Even when there away,
the blossom of there
       emotions
                     descend
on our hearts.
Each kissing
the loneliness away

She blossoms every morning,
    Though she

may wither slightly

                      though the harsh
Breezes of  the daily life.

She still is a flower
     Of impeachable beauty.

Though the day may wilt her.

She is the fragrance,
     That will never fade.

And I will gaze upon
     Her for eternity


For she is my blossom
   In the garden of life.

Cherished thoughts
                              fly on unicorn kisses

She seductively blew the smoke in my direction
        and caught negligent of my surrounding
my lungs were entombed in her breath of ash.

I only saw with each breath as I walked away  
The reaper ripping pages of her life away
        burning them in the tar of her lungs..

And he sighed......

I asked her to blow the dust of my bean bags,
she looked at me like I was asking of something ungiven.

But she cleansed them within a volume of gargled verse,
vacuuming the soiled reminisce of who's last tongue
had woven there words of lust upon them.

"You dumped me, we were on a break,

But teeth are sharper than a particular female anatomy.

Saying a few syllables in gargled verse,

"This is my **** gun,  "And your fired,

"We were on a BREAK,

I had so many stitches that my ***** looked Frankenstein's
face, never ******* a woman when she has your bean bags
in her mouth, tears of crimson fell as I fainted.

I got the attention, but the wrong eyes
were perving me, not the ladies    
                                             but blue bottles
eyes were looking me up and down..

I had nothing, but they were buzzing on
me like I wanted to swat this swam that
               never stopped its blue luminosity.

Handcuffing me to false accusations..

I was never there yesterday,
                                   wasn't there tomorrow.

But you got witnesses that saw me
                there even though I was in a cell..
       for being in a place you didn't like.

But na bro.. I'm guilty cos the cameras were
                                                                ­  broken.

And no one saw me in a cell, even though
              five of you carried me like I was
drowning innocent.
                                   In blue swells of  *******
                                                      a sea of setup lies.

I'm here now, my first name Is innocence,
           surname is you ani't nothing on me.

I'll always walk free,
                    cos my footsteps never trod

on this ground.

And you got no steps that put me before
                            the moment that you tripped up.

I'm walking free, and your walking away..

You tried to stab me in
the back, but your blade
was dull, but even though
it didn't cut.

You never the less kept on
stabbing I was bruised, concussed
from the impact of your lies,
whispers behind my back
but friends knew you were
a wolf hiding as a lamb.

Your knife was blunt but it
still left a scar..

Words are sometimes
                   like a blunt knife,
           they can cut over time
and you don't realize that itch
is but the blade edging deeper
under the guise of an scratch.

Sometimes people can stab
                                 you slowly,
and you never realize that
even though by your side.
their hand Isn't holding you,
              but the hilt pushing it deeper
with snake smiles coloured as friendship.

Smiling in this moment of love,
pollen brings alleges.
A sneeze pressures
her secret to fall
with a clang.

Vibrating *******, blushful innocence revoked.

Well where do we start?
Bob,
That answers a lot of questions before asked.
He was a vegan, kind of?

Never did he linger on thoughts of animal flesh,
vegan you could single him upon in certain words.
He would not linger on the animal nutritional formalities.

Could he linger on the repulsive tastes of pork, beef, lamb.
He would heave at mere thoughts of digesting these
peaceful recipients of the plant we delve all upon.

But even fish was out of his lingering taste buds.
He did how ever have a taste that differed from the
palettes of most, for it was of those he called friend.

He contorted on the repulsiveness of what his hunger
desired in wanting attention, but as those around waited
for there inevitable ending. He lingered on how they were savoured.

Bankruptcy of morals was his downfall, he saw others as
just meat sacks. Things that were as wanting in consumption
as those they fed upon, There screams were so inviting.

Have you heard an animal scream. No they don't, they
just look cynical in why your ending, their existence and stare.
Where we cry like lambs to the slaughter of our ending.

Emotion makes those that tear salt upon features
taste that much better than those unintelligent creatures
that just except there oblivion with eyes of so be it.

