What can I say she liked it hot,
she called it her pepper of lust...
         Every so often
             she swallowed the seeds.
I've never known anyone sweat
           so much without chewing.

What can I say she was a woman
of adventure, never turning away
from he heat of the moment..
    She drank milk
                      to cool herself down.
I've never known a woman to
swallow so much, drinking from
the source asking for more...

"You can only milk for so long..

Time had passed,
and she needed to take this
              Jalo-***** deep,
to feel the heat within herself.
She was never shy of her skills,
              taking the seeds deeply within.

Well she had tasted it, sweated when
it lingered for a time within....
               But after a time peppers wilt,
not of there own accord, but over use.
           She was a woman of fiery lust...
But never fear, there is always tomorrow,
             My seeds grow fast..
She'll get her sweaty fill,
                   she'll just have to wait,
letting these hot seeds grow once more.

Nightmares linger before me,
staring into pools of
                       my consciousness.
Fishing deeper within,
                           hooking on
                                   my deepest paranoia's ,
          then I scream silently within.

I'm mute to the content
of others misgivings
            of my silent ego..

Clambering upon my
             every concern,
  yet I'm deaf to their every syllable.

But in reality I don't give a flying ****...

It weeps flakes of time on the
unforgiving floor below....
     like leaves never fading
              stagnant greens linger
deformed by there empty moments

Contorted panels showing the pain
of there absence from the world.
              A glass panel cracked beyond
its sight, distorted reflections collect
fractured rainbows never reaching
                                      there *** of gold.

When the wind cuts upon its shadow,
   this door creaks open, falling to splinters
beyond its creation there is nothing waiting
just an empty space...
           Shut for so long lingering in denial
that beyond it lies nothing of interest..
    it lays on its hinges, a dead tree felled...

The crows did hover above life's crumbling
shadow, never one to be swallowed in the mumbling
screams of what kept even death away.
But life hangs like a noose slowly eroding the way.

Tears of black feathers fell, as darkness sailed on
a sea of eclipsing movements. Twilights black swan
collected on life, and then was static as life bled feeding
on the misgivings that fed a misguided needing.

Shallow where the echoes beneath onyx feeding,
as glimmering hope faded and the inevitable pleading.
For but one more collection of endurance fading.
Then silence as clouds descended, how death became degrading.

My attention is hammered into being,
           as the anvil of my motions
                      are moulded into  formation.

Heated in the furnace of
                                       my subconscious.
What once was just white heated noise
       now moulds with each hit of reasoning..

Our thoughts are always being sculpted
               in the milliseconds of there creation.
Some aren't as we wished,
             misshapen syllables are reheated
to verses later hammered into cognitive thoughts.

*"Our perceiving is moulded with wielded
                    blows that form our every sentence,

Flies crept on cremated wounds
                       that had healed untidy..
stitches were never removed
they just descended within
                               suffocating the scars..

Scratching at there depth
within.
              The conciseness
       that caused the cuts to linger.
But still they bled internally.

Your scheming of false fears
            will be actioned upon...
Your just a canary in a coal mine,
        not realizing your already dead.
suffocated within a dark place..

I'm never going to heal,
           but I'm never going to
suffocate on my ego.
         Yours will just sing
till no one listens, sing silently little bird.

I have a broken
          me...
ta..
                                               phor...
         no one understands its meaning.

Confused with the inner
         emptiness of a shell
            with no substance.

Do you understand what I'm trying
           to say without telling
                                           you the truth
of my conclusions??

We only live once,
           the question is are we living
          or sleeping through
                           the wonderment of life..

Never run through life walk it slowly..
                    Don't sleep through it,
open your eyes and look at what you can see
                                     when you look closely..

                     You'll see more
and enjoy the walk
because we can only walk a path so long...

In terms misunderstood,
                we are all reflections
                           of our domineer
which is a negativity that others
                                     see before them..

Let ourselves be seen in a reflection
             that isn't condescending.
  We are the mirror of our thoughts,
         that we need to look deep into daily..

Nobody likes me,
           I may as well make them
     all eat worms...

Where once there was ridicule,
           now there's  just silence.
          Everybody hates me....

But now there no longer versing,
               now its just me rehearsing
my tears for there funeral....

Once is for sorrow
                 twice is a rehearsed verse
        third times the charm..

No one will know,
          that I'm the one that
                        silenced there verse.

Once they spoke,
           twice they made me cry,
  third time I cured the disease...

I'm happy now that I can sit quietly,
        I'm smiling now that words are dead.
              ill sit here in silence,
And absorb the silence of there passing..

