Pixie dust, *****.
Our world is bleak and sick
filled by clumsy ***** searching for their next trip
shaking red hands in a haze of cigarettes

Me.

So, as I have now lit my cancer stick
inhale my moment of what is truly calamity
a recognized but slow-moving demise
maybe I will quit tomorrow.

I only smoke ****, man.

And who does not enjoy a drink or two
or seven?

Some hole in the wall
that has great chicken wings and cheap Chardonnay that sits over the water;
can we sit and forget the rest of their pointless lives or being broke
and sit just slightly apart
that we can not help but want
and do, touch.

Our smiles, postcards from our togetherness
what was a glum and still depth now rippled by our laughter

I am happy with that, with you.
I would love to stay forever.

Sincerely,
one twisted soul reaching out to another.

You are supposed to hurt
it is better that you cry
you are here to love again post script.
Break her heart.

Do it,
destroy a small piece of her pride.

It is worth it.

You will both be wiser
strive for greater, love kinder

And just like she hurt you, and I hurt him
and he hurt me, and you will hurt her...

Be cruel, for you hold a sense of satisfaction
but you see the eyes in where you are enchanted
we all heal with time

He is a wringer
snapper of neck, diseased infested bird.
Dancing ***** strippers
pieces of puked up poultry.
Laugh when the sun is up
during the night you are real
when the clowns come out to tease and ****
haunted by their giggles

Press sweaty palms
jump picket fences, cut across lawns
our bodies pound as the adrenaline pumps
overwhelmed by our endorphins
you pick your speed up
I follow you
four flailing legs
carrying bits of blades of grass
hoping to steal a ride on our greatest of expeditions.
We want to get out of this town,
disappear from our past
you and I will burn this city down and dash.

The prettiest of things have a wash of black
there is a beauty in the dark
shadows favor your lining
fallings have left their mark
for her skin is light, soft and sweet
but wrists, hips and shins
hold pigments of brown
though none is tainted as her heart

Auras are peculiar mass
you stimulated my senses
I read you
you are not black.
I still feel your being
hear your whispering thoughts
all I am unable to interpret
I learn to accommodate.
You can not
you do not know me.
You do.
You do not normally say it,
you did.
Your delusional illustration
stole from me my common senses
only a game would you still be interested.

My sweet red rose
in which direction does your cardinal fly?
I would follow you higher as you grow
beneath the Fall sky.

My incandescent October moon,
time is passed to Winter
we decorate our Christmas tree
our star a Jack-O'-Lantern.