Your words cut deep,
drawing ink from my wound,
that drips onto the page-
running down the paper,
spelling out screams as it flows-
turning from red to black,
and cold
and dry
as dust.

I can't wait to partake in things that make you sick.
My stomach stays high tide.
Stay away from it if you can't swim.
My guts are laid out in patterns;
peaches and fruit flesh stuck to fingertips.

(**** my **** then give me a kiss.)

I can't wait to imitate art contained in this.
Two figures trapped within an unfinished painting.
Four strokes of inspiration to complete the lips.
A splash of white to end it.

She smells like a meadow of Jasmine trees
Soft breeze carrying off her scent
To the sun shining upon her
Making her floral skirt bloom
And her hair gleam
Like little raindrops
Pierced by a beam of sunlight

Dear sun, touch my neck
Inhale my Jasmines
Burn my hair
And let the breeze play with my skirt
So that my thighs can be kissed by you



-LynnAA

O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,
The ship has weathered every rack, the prize we sought is won,
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribboned wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding,
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head!
It is some dream that on the deck,
You’ve fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchored safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;
Exult O shores, and ring O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

They have
                      Taken my
                      Lord,
                      Where has
                      He been
                      Taken?
                      The tomb
                      Is empty,
                     Now we
                     Are quite
                     Shaken
He lives! He is risen! Glory to God in the highest! Blessed is he who comes in the name of The Lord! Redemption is here for us all. He died so we may live!
                     For our
                     Lord was
                     Not stolen
                     But risen
                     From his
                     Mortal
                     Grave
                     He has
                    Arrived to
                    The place
                    We to will
                    One day call
                    Our home,
                    The place
                    Where our
                    Heavenly
                    Father dwells.
                    Prepare, one
                   And all! He
                   Waits for
                   Us to come
                   To be with
                   Him too