
in place of content, they termed him wilting

Minus
concrete evidence
of lacking 'travellers feet'
they crossed out home
as a place to greet
and saw it fit
that he was Nowhere Boy

Unknown was the range,
the contours of his mind
There was no knowledge
of his intelligence
He was not outstanding,
but he never struggled
He was not beauty
nor unsightly

People'd add these up
and regard the bar -
that would conclude
he wasn't going far
hence his name
his claim to fame:
as that
Nowhere Boy

His kindness never reached helpful
His respect was only for elders
In return, peers made a description
that showed his lack of initiative

He was known as
Nowhere Boy
in that
He had gone nowhere yet

It scares me when someone says
It's always darkest before the dawn
Then isn't it also
Brightest before the night

Also the phrase
That mightn't measure up:
It gets better
What if better isn't good enough?

I lose willpower with the cry
"You can do it!"
Over half of the time
You most definitely cannot

Dear goodness, I don't like the phrase
Kick back and relax
It sounds as if someone has gone somewhere
While all I recall is successfully breathing

And it pains me to hear
Everybody starts as a beginner
How come I'm the black sheep
Who stays on beginner level

I dislike the word sure-fire
Perhaps it means you will succeed
But I lean more towards
Certainly-burning in a pit of flames

Oh, I detest when people give the advice
One step at a time
That's very limiting
If I follow those words

I also don't care for the motto
Take a leap of faith
It's not the greatest go-to
When there's a monster waiting to catch you

To top it all, a Lion King song frightens the bejeebers out of me
"Can you feel the love tonight. It is where we are."
If there is no We can I feel it?
And I know it's sung between lovers, but what if it's me and a stranger?

Ah, Macbeth, has told us
"To be or not to be? That is the question."
Too many souls ponder this
It should not be a question- just be

**** it all, I can't handle to think
Love is blind
If that happens to be true
I'm sure I'll send love where it's not needed

And worst of all I hate the lie we tell:
I can't survive without you
Then how on earth were we living in the past?
And perhaps then, the big question to be:
Can I go back?

I looked into his earnest eyes
he was speaking from his heart
and he said he'd wait for me
'til marriage do Us start

But I was scared
and I was young
And I told myself
Don't call it love

Each morning Mama'd kiss my cheek
and ask me right away
when I'd find another boy
to rock my world each day

Cause Mama was scared
that first love's too tough
And the words she'd say to me:
Baby, don't call it love

My best friend was sullen
and often teased
of being number two
of the ones in love with me

Sometimes he'd admit
that he thought he wasn't good enough
and he'd whisper in my ear
Please, don't call it love

This made me real confused
'cause the three
were my supporters
but just this time
I couldn't feel
the wings pushing my forward

And one time
I timed it so I broke his trust
'cause he listened as I mumbled
"I don't call it love"

I turned around
but he'd already moved
and I heard the fan
in the washroom
but it couldn't block out
the noise
of his voice
He was sobbing
Hearts were

b
    r
      e
         a
            k
               i
                 n
                    g

Next time we met
he held me in his arms
and avoided my eyes
but spoke from his heart
and his voice shook
when he said
"til marriage do us start"

Rocks and trees
are no match for bees
they are too similar
there is no controversy
neither is worthy of the other
                  why...?

the world needs spray
from the crashing waves
to pound against the rocks
and warn off the flocks
of birds battling survival
               are the birds always so reckless?

everything holds danger
to bring out the braver-
for the souls who are lost
too afraid of the cost
but the gravity
of depravity
is unbreakable
                but you've said the chains are heavy, not tight...?

then, unbearable
but that's why there is two
so while one holds the weight
the other regenerates
but neither has the strength to move along
and this goes on
                 but there must be a loop in every cycle?

that's the struggle
but why rise up
when the sky is black
and just that
             can't they see the stars?

aye, but those lights
are part of the night
that never reaches daybreak
in the stillness of late
                       then later, they will resurface?

