Hatred sits upon his throne of thorns wearing a crown of fire and a robe of blood and thinks on how to kill Love.

Written by Epic
Hatred sits upon his throne of thorns wearing a crown of fire and a robe of blood and thinks on how to kill Love.

Written by Epic
Chocolate, nothing tastes better than rich creamy chocolate.  Such a delight.
Brown chocolate skin woman how sweet you must be.  Such a savory treat, brown chocolate skin woman.

Written by Epic
I'll never be able to love again,
Well, at least not like the way I loved you,
As this night is a little before three, but well after two,
I lie wide awake in this bed unable to sleep beside a woman that I don't want to pursue,
With my mind wondering,
How do I leave her without leaving a bruise?
And wondering,
Will I ever be able to love another woman,
Like the way I loved you?
Autistic people don’t dream the way normal people do, and our nightmares are no exception to this rule. While you dream of that horror movie monster you saw in the theater last week, we dream with people we see on a daily basis, showing strange emotions on their faces, demeanors we’re not used to, foreign and alien, that scares us worse than Friday the 13th’s Jason’s mask or Scream’s disguised murderer would scare you. The new ways in which faces can twist their features, contort them beyond our ability to recognize them (or at least feign recognition) or draw comfort from familiarity terrify us and cause a reaction on a visceral level, making us wake up with a start. Still, I never forget the distortions on the faces I dream about, even if they’re twisted in what you would consider normal expressions of sentiments that would be easy for anyone else to recognize. I’ve fallen out of bed so many times, I’ve bruised my hands and head, and I still shiver every time I remember the way you stared at me unwaveringly in the eyes for more than the few seconds it takes to make me feel naked and uncomfortable, your smile crooked beyond its perfect and normal dimensions, just a little more lifted on the left side, showing more teeth than usual, extra lines and creases in your wrinkles, and the shine in your tapetum lucidum more or less dimmer. All I can think about when I open my eyes after those dreams are “Wrong! It’s all wrong!”, and "Why does it take so little to turn a person I know or love into a stranger?" I need to grab and stare for a few minutes at photos of you in the albums where I’ve intricately and extensively documented your many ways of showing animi moti.
Tapioca sky,

feel the knife curve
like a Moon-hook,

wrenching a tourmaline gash
into hallucinating gums,

ritualised in immortal agony.

Lemon clouds,

see the portrait smile
like a nightmare,

feasting on famine entrails,
of sacrificed words,

scything off the tongue.

© Pagan Paul (2017)
Old psychedelic poem.
I'm sorry I'm away
my minds been in  knot
untie me muse
before I think I die!
I need to write again
in lyrical content
it chokes me up
I think I'll even cry!

Ma Cherie © 2017
Seriously can't think too much going on? ;/
We may have been toxic.
But it was a toxicity
I could call my own.
Since I was young,
I’ve had a hard time
keeping things for myself.
My dreams, my ideas,
even my love
for the color purple.
These were all mine
at one point.
Soon to be
ripped away
by an envious, more outspoken friend
But this.
This toxic waste land of a love.
It was mine.
No one else wanted it and
no one else could have it,
The love I possessed was…
But it was mine.
I was happy
being unhappy.
If I was able to argue with her
at least that meant she was there.
She was a present figure in my life
for me to hate to love, and love to hate.
But now she's gone.
I can't love nor hate.
I can't even have a friend in the one I loved.
So yes, it was toxic.
Yes, it was torturous,
but it was mine.
I was in a toxic "relationship" for a long time. I loved them so much that i chose to ignore the bad aspects. In this, i became attached to the toxicity in a way. I was in love with them, and they came along with abuse. So i took the package deal and learned to love them both.
I’ve no need
To Rebel
Who is god
I can’t tell
The creator
Of time
The drawer
Of lines
The giver
The taker
Of hell?
A bit
Too much
For my soul
   To tell....
Traveler Tim
I hear the rhythmic clapping
And feel the pounding of feet on the ground
As dust swirls and dances around
While I sit facing the sun
In all her divine beauty.
Encased in the wood of the red gum tree,
I am at peace.
Burnum carves my totem outside
Surrounded by holy men,
Loved ones and ancestors.
This is my signifier and protection.
I am Miki the moon
Recently returned to my tribe
Heeding the call of the spirits.
My people mourn deeply
But know I will come again
To be at one with them,
First I must commune with the great creator
Rainbow spirit of the sky
For now is the time for dreaming.
Thank you everyone for the likes/ loves and comments, you made my day special!! :0)
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