I hear the roaring of the waves.
Loud and beating, my heart’s pumping,
I’m alive, with senses so high I‘m sure,
Awakened I rise from an endless sleep.

The wind encourages me to take flight.
Daring and fearless I’ve never been ready.
Like liquid fire through my veins,
And though once broken I am resurrected.

As I brave this lonely pavement,
To you I run at the end of the road.
I stopped and hesitated to catch my breathe,
Doubtful and unsure, I struggle not to turn away.

Flawed and naked I stand before you.
The undisclosed exposed for you to see,
The what will be makes me guarded,
Will your arms welcome or deny me.

Etched into the flesh
With the permanency of a tattoo
But it tells another story
Like the medals of bravery soldiers dare not speak of the horrors they survived to earn
You carry them always
They commemorate the struggle
They are dark shooting stars forming constellations of wishes that were never granted
But carry them without shame, without self doubt, without self pity
They are not random marks, but battle scars from the wars that most will never see
You did not deserve them, but you’ve earned a right, the place reserved for veterans, the unspeakable survivors who can share their stories only with each other, often more with glances of emotion than words
Take pride that you have overcome the overwhelming, that you’ve weathered the worst storms and you have come to where you are, wearing scars
They say war is hell and no one really wins but you held back demons who clawed at things much deeper than just skin
Remember for the fallen, they must not have died in vain
Live on in their memory, take victories in their name

I think about my baby
And how she's all alone
The many things I'd do to her
I have to make it known

I'd give her kisses deep and soft
Her tongue will taste so sweet
With my hands on her hips
Our kissing will create a beat

Then clothes will come off
Things will grow in passion
Her body will feel like silk
Her skin better than the highest fashion

She will make me guide her
Right over to our bed
We will lay down and kiss
Make me feel out of my head

I will travel down her belly
Worshipping every inch
She will shiver and she will shake
The sensation making her flinch

As I make my way down
She naturally spreads her legs
I fit right in-between them
This point is when she begs

I kiss the very part of her
That is the most private
Her moans reassure me
That she truly, really loves it

Her **** sounds of pleasure
Make my job so rewarding
I could do this forever
It will never get boring

As I continue my loving
Right on her sweet spot
She moves in sync with me
Giving me all that she's got

I take her to the highest place
I go right along with her
We have a lot of ailments
But we are each other's cure

She explodes and it tastes so good
Her hands are on my head
And she pulls me to her
Heaven is what we have in our
own
little
bed

during my worst times
on the park benches
in the jails
or living with
******
I always had this certain
contentment-
I wouldn't call it
happiness-
it was more of an inner
balance
that settled for
whatever was occuring
and it helped in the
factories
and when relationships
went wrong
with the
girls.
it helped
through the
wars and the
hangovers
the backalley fights
the
hospitals.
to awaken in a cheap room
in a strange city and
pull up the shade-
this was the craziest kind of
contentment

and to walk across the floor
to an old dresser with a
cracked mirror-
see myself, ugly,
grinning at it all.
what matters most is
how well you
walk through the
fire.

little dark girl with
kind eyes
when it comes time to
use the knife
I won't flinch and
i won't blame
you,
as I drive along the shore alone
as the palms wave,
the ugly heavy palms,
as the living does not arrive
as the dead do not leave,
i won't blame you,
instead
i will remember the kisses
our lips raw with love
and how you gave me
everything you had
and how I
offered you what was left of
me,
and I will remember your small room
the feel of you
the light in the window
your records
your books
our morning coffee
our noons our nights
our bodies spilled together
sleeping
the tiny flowing currents
immediate and forever
your leg my leg
your arm my arm
your smile and the warmth
of you
who made me laugh
again.
little dark girl with kind eyes
you have no
knife. the knife is
mine and i won't use it
yet.

I talked to an old man once
as I was riding on the bus.

Had a tendency to ramble,
and always had the urge to cuss.

He said he had a theory,
and his whole life he had spent.

On how Death was a women,
and this is how it went.

Death has to be a women
cause only she could be so cold.

Dressed in all black,
and always coming for your soul.

A scythe she holds in one hand,
an hour glass in the other.

She gets pleasure from her name,
and not from any other.

She keeps her bones polished nice,
and her hair free of spiders.

She knows something about everyone,
and loves to be desired.  

He said she had a husband once,
but he tried to run off when she got sick.

So before he left she killed him,
his mistress, and his brother just for kicks.

He said he could see at one point
how beautiful she had to be,
but all that's left was skull, and flesh,
anger and deformity.

So I laughed and said oh
so you've seen her before.

He said yeah can't you,
look up she's standing by the door.

I found my mind in the eye of a cigarette
The thing that I curse and despise, the cigarette
The thing that controls my life, the cigarette
I lost my freedom in the eye of a cigarette