                                                    ­I stare long and hard at her.
                                                    So simple and innocent
                                                    and persistent
                                                    
 ­                                            She's reached the age of twelve
                                             and the universe is her limit
                                             and she dives in with suggestions
                                             to questions
                                             that I have faced
                                             and crushed
                                             while my reasoning
                                             has imprisoned me

Alright, your turn
I can't answer that last one
I'm still sunk under
these waters

Let's see
if you can bring clarity

                                                        ­   Normally, my pessimistic side
                                                           would shoot down positivity
                                                      ­     and I don't believe
                                                         ­  that she could know
                                                           the words to break my cold

Well, my words aren't as big
but I think simplicity
is the path towards
enlightening
                                           ­     ~giggles/chuckles~
                                                ~our eyes meet~
                                                 Reeeaaallllly?

Yeess, but you've got it wrong
right from the kickoff
so I'll have to start
with rocks

Rocks are the bottom
so trees will grow on
and bees feel safe
'cause the trees are strong
and this composite
of opposite
makes it worth
having both

and the spray of the waves
leaves intervals
so the gulls
can find hide-holes
in the cliffs
while awaiting the fish
see? - survival
...of the fishest

                                                      A­s I wait out her cackle-fest  
                                                      I am uncomfortable
                                                   ­   the simplistic
                                                      ­seems realistic
                                                      w­hich means I was only pessimistic...

And certainly the danger
makes people braver
but it can't be so unbreakable
if you think hard
there can't be such a high cost -
if people are braver
'cause then the danger
just isn't as dangerous

and if there are two people in chains
don't they stand side by side?
i'm sure if you do the math
upholding each other
makes each one strong
and the time they withstand
is twice as long

and if struggling
seems hopeless
when you can't see the sun
can't you feel grateful
that night
hides the demons

eyes can see
only angels fly
with wings that shine
in a darkened sky
                                                                ­                  My brain is scattered
                                                       ­                           as my thoughts are rattled
                                                         ­                         because right now
                                                                ­                  my shadows seem so friendly

It's not hard to resurface
if you know this
and I promise
your scars will heal
because time is the boss
and love is the cost -
and the easiest to pay
'cause each day
it regenerates
until it's all okay

                                                          ­                          I smile at her ending
                                                          ­                          maybe simple, but what I wanted
                                                          ­                          and as she traces the scars on my wrists
                                                          ­                          i'm thinking golly goodness
                                                        ­                            I am a vast pit of empty knowledge
                                                       ­                             I wonder how long she's listened to me
                                                              ­                      and how long she's known I's wrong
                                                           ­                         and I ponder what I know from me

Okay, that seems believable
Ah, crap, you can say it
or, I suppose I should...
altogether you were, completely, entirely, 100% thoroughly and perfectly right
and I
quite...
wasn't

sigh
                                       ­              ~lays head in my hands~


sigh
I'm lost

All I know
is rocks and trees
and trees and rocks
and bees
                                          ~ she giggles~    ~grabs my hand~
There's one more thing
*It's me

Well not quite

I can say to anything
But there are still dreams
And sealed hope

Broken wings
Are only clipped
But...
They seem beautiful
As if they are holding onto the magic -
Mystery children know first,
And adults thirst for
At four
When the days isn't done
Or about to come

The moon is stuck in between
Holding the spell for freedom

Our wings struggle
Because we want more
Only,

Not quite sure
What that is yet

"The King's not I," declared the emperor.
And then he told them this:

Weak, ashamed and cowering
I wept for fear of time,
As I watched molasses passing
And the masses caught in line

Alas, a strong man knocked me hard
And it rattled in my head:
Was I perhaps the foolish one
shaking in their footsteps?

I tossed and turned and ever I yearned
to enlighten myself where I could

My knowledge was further
My presence much larger
My advice was the wiser
A beacon I was
for those with the urge
from way down below
to follow my road
and rise higher.

But even those were blown away
when I straightened my back that fateful day.
The crowds were small
As I stood up tall
Up
and
Up

Above them all.

