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

You have the most beautiful smile,
Breathtaking,
Especially that careless one,
When you think no one is watching,
But I've stolen a look,
There's no hunger or poverty in the world, for that moment, I swear
Time stands still,
The curve of your lip, and the glint in your eye,
Set everything in order

I worry
For the unmoving mountain
Unable to move an inch
In the midst of an earthquake.
The shaking ground
Does not mean to destroy it
But it cannot be helped
When some things
Are just so obstinate.
They must survive
Or crumble.

The earth is changing beneath us all.
When the dust has settled,
Nothing will ever be the same.
Fall apart or carry on.

The heat and oxygen course through your lungs like a temporary flame

One sweet dull second of numbness

All they can see is an empty vessel; an unstained body, with from the looks of it, not a care in the world

But they are simply decomposing from the inside out

No doubt, they will be a platform of overt despair by the end of the night

The sight will give a writer something to write about, an empath something to cry about, and a lover something to worry about

Destruction is infused in every cell of their body

When it comes down to choice, there is not one

It feels to them as if the days inevitably, and relentlessly, cease to end in the immense amount of pain instilled in every ounce of their being

Dreading tomorrow as if it's a terminal sickness

Once you have lost hope, it seems there is no fire left to burn

The time that they have left in the world will be filled with cheap cigarettes, Irish car bombs, and lifeless friends

Closely comparable to a dying tree; close to expired, and still so beautiful