I collect crayons,
              that I coloured eyes upon.
All where closed but I painted them
                                 open...
Death can only have you when you
    shut those lids of sight  open to life.
But when there vacant it comes instead.

I coloured there lids that were
                                  closed tightly shut,
Why should I give it the fulfilment
                    when I have so much fun left.


I use blue, green & brown,
such pretty colours, I use hues of both.
       Remember eyes are mirages
                       of not one but three.
But I don't want it to take you,
                      that treats for me.
I colour you in, ill open your eyes.


But death will never have you,
          as only I can colour in your eyes.
Only I can paint those baubles of the soul,
          only I can colour in what's left behind.
l'll colour you in, ill keep your eyes open wide.
         even though your gone
                   ill keep your memory vividly alive.

And in the field I did lay,
          with the flowers
I did stay,
              wilting when there
petals fall..
            My tears now dry
                                like there stem.

In the field I lay silent,
         with the corpses
                    of pretty flowers.
Nothing lives only decays,
      I'm just a flower,
             no longer blossoming
      Just decaying, my petals deceased.


The field of empty flowers,
           with not a blossom.
Where everything that once  lived
                    now stagnantly lies.
   The aroma of death where I once blossomed
now rests beneath the earth...
              I was a flower now buried beneath.

I'm a trapeze artist of  word
             flying through sentences,



But
           then I
                        fell
                             and my words
didn't balance so well.
We
all
falter
on
our
meaning.

We just have to realize,
           that were cant balance
       all the time, sometimes words fail..

I wrote every syllable in flawless meanings,
             my fingers playing my emotions.
A fine tuned tapestry of silence,
telling you every thing you needed to hear..
            Then you caressed my face.
Hand gestures solidifying the meaning of our every word.

My muteness is an epilogue for
all the words that died before you.
            Entombed within the fibres of you fingertips
names you scratched from the hollow bearing of
        those canals of listening..  they say silence is spoken
but my words bleed from your ears in silence

Where all flavours in life,
                                   never does one taste the same.
but some are similar, close friends that are shades
so varied  but tastes just slightly different from the other.
We think we no choice to our flavour of life.

We think where all trapped within a vacuum of a world
where we think we have  no choice
                                                       but to be either this or that.
But where all different flavours that have more choice
than we realise. we just have to look outside the Jar.

Finding that even though were enclosed,
                  that we don't have to be just one flavour in life,
that we can be a mixture of varieties.
No one has to taste the same life is never just
              Blue,
                         Green, or Orange,
Were what ever flavour we wish, ever changing in life.

I'll never be  alone as long as you
keep the darkness away from the
streets of my heart. I was sullen in
the home of my feelings.

But you lit every moment towards me,
letting me venture beyond my own confides,
and I walked beyond myself  and then I
found you lighting me further on.

I look at every street light as its
fuelled by the essence of your rhythm,
my was heart secluded till you lit me
beyond me reach and I followed you.

And now I dance on every street lamp,
feeling the luminosity, and I know I'm
safe following  every burnished shade.
my every avenue towards my love.

We all are connected by others,
                      through laughter,
                                  through smiles.
Were always thinking of those that
we haven't spoken to in a while,
                                   and we think!
But when that moment has passed
and there words are but echoes,
                               remember reflections
carry on through the people they knew..
always will we remember them
                              for there words to us,
and the laughter that resonates through
                                   our reflections of them.

I will never wish words, only my actions as all syllables
   eventually fade..   Take my coat and the few dollars
as actions are worth more than just singular words...
         sleep warm with worth more than thoughts..

People forget that
                         love rhymes
only carry you so long,
                    along a reparative flow..
            But I venture on the
waves of varied flow..

Do I care if you get ******
                       below my riptide..  
never connecting upon my
                 differential flow of wording.
Drowning  within my varied view of a world
                           that isn't flowers they
fell into my ocean and got dragged into
       oblivion long before you learnt to swim.

The moods of others are fickle,
                      but I'm not a trend,
I'm a tsunami of reality...
That's not constricted to the lullabies of others as
they drown within my words....
                others fade
                   but I'm still here dragging you out...

I've rode a bus to nowhere,
          but I wrote down every stop
to realize that
       even though we don't realize it!!
                        In our journey there are much
better places to get off than the last stop.

I'm a neighbourhood ******
of truth, I'll inject everyone
                               of you,
The needle isn't contaminated  
with untruths, the only thing
I inject within you is the truth..

Wannabe,
                false fashion,
                                          ripoff
that has only one place when
used up by those whispering
in ears like a messiah, of false
prophesies of riches that only
cloth the pockets of would be
rules of a patch that is never
                   theirs just a mirage of power..