I have a sickness that thrives on the taste of you superficial
fear that I will not end you. No I will cease you light and
endeavour to feed on you lifeless carcass now silent.

*"Hi I'm Bob I'm a vegan struggling with the concept of
no meat in my diet, I don't eat animal, but I still linger
for the taste of meat inbetween of my moist lips and teeth.

The brain is a terrible
Thing to waste, will it
Make me smart, will
It give memories of
Past mistakes.

Fingers are the digits
That have wrote a thousand
Words, think what they have
Touched the senses they felt
Around the world.

Eyes are the window to
The soul, they have seen many
Things to enlighten the mind.
To wish they would never open
Again for fear of what was seen,
But never to see it again.

A heart it beat for love, sorrow
Touched more than we know,
It beat from birth it has beat more
Than a million times, each energy
For life from the start.

Friend I ask you this, why when
We eat do you think of these things,
Don't think of there parts as what was
And what they were.

They are dinner for us, to fill are
Stomachs nothing more, there were
What they were, but know just
Parts food to feed  us nothing more.

My hood was
            my graveyard...

They'll not remember me,
               as bones feed roses...

Burying my past,
never staying as asked,
A ***** swings descending
blood pools almost unending

But mistakes can always be unending
because nothing stays buried were only pretending.

My pages are filled with
misery, dark drawing
pollute the pages of my
life written down, I have
been tormented through
life not anymore.

I ripped pages out to forget those
times, what was done to me, but
hate sewed the pages back in
to remind me what made me
who I have now become.

My pages are filled with rips,
the scars that I was given for
being different from you,
but those pages have healed
and I moved on.

My book is of misery, but I have
not let the past rule me, I have
turned new pages never letting
misery rule, instead I turned it
and made my self strong.

Plastic seas
               suffocate oceans..

Bottled apocalypse...

Bouncing up and down
excitement as played
with youngsters around,
Then the times when all
alone, the bouncing ball
still and alone.

I cleaved a branch of thought, whittled it till it played a lullaby in my subconscious.

Then set it aflame, my ideas motioned
upon it like a moth to a matchstick
burning slowly.

My cognitive wisps collecting on the coldness of my skull, like graffiti,
ideas stained the pearl whiteness.

They are a
family, who
have become one.

Brothers to the end,
protect each other no
matter what may come.

They go where they
must to do what is
right, to keep the wolf
from the door, to
keep there country
safe from the dark night.

Tounderstandawordonemustbethemselvesandletthestoryflowwithwhatisw­rittenasitcanbeconfusingifnotseperatedandmadetobealongsentence
that is hard to read.

Life is a moment of inhales till our story
is expelled for one final reading.

All now stand over you in silence, reading
each word as it'll never be read again.

Life is the meaning
                  of breath.
Make sure your first
         is always the longest,
so we inhale our experiences.

For what is understanding
           but the exhalation
of what we breath inward.

Death always wins,
                be it a subtle kiss
                        in to oblivion.


Or a slow caress into an inevitable
                                conclusion of demise.

But all will lay silently,
             we will breathe a last breath

upon the road of solitude as all
                     walk alone into deaths exhalation.

Then there is stillness and a static
                                           nothingness suffocating
  

us in to an unfamiliar future of breathless anxiety.

The breath of change collects on all,
once plumes of growth wither beneath
the slicing silence of onyx nights.
Collecting grains of light from the day..

A flurry of hues depart there podium,
like a crescent of static moments descend
down to there inevitable serenity..
When breath collects they are fleeting momentarily.

Exhalation collects on the shivers of bare branches.
Unclothed of there foliage, they are but shadows
of life's abundance. Now they stand sullen waiting
patiently for the winds of change to once again blow.

Lingering afterimages of you collecting in
jars of my mind. I knew this was momentary
that it wasn't an eternity but a grain falling
beyond my reach, but I try to catch you.

Losing you even though your last breath
still warms upon me, your hair is an
ocean for my fingers to hold but like
water they wash through.

I feel the wondering of you heart,
like butterflies eclipsing they flutter
from you. If I could catch even one,
a prisoner of life,
                   hearing but a singular beat.

