A senseless work of art
that is what I am
a being without heart
to you I'm not a man

I miss the smell of ecstasy
desire burns my soul
my tears will acid be
ending me in whole

I miss the taste of passion
saline on my tongue
now its only ashen
like a near-dead smoker's lung

I miss the sight of jubilance
a thing for sorrowed eyes
your beauty was the evidence
reason for my demise

I miss the sound of springtime
dancing on your voice
now I see a pantomime
in which joy is not a choice

I miss the softest caress
as our lips would lightly brush
now my minds a mess
my body on a rush

I miss your vibrant groaning
as I penetrate your mind
and the sound of your moaning
when we explore the find

I miss your pulsing heart rate
felt through your tightening skin
and how I debate
our affection is a sin

but then you said you loved me
and that you were here to stay
but ripped my heart in pieces
as I watched you walk away

so now I live a empty life
always missing you
wondering if, through your strife
You might be missing me too

A senseless work of art
that is what I am
a being without heart
to you I'm not a man

Mirror, mirror on the wall
how many times do I still have to fall
how much pain must I take
how much smiles should I fake
with my heart at stake...

My story is a tragedy
written between the lines and the creases
words lost, somewhere in the confides of time and space itself

the paper is my skin,
bare and ****, warm to the touch
radiating heat and pulsating the residue of passion

the ink is of my own ,
brought forth by my raw emotion
tasting of salt and copper...

and somewhere in the background
, somewhere between the faint distinction of blood from tears
there my soul still lies in wait

My ending is not happy
nor marriage
nor fame

My cure is not love
nor is it the touch of lips
I have no happy ending..
instead, I end in an ellipse....

'n lewe in konstruksie...
dis tog die mees logiese manier om dit te beskryf...
ons bou en bou en bou,
en toets dan die produk.

Maar aan die einde, as ons klaar gebou het...
wat is dan daarvan te kom.
                        'n Lee huis...
                                       'n stil pad...

en wat het ons van onself geleer?

En wat leer ons van die wereld en mense om ons
             , vasgevang in die stryd teen tyd...

niks nie.

Ons het net voor onself uitgekyk
                   na die vaal stene
                                   en die slukkerige sement.

Watter vreugde het dit vir ons gebring.

Niks nie.

Nee,
         ek weier.

Ons is tog hier geplaas met vrye wil.

En iewers langs die pad,
                                          raak almal die pad duister...
en word dan deur die samelewing verdoem.

Die mensdom besluit dan wat van hulle sal word...
In daardie oomblikke is God meer vergete
deur die skares wat saamdrom op die rand van die pad...
                                                                ­                                      die wat lag en vinger wys...
                                                                ­                                                      die wat klippe gooi,
                                                         as deur die wat die prentjie aanskou.

Soms kort ons 'n perspektief van uit die donker,
                          om die lig rerig te verstaan...

Soms moet ons eers die genadelose aanraking van die koue voel,
                           voordat ons die sagte streel van die son oor ons gesigte kan waardeur.

Daar le wysheid in die donker,
                                      want dit is in die donker waar jy aleen is,

                         met niemand om in jou oor te fluister wat reg of verkeerd is nie.

                                                                ­                                                      Net die wind om jou siel te sus,
                                                                ­                                               die stilte om jou uit te rus...

                                                 en niemand wat jou god kan wees
                                       of sy woorde
                                                          ­      en planne
                                                                ­                   vir jou kan uitmessel nie.

Die pad het die gevaar geraak.

Dis koud en korrupt.
                                     En ons is dankbaar,
         dat ons die kans gekry het om dit te sien,
terwyl ons stadig verswelg word deur die skadu's
                                                                ­                                             en wegsmelt in die donker...

want nou weet ons dat ons pyn maar net 'n gedeelte van die werklike hartseer was...

                                                               ­ ons is die gelukkiges...

en hulle loop op die pad na verdoemtenis

I was the beast
Through my veins was nothing but darkness
In my heart... nothing but hate

I ran when the moon was full
Never knew my destination, but always running
running from what dark grievances following my every move

I stalked when the moon was dead
In the absence of it's light, when no one could see
I stalked a lonely dream

Her apples were poisoned...
Tainted by the light of the sun
Corrupted by the innocence of youth

How could I not
The flesh was pale
begging bitterly to be pierced by my fangs
resistance was futile
a radiant glow surrounds
the reason for my coming demise

Cunningly, unknowingly
canines pierce the skin
I bite into the apple

Torture rang forth from the clock on the wall
Jealousy sprouted from the roots of it all
I was succumbed by emotion

Deafening

amongst the madness
the doe the dew and death
grew the sound of a beating heart

En soms in die vroee oggend ure **** ek steeds jou stem...
wanneer ek sukkel om te slaap,
                                                                ­                                 maar my lyf deuretrek is van moegheid
                                         , voel ek nog jou sagte aanraking.

Dan ***** jy by my soos die neurie van 'n lang vergete wiegelied in die agterkop,
                                                       ­              of
die weergalming van ons gegillende stemme deur die lang gange van die lewe...

dis dan wanneer die hartseer my tref.
Dit vul die    l e e m t e s     wat gelaat is deur die    s p a s i e s     waar jou vingers altyd so
                perfek
                             In myne gepas het,

in die dooie gevoel,
oor al die plekke waar net jou aanraking
                           soms
genoeg was om elektrisiteit op te wek
                                    wat my nog vir weke speelvol geprikkel het.

Dan vorm dit saam in die [kamers] van my hart,
     waar jou n.a.a.m,
                                    jou < liefde 3
                                                         en jou ~legende*
vir altyd sal bly

... en stroom deur die vensters van my siel...
sodat ek weer 'n gesonde uitkyk op die lewe kan he.

Soos 'n magtige rivier
     loop dit by al die voue af,

       maar altyd met grasie...
en ek huil

And in the midst of absence of the light of day...
My woeful heart, it's music start play...
a song of patience not yet learned,
a song of love, for which is yearned

A hand around the veins surrounds,
***** into fists, and feel it pounds
A breath is stolen from thy lips
and blows thy mind through many a treetop tips

what eyes have seen they shalt now desire
with a passion that burns with impulse, Aphrodite's fire
but what heart hath yearned, but never learned
it seeks to master, broken and burned

And in between all , jealousy lies
Between the love and angry lies
A human soul with desire lies
His woeful heart, withers and dies