I've been spat upon,
                            I have holes!
Of my consequences that others
have vented upon me from afar.
But I'm the neighbourhood
                                           ******
injecting truths, saving lives
          that would be caskets
                             silently cried upon.

We are only drowning
                       in shallow waters
if we don't come up for air..
But if we look above the surface,
               we find there is more left to breath.
We just have to look above the waves
                                            of our own discontent.

My momma threw me to
the curb like she had a
wanting to stomp me
         American history
                         X
                             style
to much of her wrong type
of love made her corrosive
                                          in my life.
Telling truths of what her definition
of love was, a gunshot bleeding
every time she let of verbal shots.
But I wasn't the fever that collected
within the palpitations of her heart.
That point which was quenched
                    by the point of her rage
every time she was coming
                                      down to earth
like she fell from orbit.
But I wasn't a footstep in her failing,
I was a shadow leaving her behind...
Sometimes you have to leave
                  that which you love..
to make you stronger.
If their there when you return
you know they were willing to change.
                  And if not,
you just visit there quiet place
and tell them you always loved them.

To survive sometimes we wonder alone,
      not to be suffocated by the rot of
       another's love,
she curb stomped my love, but I love her though..

We are but winds of thought coalescing
on the whispers of others
                              jumbled emotions.

Yet we suckle, like a new born's
yearning on to the verses
              that milk our emotions.

The connections of a trinity of untruths,
  where our humanity is not elevated
                      but stripped away gently...
The father of a flawed creation,
   all knowing but decided to make
humanity in a dictation of his image..
flawed like his worth... sin his gift!

               Shackled from our breath..
even though are breath is our curse..
The son born from a moment of
               non-consent, a child given
the burden of a deity even though
                     no words were expressed.

Father I have sinned with your birth.
The ghost of my reflection,
                       am I worth more than
what others think my past is worth.
Just because I don't concede to illogical
morals do I need to be a
                              ghost in humanities eyes.

That carrot, what could be said a little girl gave her,
                    Well we wondered why an anatomically
Correct Miss Snow lady had such an amicable smile.

Her nose always seemed to descend to below,
                         She had a friend but his carrot was as
Limp as could be, it wasn’t his fault it’s the cold you see…

But never fear, where there is ingenuity there is away…
                 In their morning Miss Snow seemed to ice up below,
But she seemed to have a rather defrosted glow…

For when it was time for this artificial carrot to wind down,
              She evaporated in pleasure but Mr Snowman was still there
***** but no place to go. Poor Mr Snowman,
                                                          we'll blame it on the cold…

It never saw itself as much,
             a rough coat...
  but underneath that where
             its true potential lay.

But when It looked deeper
          all it saw was conflicting layers.
    Then the unthinkable, others saw
his uses but he just cut into himself.


Tears feel as the feeling of unworthiness
             was cut away as layers fell..
but this was like every other
                     onion depressed at its worth.

but everything is special in another's eyes,
     Were all like a onion, layers of dignity.
But even though we don't see it,
      We all have a worth, were layers of an onion..

My morals do not abstain
             from false figurines
of ill-gotten morals.
Mine are birthed from my humanity,  
         and the throws of my
mothers kindness.
She who showed me that my humanity
is what I should
                   follow as a path of
kindness & respect and fortitude...
I follow no false reflection that are
        never shown on the reflections
of my thinking.
            We are each a vessel of conscious
memory and we need to follow our own
               path that swings between
the morals of what are perceived as
                                                       good
                                                            ­&
                                                           bad...
But it the nature of our humanity to
thread our lives on our deeds or misdeeds..
We are the vehicle of our own ending..
Do we swim or sink in our decisions...

On tethered dreams I hang upon,
                never really suffocating
on the mirage of my hallucinations
that I skim past.

My feet barely glancing as
      I stem for growth
   to reach this ill choice of wanting.
but  I wilt before slipping in to
         a suspended unconsciousness.

I see the colours of hope above me,
       but these illicit shimmers
keep me hanging from a goal
that could falter me.
       Tethered now within my own disappointment.

Yet I choose this path of least resistance,
    suspended between the ending of my
               continued existence.
Or to just keep looking up
        not seeing that my choices
will someday float beyond my reach.

Every snowflake like a
                   chandelier hanging
from the ceiling of the heavens.
Light glistens from there cold
                                           glimmer.
Collecting on the sorrows of winters
barren collection on bleak visuals.

