there's something about
'****'

not scatological.
the edge.

the sacred,
bitter, hit.

deliberate.

of someone saying it,
spitting the
syllable-

while wearing a stolen
black leather jacket
and red lipstick
stubbing a cigarette
and cursing sideways at
'men and their...'
back handedness.

from an artist's mouth...
maybe a woman's...

but the taste
it's like metal

it always cuts-
just right.

i will wade out
                        till my thighs are steeped in burning flowers
I will take the sun in my mouth
and leap into the ripe air
                                       Alive
                                                 with closed eyes
to dash against darkness
                                       in the sleeping curves of my body
Shall enter fingers of smooth mastery
with chasteness of sea-girls
                                            Will i complete the mystery
                                            of my flesh
I will rise
               After a thousand years
lipping
flowers
             And set my teeth in the silver of the moon

What I would give to be the shadow
cast upon your paralyzed body
from the dim light shining through
the cracked window of your quaint flat.

What I would give to be the oxygen
filling your heaving lungs with new life
keeping your nightmarish reality alive
while you're lost in your heavenly dreams.

What I would give to be the one.
The one to bring you out of the shadows of doubt
so you no longer need to close your eyes to escape.

You are my tuned radio when I go to sleep
You are my alarm when I have to wake
You compose my words when you are here
I'm here when you are always near
You r the silence of screaming waves
As noisy as the sea gulls are for food
You are the footprints in the sand dunes
As it's going to follow you to our home
You are the sculpture of a sand artist
Which settles down in hours is where I lay
You are the solitude of my lips
Where you rest your uttering heartbeats
You are the warm breeze on my shoulders
While my palm holds your longing fingers
Your hair is a cool shadow of a leafy tree
While I hide in breathing behind your ears
You are the moon sliding out of the window
In a calm starry night sharing a pillow
As I rest my hands on your navel
You breathe gently, turn slightly, and kiss me lightly
I will wake you up with whispering confession of love
Under the soft morning rays, let’s replenish quietly
And get lost into the silence of our hearts

I wish to tell you of my past. There is just not enough words. I can't find the right word. Abused, teased, told, ordered. I... My mind is full of words. I can't explain. I wan't to scream. I am alone. I write that in almost every poem. Every poem is my past. Something I don't want to remember. Why must I write out my feelings. This is random. I am sorry. UGH. I have A.D.D. I scream randomly. I cry for no reason. I laugh from at mid sentence. I stutter. I shake, not as a joke, not as a word. I shake. My hands eating, sleeping, typing, reading, writing, everyday, for no reason. I am addicted to monster, coffee, milk. Hey I just realized I am typing my problems. I guess. Oh yeah I have night terrors not night mares, night horrors. My night terrors were terrible HA it's in the name. I would dream of shapes, each shape would have a power. Like a square would control time, and in that time he can ****. I know it sounds stupid. But if something is stupid enough that my eyes open as asleep, screaming -NOT JOKING- and be able to wake up everyone in the household. HA on my birthday do you wanna know what my sister made me, of coarse you do thats why you are reading this. Well she drew shapes with angry faces on them and she taped them on my wall -which I face when I sleep-... When I woke up I screamed and punched a hole in the wall which broke my hand. "Thanks Ash."-sarcasm- Well that was I don't know a while ago, so yeah.