And my superiority
Was finalized
As they robed me and adorned me
With a crown to fit my pedestal
As I did deserve such things.

But they do not call me king
For kings are gods above men
Me: I am the Emperor
A god above the kings.

Be you! The real, original you. In fact, we detest the fake you radiate.
We don't want perfection
Did we stutter?

And then I think of myself. No, I've no scars.
I mean, it's not really possible.
My confidence is out the roof, heck I'm good at most any sport.
And dear goodness, am I smart.
I am just too tough to crack, I am proud of all the jealousy
I am fulfilled; compared to me, you're weak.
I grow taller with her wistful stares.

Though your resentment doesn't crack me.
I sure get angry for your reasoning.
Because with out any sort of listening
you've done outcasted me. But why should I need scars?
Aren't my weaknesses enough?

And as I think of myself, I laugh. A loud enormous goose holler.

Seems I've become a bully. The kind of girl who looks down upon your intellect. I knew the answer - I knew yours was wrong, and it didn't take long before you were inferior.
Remember, I'm confident.
Because I'm at home, and I wonder, and I find my answers.
I find them for that one time, I blurted right out from my mind, the little detail - I was pleased to know, but I turned around and they'd grown cold.
Now I'm perfect, and it must be worth it, even in exhaustion.
Better be the loud one, who voices the corrections.
Better than the dumb son who never learns his lessons.

Certainly, I'm desirable: fit, thin and strong.
But the girl he wants has a larger chest
than the one he calls his own.
And I could claim as mine
any of the Brains
We could connect through intellect, but what's to happen when
I'm running hard, dropping sweat, and he can't comprehend why I'd raise my pulse to feel the heat
when none of my workouts compete with the videos found through internet.

But the thing that really breaks me is the hatred
of my confidence.
I couldn't possibly understand them.
That is the belief.
So I sit alone, set in stone - practically emotionless
and the eyes that penetrate me detest that I don't shiver
But it's hard to make a movement when my walls have grown so tall
It's my reply to all
the voices.

I've no other choices.

I'll be the "fake" one that you label
Throw me in the gutter.
The real me wants perfection.

*Did you hear me freaking stutter?

She was
                         so beautiful and understanding
   and unbelievably scarred

And I
wanted to be like her
       but I couldn't escape the dark.


And perhaps the only distinction
from the blades caressing skin
                    was that she fought back abuse
          **but mine came from within.

I see flashbacks, in my sunken cheeks.
I know how it began - I drowned in five, bottomless addictions.
The first one was a man.

Entranced within his holding gaze,
I strove to please his whims
But it echoed loud, deep inside
You're not good enough
Never good enough
You must be drowning him

So I searched, and found
my deepest flaw,
the first that I must change.
I grew hollow and raw,
and I rattled of pills
the only way to keep me thin.
But he has friends. Many more than you.
They find you dreary and unsociable
Try harder, you act pathetic.
You need to be more lovable.

I went to crashers, and to think,
I'd lick up drinks, for all the laughter.
I was ****, and wild..and they called me ****.
but I had many more admirers.
I thought I was close, so near to worth,
to stand beside his side.
But still I held too tightly,
to that spiteful word virginity.

So I threw it far.
It was so far gone, I barely remember what I did.
There were walls and halls
and bathroom stalls.
Mirrors and paint
and viewers.
And of all that we tried, I hated most that I shared you.
And that happened twice, and turned to thrice, and I knew.
I was still missing what you needed.
But I can't bother him some more.
And so, I bled instead, to self-assure
I still had more, to give.

I made certain, I wouldn't embarrass you in terms of ***.
I cut my arms, and not my thighs.
So I could still drop skirts.
And it worked, I satisfied,
you found me more alluring.
With shirt on top,
nothing below
you claimed 'this *****'
made me glow.
Oh, I was tossed, to and fro.
And my five held me in chains.
At night, my eyes would weep
I didn't recognize my pain.