But you are lost to me, and that butterfly
motionless lying next to you.
I collected your memory in jars, but I
know I must let this last butterfly fly free.

Breath in the essence of my thoughts as I render
my reflection through breathe.

Do you linger on the metaphors tasted upon your tongue,
or do you swallow the syllables of my thoughts.

Digesting them to expel originality, or does it only repeat
on you in plagiarism...

I hear the rustling of the leaves colliding upon
the others like a bumper car ride but no one is driving.
Voicing in motions that they are moved silently.

I envision the swaying, like the crest of natures
wave coalescing like feathers in flight anchored
till the season ebbs there dance to a fall.

You were my suffocation,
   but I didn't mind

                    your fingers over

my mouth.


I  still licked your fingers
              through my teeth.


asphyxiation delusions,
                               but I tasted you,
              which was taster than breath.

I'll suffocate for you, even though i cant inhale.

exhaling is temporary,
                    but I'll always breath you inward.

I never see myself as perfect,
           but perfection in my eyes,
           are the smaller footsteps
           that cling to my larger strides.

I'll never see myself as a shadow,
       as my children will always brighten
       the areas that seem dull. They are a beacon
       of resilience, always brightening my days.

My mind is a ferries wheel,
It goes around & around,
Can you hear the creaking.

The carriages so many
Pretty colours, scratched
Thoughts. Broken carriages,
each one that stops, damaged
Contemplation of a mind torn.

My mind is a Ferris wheel
It has broken parts, it creaks
With every thought. Its a
Crumbling, dilapidated ride.

Which one will be the last
Carriage that carries my
broken thought, before it
Ceases. And this broken
Ride no longer dreams.

My reflection is here
               but my thoughts
           are dissipating..

Like an hourglass broken
                my conceptions
                       are dust...

And yet I still try to
                         remember
             every grain that fell...

A heart hidden
   Behind tissue bleeds
     Tears of departed love.

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??

Broken razorblades haemorrhaging
beneath my voice, I tried to sculpture
the pain beneath my intentions.

To sew them underneath with blunt
needles. venting the devastation that
clustered beneath, I wanted to bleed out.

If I needed wings to soar they were plucked
before I flew, and the razorblades were
haemorrhaging beneath, I'd cut them myself.

A collage of used thoughts forcibly
moulded without my consent.

Their immunity of past repetitions
never wiping away.

I'm a shadow of there past, that
will urinate on there passing

Forgiveness isn't in their vocabulary,    
I'm a collage of pain.

My cushion has drank
       a thousand tears

that you will never see....

       For I am broken under
                                   this reflection, you envision as beauty....

Within a casket of echoes
does the mirage of
      truth become stained
into a conciseness of delusions.
                 But still they are slaves..

Altercations of past inclinations
that merit, reflection of
                          misguided minds.
But with no morals they digress,
      standing on illusions of nothingness.

Where another doesn't tread,
                      fed to others delusions
of negativities prompting lies upon
lie with no merit only golden goblets
drinking upon the weakness of others.

Fatherless men, of fortitude
gaining the respect of others.
Brothers of arms, where one
falls, all would fall for another.

Never do they go singularly forth,
a unit of the numerous.
A back is never left alone, one covers
another, two are exclusive as another.

Closer than family are those who
would take one for the other.
Never knowing if the one decision will
bury them with a flag, as others salute them.

You weren't vertical with your rhyme,
na brov you weren't a stand alone dime.
Throwing it in the air and landing face down,
  you now horizontal laughable like a clown.


But we ain't here to watch you blow up,
more like deflate, claiming this was a set up.
Tripping over your words like a stuttering
      F.. ***… k you... and there's ya muttering...

No one follows you, more like your wife walking
out on the embarrassment, **** blocking
you as she got an itch that wasn't seven years,
more like size matters and yours were in arrears.

Look I don't want to put you down, I want to hit
you so hard you feel it in the next life. Llease quit
cos you haven't got what it takes to spit lyrics
you have dry mouth, your words are you own critics.

When we are
Bruised,
The colours
May fade
But inside we
Still bleed
For a moment, for a whole lifetime that comes to pass