Remember when
we were so comfortable
underneath the mid day sun
at one of our favourite festivals

the bands had long stopped
but the music still danced in our hearts
lifting our spirits to the heavens
and giving praise to this beautiful day.

we had all gathered together
but not to say goodbye;

to lay in the sweet grass
and
hold on, by the tips of our fingers
for just a few more hours...
and

get a little high

with the sun's rays ablaze and
no current riding our open backs
your skin was like wildfire
captivating, shimmering in the light

those UV rays got nothin' on you

i laid at your side with a bag
filled of sweet & sticky treats
..an archive of sorts
and asked what was your tongue's favourite taste

the finest of delights fit for a queen
sometimes require a perfect surface
and the way your black hair glimmered that day
i couldn't help but see you
as my little Cleopatra

your curves creating shadows
upon the dimples of your back
i asked if you'd mind, with a zig-zag in my hand

and you looked at me.

and you smiled.

love has turned to frustration
and little things have begun to collect
like plastic floating in the whirl-pooling currents of the ocean

a small raft built to protect myself
to stay afloat
after treading, nearly drowning in the swirling masses
keeping my nose to the air
to breathe our oxygen

searching for ways to recycle a synthetic past into raw, earthy tones
dreaming of ways to live gently
and soothe a conscience full of unknown, hidden foes

one moments glance at the jungle of hardened polymers shining in the crusted sunlight -
i begin to realize they are not garbage, but gold

to be re-shapeable, to be reusable; is this not better than gold?
to keep firm and true to ones self, while being agile and accommodating, is this not worth much more?

to have a 75 year half-life;
slow, deteriorating, dissolving decomposition.

or to be re-formed. replenished.

you can recycle the past.

karma woke up
said she's restless
picked up my arm
to see if i'd notice

karma woke up
said she can't take this
"its not what i asked for,
why don't you care?"

i woke karma up
on the wrong side of bed
she left me for good
left me for dead

i played her for a fool
lied right to her eyes
i ****** around with karma
or at least i tried

(she said)
"believe in me or don't,
but don't use me.
you kept your mind,
but forgot about me.

how could you do that?
make me feel so naive.
every time things are good
you **** up and i leave."

i woke karma up
on the wrong side of bed
broke her heart
with what i never said

karma woke up
on my side of bed
she left me for good
left me for dead.

i'm wasted on the girl i love
the buzz ended long ago
but i dream of being sober again
because this hangover will certainly **** me

i'm high from her eyes
and her smile it gets me ripped
but some days i get carried away
and the burnout makes me want to quit

so hit me with another round
shot by shot, i'm alone
somebody, please, call a cab
'cause i can't make make it on my own

love poisoning has got the best of me
lay me down before i fall
because love itself is more addicting than coke
and losing it; worse than withdrawl.

i have experienced the warmth
i have felt the breeze of love touch my life
but i am still young
and i still need the soothing sensation

i have been brought down by life
kicked and beaten to the curb
the warmth turns blue
like the sky, and the tears from my eyes

around the corner i can sense the warmth
curled up in a bed, underneath the covers
i can hear the warmth cry for me
but i can no longer be selfish

for i am still young
and like air, the warmth will circulate
bringing love to other places
and i must hold on

when i feel cold and selfish
false blankets and covers may bring me warmth
but i know the truth
a warmth will return to me, in time.

it takes a real proud man to make a girl cry hard. most things a girl can cry off in ten minutes. Tough things. Like giving birth to big *** babies with their big *** heads and ****. But that's not what I'm talking about. I'm talking about the deepest cries. Ones that come from the most hurt-felt part of a woman's soul. Ones that make your eyes close and your stomach sick. Ones that make your whole body freeze, and all you can think is, "i am responsible for this unbearable pain, on such a gentle woman's soul."

i am a master of this art. i have learned the call of the lone woman; almost a swan song, of a dying gentle soul begging to be heard. Begging, for the one who can save her to act before she drowns; to do anything but stand there and stare. Anything but let her die this lonesome death just out of reach of his arms.

i have a recipe for hurt. tested and tried thoroughly over the years, i can now say it is perfected. i can hurt beautiful souls and shatter their wonderful dreams, then so simply turn it around to make it sound like it was their fault. one may say this is a fine delicacy. i say it is the recipe to feed lost souls. ones who will be lost in limbo for all eternity because even in death, their pride was still too big for the afterlife.

there is a special talent i have that is unique for mastering the art of hurt. like x-ray vision it is a power to bring out, in other people, what they don't want anyone to see. i can bring out the worst in a beautiful soul faster than you can look in someone's eyes. i can make monsters of magnificent beings, then call them crazy and be on my way.

Leaving behind a faded tye-dye that's left to hang dry in the sun, knowing that her colours will never shine as bright as they once did, ever again.

.