Then just one time,
I wondered why.
Why did your descending lips
look like fangs and broken dreams?

And all the rage between the seams
pounded my head, I doubled bent.
Before me eyes, parading round
I saw the five, their cold, dead lies,
I gaped and sobbed, collapsed and lobbed
words of hate and eureka.

These were my drugs
I'd made my own
I hid myself, as each part died.
And I buried them inside.

Finally, only whispers.

You can't be good enough now.

Was that love?

Did you love yourself?

                ~~~


Months passed, and only one whisper left.





*Live.                That's good enough

this little girl made a great big wish
to fill the world with happiness

and she was delighted
when anyone smiled
she'd place hand to lips
and feel their mouth twist
and give her own gap-toothed grin in the moment

some eyes showed pity
others pride
some even wept
with their talker upturned
but those little fingers
only registered joy

for that little girl was blind

My castigation was decided long before my backslide. And that is inexcusable, the righteous might declare "unfair". But I don't want any belligerent accusations against this 'unjust watchfulness' from above. Some entity must have understood that I didn't need guidance; I needed walls: some forcing to reach my destiny. Without my jailer, I'd have chosen one of three and let them lead me into a darkness that the pitiful call 'demons'. Claws and teeth? No, each monster was irreplaceable and I loved them. If possible, if they could comprehend a 'love', I vow they would have loved me. But the Warden took them: my punishment before my crime. Perhaps the disposal of these beasts seems considerate, but toss aside those foolish illusions because the burden has not lessened rather, it is unfamiliar. Omitting strength, for I  lost my foundation, I stand in fear with this hole. The Three aren't returning; I'm left with loose bindings - the knots are the songs of my memories. Beautiful Terrors, do I need you? Let me tell you their stories.

Number One:
I remember his voice calling for me. "Daisy! Flowers for you." It was our little game, and I'm sure he made girls jealous when he handed me a bouquet of roses.
My name was Petunia, but I hated that name, and I loved all that's yellow.
So when we were little he took my hand, and we went into a treefort, and he dubbed me Lady Daisy.
He was 7 and I was 4, and there began my adoration.
Then I was older and heartbroken, and I was calling him. "Waldon! It's hurting me."
He arrived so soon, I was still in hysteria - that of a 14 year old gone through breakup.
Then I cried harder because somehow my brother presented me with a tulip and declared, "It's an early present from the only boy who's going to love you more than I do."
17, and I understood fascination. And Willow (for though it's girly, I liked it more than Waldon, and he let it be) was entranced by a wild girl. She was a shockbomb - a warm sungirl that rocked stilettos and never littered nor waited past a minute.
He fell for her so hard from so high.
One day that girl kissed him straight on the lips, then jetted off to England.
Said he could follow her in spirit.
I couldn't hate her because she left his body, but it was hard to appreciate his body when the government took even that away, insisting he be laid beneath cold dirt. Then too many questions: "Why did you hold his hand for three days? Were you thinking of following? Petunia, why won't you buy flowers for the gravestone?" Then there were horrified eyes when I asked who Petunia was, because I had forgotten. Or, truthfully, there was no Petunia, only Daisy. And Daisy had Willow. The Flower and the Tree: that was supposed to be the story. So I refused to buy flowers, and without any sort of ceremony I stopped being 'Lady' and became 'Crazy Daisy', who talked to her demons. Now you see why I never wanted to part with Number One, because although he was a monster (you can't deny the terror of a body with no spirit), he knew me best.
Dear Warden, I've no suicide in me, and there's none left could lead me there, and it may be that I've grown taller, but I'm practically blind.

