Blah  Blah  Blah  Blah
I write the crap
That no one wants to read
Not even those who share my blood.
Depressing was the kindest word
They offered on my tripe.
So who the Hell did I  think I was -
Some highfalutin' poet dame?
No, just a hack at choosing words
That paint a dreary picture
Of a scene nobody wants to see.

Blah Blah  Blah  Blah
Aren't I sorry for little me.
Get off your *** and haul the load
That what's left of your life will be.
                         ljm

Why do I reach out to comfort the whole rest of the world
And have no pity for the little girl that hides in my dark corners.
Why do I extend the hand of empathy to everyone but me.
Why is it I don't find me worthy of the love I give to others.

There is no answer to those painful questions.
No one to ask - no book to read.
I either find a pathway to the sunshine
Or content myself to live in shade.

Last words are for weddings and for funerals,

But in a weird and cruel way,

Love can be both.

I have been here 26 years
I can count all my tears
I have held in so much
For a long time
And time
Can do so much

Slowly succumbing to the burning tranquility,
My mind dreads on these moments without you.
A dark and cold sensation strikes me with agility,
Turning my burning heart ashen, cold, as fast as you…
                                                                         …ignite it again.

Is this Nirvana? A place avoid of everything but pain and you?
Or do I have monsters inside without which I cannot live?
Without which I cannot be human? What can I do?
Can I only wait and suffer through this calmness and give…
                                                                            …my scars time to heal?

In the hour of Twilight, let us burn,
Let us burn with passion
As our blood boils and our hearts turn,
As we melt in one-another, morbidly…
                                     …in a romantic fashion.

Flesh pressed against flesh, I do remember;
The secret lips of a demon so tender,
And our bodies on top of a mound,
Twi lively corpses besottingly…
                                   …carving a new wound.

And let them be irradiated by our macabre ardour.