Pretty liar, daughter maid
Yet cannot bring herself to rage.
Carved from stone,
raised to flesh and bone:
See the spots of the tiger,
A vicious tongue of viper,
Let it all awake in you
stings of displeasure
that will ring true.

Flex that heavy package
not letting the mask fall off.
You've always been taking :
now you're giving what I've lost.
I have something that needs filling
Leaking, it could use some drilling.
Slippery when wet,
Mind your cautious steps
when the demons leave their nest.

Right around the enemy's border
All her treasures lie asleep.
Paint the walls with ****** ******
Envy, my master, is what you seek.

Things so hot and dark
your mind rejects them altogether;
Nearly burning hotter
than the worst summer breeze,
My body aches into a spasm
in this mindless night, agreed
to let it win; the thing
society breaks down
as an unreasonable sin.

Forest of Pine,
a place without a sign.
Tagged as "wasteland"
on paper, reason itself
came to erase her.
Eraser of control,
breaker of conformity,
The woody mist of boggy brime
sweeps through my nose:
There is something here,
my map is rigged,
shadows alone prove
how good it is to hide:
Hear the river ride ?
Months into the world,
adopted from disbelief.
Raised to your feet:
you've heard some
wild game at last.

Hunger tears your skin,
Lashes your eyes and chin,
A grin opens your face
Splashing it with so called
Sin. Blood rushes to  
Secret extremities
While your brain
Refuses the remedies:
A thing the opposite ***
Just cannot get:
You must grab, stab and
Kiss unlike ever done before.
She feels just like
A champion,
Love drips from all your pores.
You want to make it yours,
Put her on all fours,
And just live through
The mist and answer its call:
Join the frantic ball.

Venus of the fountain,
Generously living through
Life with seriousness.
Sparkling like a cascade
Of wine and milk and
Bubbles of tears arouse
The sky;
A land quite different
You might ask why
Even wander around the
Dark forest ?
Her attributes are near perfect,
Surely this voyage is worth it.
Again, a place to which
the opposite *** could not react.
Tagged "wasteland" on
Their map.
This land is made
of dreams
You can smell like the bud
Of a rose outside in the rain.
You can touch the petals,
And were a real smile:
Even ***** your finger
On the REAL thorns
Even see blood,
Feel the mud,
Erase lifes disgusting crud
For what seems to us as
Longing years.

We need a connection.
Surely you cannot understand
Our imperfections
Without knowing the occupations
Stimulated by these locations
We all hold dear
In the world of Mars.
Venus, throw a flower to
us stupid men again
for we apologize sincerely,
Not to make this end bitterly,
But you might consider this
Blasphemy:
We can't get out these lands
That raised us from stone to
Flesh and bone.
And with you we do seem to miss home..

Look at your map,
It's quite different from mine,
But try to keep in mind
It's yours
If you would
Just give that hand.

Private Paradise:
Beware !
Barbed off by a generous brook
It smells of decent paychecks
success, children and books.  
It's all perfect really.
The monkey bars and slide
all green and clean
await your tender sons's arms;
waiting for the that time,
where you can give them yours.

Big victorian mansion/ island
spotting the minty green horizon,
A speck of comfort in an
artificial wilderness
near a safe and sterile street.  
Surely you feel one must resist
it's call and live the normal life;
how could you surrender to
such a pleasure which seems
to shine so unaturaly bright ?
Yet,
you can feel the summer air,
the ******* that seem to never
ever ware off .
The top, so far from mortal life:
an Olympus for mortal men.
Hooks you by the senses:
you can see your family
you can hear them call
you can smell the barbecue
and forget it all.

The sweat rises to pearly drops:

*It's for sale.