This is me, Rachael.
I would die from a papercut and blame it on the finger.
I would argue with an eraser if the words didn't look right.
I would tell the moon to shine all day just to ******* the sun.
I see colours in my imagination; my dreams are wild and beyond comparison.
I tend to love too hard and quickly get burnt by the one I flew so high for.
I read too much and believe in past lives.
I forgive but don't forget.
My trust is willing but protects my heart like a guardian of fate.
I will be silent when someone talks ****, because I don't take fools gladly, and a wise man never responds to defecation of verbal ignorance.
I willingly argue my point in my head til you know I have analysed my response.
Nothing is taken lightly.
I would argue that the road is really hard and quite weary, and curse my boots as they hit the hallowed ground.
I am impetuous, I rush in, I seek thrill and danger.
Hedonism is my game; I play deftly with an air of mastery.
I am sensitive. As skin is to the weather. A gust of harsh wind could ******* away.
This is me; only a slight composition of who I am, and what I am made of.
And I make no apology.

clothes worn too tight
so it feels like there are needles who need me, who bleed me
a million parasites ******* and taking me.

he is *** and surgery, he is far too in love with life
wants to be inside of everything

but i like the miles
i like being so far that he cannot take things out of me
or even know they’re there.

i am a parasite, i want everything to be inside of me and
that
is why we
fight with him in my mouth (having is feeling.

builds midnight with paper stars and dark attics
because then the sky can be ripped
into shreds, stuffed down my throat and suddenly i possess
the whole world without needing to live in it.

Ambulance chased harsh tragedy.
Took the young man home
Beep beep, crash.
Paddles without a boat.
Asystole.. gone gone gone.
Cadaver gave donation.
Thank you.
Bless his holy soul.
Pray may he rest in peace.


The diseased heart of the sad man beats.
Hammers a struggle every day.
Called in.
In a mighty dash.

Prepared for transplantation.
Of this wonderful donation.
Once alive cadaver renewed.
Invigorated.
Life lacking quality.
Was given quantity.

Once deceased heart beats on in another.
Released to live and breathe again.
Was much too young to die.

Four chambers full with emotion blooming.
The heart transplanted was that of a lover.
A poet.
The beating heart beat at a ton.
The battle won.
A tad too fast, but built to last.


The worthless one with no value.
Picked up a pen to write.
Poems of power flowed to the sea.
Up the mountains over the trees.
Strange enthusiasm.
Never before felt.
The hard cold man began to melt.

The victim of tragedy.
Left legacy.
Wholly unexpected.
The once was poet.
Renewed his heart.
By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)

I dig the guilt out of my rib cage with my fingers and
embrace it.

Letters of love.
Show me the barrier
That seperates continents.
Will I know
The oceans sink
The love I send.
Wrap me up in glue
And seal the words
I love you in the conflict.
Lonley is the sour milk
On my desk.
The smell of socks rotting
In the wrestlin room.
Brings back the yoga from moorakas.
Make me fresh like a corpse of
Dead chum.
Fill my heart in a river from the
Red eggs I killed and gave to
Crab fishermen.
The heads are open with clear kelp teeth.
Unwind the widdower who says
To punture her lungs with a knife.
He knows the pain and conflict
When she breaths to die.
Snap a picture to tells us 100 feet
From air yeilded a 25 pound trophy.
The stranger lets us watch his knife
Open a rare white chinook.
The fire we watch was gutted and rinsed
In a metal sink.
The deeper we dig into flesh
The more we see war.
But the smell of salt water
And white bones
Feeds fresh souls.
And smokes our dreams when the red metal who
Holds hickory ambers.
The solitude is unforgiven when I
Die in dreams.  
Therfore I wake up next to
The chunks and blood red wine
As though gun shots provide reflection.
Back pack with me in empty meditations.
And understand we all must progress
Into the conflicting heart,
And see what cardiac death
Hides behind the scary last breath
Of euphenasia in my mind.

too drunk to blog
allow me to send my inebriated thoughts
ton the temporal lobes which halo your ears
I spend seventeen seconds spending spent time
on times spent wallowing in the too many you're the bests
genesis is failing
genesis is falling upon us
like snowflakes spent forgetting the times we forgot
I forgot to tell you
no matter how drunk I get
I will remember you
so let's regret the forgotten reasons
of reasonable men reasoning the realist responses
of people who forgot to check their phones
for the second time today

End,
The True Tip of my Tongue,
(Enchanted Bronchial Tree),
holding out the
Cavern of Soft Sultry Silhouettes
that hug the walls.
Clinging to their influence able nature,
tendency to allow pink purity
to fall
to the black blistering blasphemy
of *****-watered bongs.
Inhaling the Damnation of god
And Magic Meal of
Those residing in Gehenna,
Limbo,
And those scouring the pearly whites of
heaven for their 72 ******
***** Calls.
The desperate stench
Of religion
crawling down
my needy trachea
to attach its
sticky suction cup sermons,
trying to trick
My larynx into
Hallelujah’s
And
Hail Mary’s.
Hoping repetition
will etch it into
our subconscious
like a gravestone
set in stone.
So repent,
saunter back into your pen little sheep.
False Anarchic Prophet,
Pretend Goat.
Throw your brain back into the box,
The Individuality Dishwasher,
They built for your mind from the
Start.