These demons dance over my shoulders,
They torture me.
When they’re performing,
Don’t ask me what’s wrong,
Don’t ask me if I’m okay,
Don’t steal them from their dance floor,
Don’t interrupt their dance.

the version of night shifts as each person
unfolds within mind what they see
it mutates as time proceeds
a contagion of the eye
makes her sad face regal with its pure and true
beauty clean line and side cast gnawing fear
makes her soft skin a sandpaper of insecurity's
and her sexuality a landmine filled no mans land
she moves restlessly in her seated position
spreading and folding herself
like a spastic lotus flower
like a wasp confused by butterfly's

the version of night shifts once again
and the two of you stand in the
narrow shadows at the edge of a vast
pitted concrete slab
the air is thick and greasy with tropical heat
she is ****
you cannot help but to reach over and touch
she only watches your hand
thin smile on her thin lips
inside your your separate minds
you each hold separate conversations silently
imagine the dreamlike responses
the version of night strains as she slowly
dresses and you silently walk
side by side into the the darkness
back to the noise room
back to the chair she cried in
back to the floor you feared

the version of night is fluid
like a infected river
it flows thru her veins as she
injects another dose of crying and coughs
breathing heavy
you sit cross legged at her feet
an apostle to the teaching that
beauty is no measure of destiny its only a means
a student of the humanities isolated and afraid
by a spastic lotus flower
a wasp confused by butterfly's

she batters down the defenses
contagion of perceive then process
that becomes reality governs her motive
it mutates as time proceeds
lies repeated become fact because they were spoken
so much they defied truths razor
fact becomes fiction
as truth is distorted in the crucible of
think think think think think
as truth is hammered clean of impuritys
and worked by the hands of the mind
into a better package
a more palatable lie

help me
help her
the night is unsympathetic
as she injects
cough
touch
sweat panting for abundant air
this is a killing cycle

I love him so much,
it kinda scares me,
how addicted I am,
to his sweet touch,
and how much I like it,
when he's close to me.

His love takes me places,
that I have never been before.
he's more addictive than drugs,
I wanna have more and more,
like it's the only thing I need,
his love, I need to feel,
but it feels like greed,
wanting his heart,
body & soul.