Number Two:
She was weak since I can remember. I'd say her vulnerability was pneumonia, which I can only presume led to my hatred of 'Petunia': two words incredibly similar when reason encounters a child.
And I liked her name "Maribel" because it sounded like a flower.
I mimicked my brother, but he was persistent that I must call her mother.
Again, this made no sense until 8, when I had a revelation that all this time I'd had no family. At least not in the heart of a girl, because Maribel wasn't a vibrancy to look up to., though she was my one relation.
There was just her in a bed. Sometimes a man visited but I never knew why Willow grew tense; all I saw was my mother acquire spots of brown. How I loved brown, because it seemed as though she was genuinely Mother, like all those other moms that the sun tans, or that could be given filthy hugs that left patches of dirt. In turn, I always welcomed that man, and he was a 'saviour'.
And Willow's father.
Death found both Willow and that man (I know, now, the difference) before I understood 'abuse', and try not to blame me because she never complained and I thought abuse meant people were unhappy, but I saw both of them smile. I laid her beside him, but with space inbetween: a ground for my casket. Because I'd gone slightly crazy and I was telling Number Two that if I awakened as a zombie, I'd need to be able to find his hand first.
That was nuts. But Warden, I don't fully understand. You stopped her bleeding, but I'm left with nothing. I hear their voices in my head, telling me I'm healthy, but I know I'm barely breathing.

Number Three:
I dealt Three tragedy. And in doing so, I guilted myself into worthlessness. Classic to the moral law is: it is not acceptable to introduce a roommate to a shady character. But I ignored the concept of shady - applauded my nonjudgmental attitude, because with my twisted past I would have also been a shadowy figure. With a sweet, sweet smile, I handed that bright girl over to a Peacock who promised to give her 'a good feeling.' And I ignored her tears, because he said he'd please her.
Maybe if I hadn't been loopy, the only way I could "be" with One, I might have noticed that me and he weren't the same, and I could have judged him like the others.
Annie, I'm sorry, please just shine once more.
Even if you're afraid of me and my wickedness, don't be ****** into the gloom, because I can't offer advice to resurface, when I think there's none.
Now, there's Zero for me to turn to, because that's what I am. I am empty. I suppose that's what happens when I trust a boy who leaves, yearn for one who's weak, and think I've the durability to rely on myself (but I've equaled a pitch black crater for a while now).
You're more clear now, Warden. I can understand why you've taken everything. Since nothing I had would give me my fairyland ending. But where's my reward? I need my gift first, because these feet don't know which direction to head, and it's more like I was holding onto rocks that cut me while they warmed me. My feet kick against the waves, but in this half-in half-out position I can't get a good momentum, so a hand now would be nice.

My stories, did they surprise? I hear all this chatter about monsters, but I think we've got them wrong. Monsters simply have a hold one you, and there's no release before you've no choice but to part. They are strong, and it's true that I saw nothing stronger than the Willow.  Only my jailer saw my potential, and he directed me to Zero. He asked for recognition so that I knew my task was not optional and he raised my walls until I stood there, lonely - pushed into belief in myself. But now I am the strongest I know, and I am walking on wind, and from up here I cannot see a single barrier. But Warden, don't you ever leave because if those walls break for a second and I see my demons, I know I'll lose flight and beg them to come back. And that would be the end, because there's no chance Number Four.

define warmth for me, so that I comprehend
because I've been rubbernecking, though I reside here
and your greenhouse effect affects me not

I'm caught in a position of longing, but it is less of a yearning and more of an ambition
because I'd do utterly anything to feel the spark of embers
the sort of glow that old remember and young magnify

too often I'm hearing a climatic affair of the strong brought to knees
before being enveloped by a numbness that eases their burden
more often I am enraged by their weakness: disgusted by their vulnerability
or perhaps it's jealousy
from one who never felt the urge at the starter's pistol
it's hard to pity when the Arctic's all you've known

and maybe it's not fair
but who are you to say so
because I won't undergo your tragedy
and you won't fathom mine...
quit your babbling - it's all a mind game
and your wailing drives me wild
honestly, promise me nothing because keeping oath requires a fervor
which only comes with fire and you've the ability to find it despite your cold
but behold - that smouldering - I've never even felt it