But when these chandeliers fall,
        enveloping all in a winters glow.
And for a few moments, everything
                              is in symmetry.
A masterpiece of indistinguishable beauty.

I was a mosaic collected
in scratched nails
                  imbedded, bleeding
like I was meant to be touched
but can you really grasp a reflection..

How could you identify what
          I see, within the fallen feathers
of a crows smiles.
                               I'm hidden within,
a pile of dead bones wishing to fly again.

I could walk within the footsteps of those
in front of me on calm sands.
                               But I choose to run on
a beach of shattered shells, this is life!
broken dreams never really washing away.

I see smiles kept aloft by matchsticks,
                                       ready to ignite.
Within there embers embracing the true
               reflection of how I see others.
Parched realties of never really loving you
or another for the failures of there integrity.

I could love,
             in blindness.
But what is seen is nothingness..
I could love,
             in thought.
But memories will always lie to oneself.
I could have love,
             in myself.
But nothing ever comes from that..

Until I realize that I'm not in control
of this collage of moments.
                    I'm a Paper-Mache,
randomly collecting on a frame work
           of contemplation, that I will only
see on the completion of my life.

I'm but a part that I thought was
                                 irrelevant, immaterial.
But I'm just a piece of life collecting on
the shattered shells slowly reforming to
realize there is more to life than sandy shores.

We are all wounds of
            Life's misfortunes
That leads to the worst
               cut all of all, death.

The 25th the realm of
                      gods reborn
A repetition forgotten.

      But for those who know
That all gods fade but
New ones are
        reborn in on the 25th.

Incroch on the nest of
              My giving and I will
collect your bones
     and soil upon them.

For where there is grace
    There is also the seathing
Retribution of my thoughts
      And I will bury you unmarked.

You know your in love  
                            with another,
When you laugh at the fact
    that when she farts..
There worse than anything you
                  can muster up in a lifetime

And so the sheep did follow
                     and fall to there knees
not knowing the truth of there
future folly.
For those before clothed the Shepard
and Fed his many needs.

While they were tossed aside
              empty vessels of false followings..
And when the knew were born
                          the shepherd smiled.

Not for the birth of new life,
            but to fed upon there insecurities
   knowing when they could walk,
they would follow his words that were
               just leading them to there inevitable ending....

Love vibrates at the frequency
                         of our hearts.
A mass of emotions that even
                          though a theory,
             its the building blocks
of a mathematical equation.
         That isn't totally understood.
But still we investigate the relative
                    mass & gravity that
our love is a theory of emotions gravity
                                  stringing our hearts along.

I weaponized love, collected the
pheromones of
                        every smile.
A heart beat,  
    my hands laid upon everyone.

I stole one maybe
                           two seductively,
They thought I was smitten with
there motions.
                     But I stole every petal
that had laid upon there blossoming eyes.

I will steal every happiness,
                                      that is gloated
from the hands of others
                                       to feed ego's whims.
Where they stole the reflections of others hearts.
And I slept, why they wept on lonely pillows...

They may have this moment,
          immature gestures of
  what lies beneath there misgivings,
of pushing me against the walls of
                                    my self-esteem.

They may have this moment,
           glancing words,
          reverberating, like fingertips
                      on crystal shards,
within the static frailty of
                                        my self-worth.

But my moment was when,
                            I realized I wasn't
                                          broken
                              damaged,
It was all about there need for control
on a world that has none.
        And I'm no longer there's anymore.

My words of thanks, yes your quite charming!
With your systematic verses, but you need to
vary oneself.
As you sound like a repeat of
                       last nights show... And repeats get boring.
So what manner of vocabulary, abusive motions
do you want to play out?? if none please just move along...

Her ******* were like damp snow,
       teasing but letting my fingers
tread lightly.

She felt ever motion, the imprints
of my wonderings were left
                in the cotton of damp fingerprints.

I never went below the snow,
         sometime
just treading lightly,
       is enough to make her moan.

All are naked in the
       reflection of truth.

Every imperfection
                   can be seen.

And all will never be
          fully clothed,
as there lies undress them
          with every spoken words

Gazing aloft into eternity
                      there is only
one thing out there
              collecting on my sight.

Its your gazes,
like
       luminous moments,
You brighten any twilight.

We collect like
               snowdrops,
        melting into life's
  pools of contemplation.

Though the glimmer of
           evanesce shines aloft..
lighting the wayward
                      wonderers path...

Always remember that below
             every shining moment
that there is always be a shadow
                         under every candle.

Feathered motivations coated
                  within every layer of
     her distorted refection.

No one will taste the flavours of  
              her contorted thoughts,
everyone coated in delusions...