I felt punch drunk.
Then i hit the floor.
However, i was too numb.
To feel the pain.
To feel the sting.
So it never hurt,
but the scars remained.

I got drunk off
His ***** kissed
Lips
Which tricked me into
Thinking that what
I felt was
Love*

B.S.

He fell in love,
With the idea of her.
But he realized too late
that ideas aren't people
and they never do
what you expect.
People aren't things to dream about.
People are imperfect beings
And they don't fit into
Your misunderstood notions.
Foolish ideas, foolish emotions,
Now he's her fool,
Juggling his own life
For her entertainment.

Floating*
down like
a stolen twilight kiss.

Beautiful
*moments wrapped
in eternal bliss

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.