still I can feel a trickle of pride
at your dab of effort when your arms encircled me
but dearest, I shivered
petrified, I sobbed because you were so close and blazing
while I was freezing
and that girl across the road sensed the calidity, unbuttoned her jacket and handed it over
to a man on the sidewalk in snowfall
he felt from her what she felt from you
you put scalding verses my glacial
green eyes were hopeful; my brown, resigned
I was worlds away from neutral

this ice has not enslaved me
make no illusion that there's a stand still
because I've yet to find the frosty pillar that might halt this endeavor for fire
on the streets I see vessels radiating my craving
and I wonder
by what method did they reach their warm condition
but at below 0
I suppose all you see is warms bodies.

sweet, sweet boy
i've seen you a-sittin' there
waiting for that older girl
with those bright eyes
and kind smile.

now southern boy
dont you drop a penny
cause she's a rich girl with class
and yer not gettin' her chastity
and yer not takin' her money
cause yer a proud son of an ***

and broken boy
why you still not takin' no bandages?
cause yer stubbornness is breakin' er
when yer the one who's bleedin'
oh, i can see it all repeatin'

what you dont know is she loves you
and yer in love too
but all this time you been thinking its sympathy
got this idea that you mean nothing to nobody
boy it's hurtin' er
it's hurtin me

cause baby boy
i see you as my own
im a-thinkin' you need to take a stand
she might be a stunner
only one who don take you as a sinner
but youve been forgettin'
that though shes a fine woman
y'always been a real good man

angel boy
seen you cryin' tears
shes paradin' round
with a polished fella'
but why you aint been askin' her
"whens the weddin'"
when you think its comin'
honey, no girl in love
shows up at some lib'ary
when theres a man who orders sherry
im a-sure you feel
but you don see it
and sure as nothin' do you believe it

waitin', waitin' boy
how long you gon be sittin' there
that girl gave you time
but you didnt use it
and now im crying'
cause son
i can tell theres still love
but shes been taken
and now yer a drunk

lost, lost boy
im a-beggin' here
find trust
cause i know its not her fault
and she thinks it was
and now we both afraid
cause you not even tryin' a-hide it
but yer becomin' yer father
and he was filled with hate

hes a gone, gone boy
im a sinner with a prayer
that her husband dies
an he drops the liquor
and they both survive


but, hes an old, old man

Could vous just take a second, a moment, one solid instant
to visualize the boy in the stall with more felt lacerations than words of admiration.

Could the bold, bright, beautiful ones start singing
because I'm sick of the loud talk that goes through the motions of lingering
in an echoed room as they "try" to save the oceans - tell me, did we
litter on the way there? There's a forgotten world in stories told of heroes, breathing clean air.

Could the world give one more shot (a mountainous event) because history needs valor.
But technology is further than requirements for bravehearts to trigger a gun. Envision
a man four foot high, who stands a flag where poppies lie because he was that lucky man
who watched his fellows die
I'll say, weaponry wields death to We, naught could prove me wrong.

Could the world be a little bit more tight; bring back the mystery of gentlemen.
We're too loose and on the edge of loss, and the cost - oh, the cost
is sentimentality that somehow became disconnected when
baring your soul and stripping bare became two
and when I meet the one, my mind is plagued that we shall only amount to half.

Could the world be about more than the new, the sophisticated
or have too many eye closed to the life before the Dodo's died; now only
one view: to screen the disease from the rescued swingers, sinkers and singers
ahhhhhhhhh! basking in captivity: to compensate, we take back by metabolizing habitats.

Could the world be about to - because me and mine are everywhere,
but mind: the brain's likely to reach revelation. Clap, we will excel. After all,
when the world explodes and we reconnect, I'm sure each will preach and teach and leech
until it's known - We'll thank Gutenberg as needed, but printer is no master
when the minds are intertwined. But P'haps it has been a bad morning because I've known you
and you've bled true - long been fixing those around, so they aren't torches who warn off monsters,
instead they shave down fangs of loathing, there's no - not one! - beast they burn.
And don't I wonder? Ah yes, I do wonder: that now
Could the world be about to turn?

I heard them. Your words.

And you are broken, moody, lonely, damaged, disturbed -freaky. That’s what the wind whistles. Abandoned you sit there, barely speaking. So I believe

But belief is shaky now because of this wickedly wonderful source. Internet.
But shhhhh…

NOT

ONE
WORD

without ©

Maybe you, friendless(trustworthy) you - have a secret. A terrible TERRIBLE… it came from Internet-san. And so even your uttered words so new and sweet
A rare delicacy

are all lies because you weren’t smart to begin with and I should of known you’ve more faults and are a Liar.
I just want to shout “I’m not a fool!” ©
Because now I’m embarrassed. For believing you when you whispered “I can’t take it anymore. Not anymore. Please stop sobbing please"
Actually you begged…
                                      but you’re a liar

So I won’t lend any credit because you
are not
the Invisible Original

Hush, my darling
watch
wait
Slip one foot over the edge.
Find that one weak spot and press
letting the cracks scream and spit and hiss.
Until nothing remains but a dark abyss
that's calling, begging you to fall.

Hear an ocean raging, seething, foaming
at the mouth. Wanting to lick up any piece of you,
to serenade you, promising desires before the curl.
The curl that pulls you into a peaceful lull just ahead of the
crunch
that collapses your breath and pushes
rivers into your lungs.

See an illusion.
A tropical paradise beckoning.
Beauty from a distance with devouring teeth.
Not whole, swallowed, painful, but brief. Rather,
slowly - one ache at a time.
An ant sting, small, but trickling poison
into a stream that pumps through your ankle. Then a bubbling,
ghastly surface that won't release the throbbing. Still more.
Silence precedes
the serpent's trike.
Taking with, all dilemmas in one torturous
Moment. Wrongly counted as a blessing. Unbearable,
but better than the old pain, for awhile.
And more than pain is the hopeless knowledge: there's no boat
to sail you back.

Feel the blistering desert heat.
Lips that crack and bleed, releasing a sweet juice
into your unquenchable throat. Sweat that drips
driving you nuts from knowing
that water is wasted...

Know.

Know the burning seas that are nothing more
than your mind
discovering the darkest side.
And nothing less.

Cry for all the lights you can't turn to. Can't bring to life
because they'll break you.
Let that hole open so wide that there's no mistaking it
but for the darkness is possesses.
Then pull that foot back and stand
on solid ground.
You've seen, heard and felt your demons.

You've waited
and watched,
You're
Safe, my darling.

Do you see that girl? Hideous.
Her face is an abomination.
It's no wonder no one loves
that false replica of creation.

And that other one's a *******,
you can tell by her low V
flaunting double D's
like a sign flashing "I'm ******".

Now Ugly she's unlucky; to hook a boy
she needs a trap,
and *****'s got personality
but no one gives a crap.

Both are swimming desperately,
but waves are crashing endlessly.
And our tidal words that lacerate
drown them in a pool of hate.

You could of stopped it.
Was it worth it?
Mocking others to gain your status.

See that ****? He's handsome: a body that all crave.
But he's into art and stylish dress
Rumor says he's gay.

That other boy's pathetic, weak
and never takes a stand.
Little birdy told me
he's missing proof that he's a man.

Now Stupid's got it all - the very hottest dates,
but for all his charm and manliness, no one calls him straight.

Loser's slowly speaking up,
proving he gives a ****,
but all his pleas are over-looked as him on crack again.

Both are slowly burning,
flames licking at their heels,
and they let the hurt devour them
to stop the pain they feel.

You could have stopped it.
Was it worth it?
Mocking others to gain your status.

I've heard the spiteful rumors
that I'm deformed, somehow grotesque.
Standing at cliff's edge, I wonder
is it worth it?

Yes.

I'll take that step and free myself
from this world of misery.
All this time just waiting for your kindness that could save me.