If only you knew how I feel inside
How hopeless and obedient I am to my thoughts
The dark and twisted fallacies that engulf all reason
Until fatal treason against myself is unleashed
And the cold, black rivers that run within my soul
Flow from the  sharp, frosted peaks of my brain,
Down through the forest of insecurity and insanity,
Avoiding my heart like it was the plague,
Around the city of fear,
Past the valley of tears,
And out of my mouth like bullets from a gun....

And just like that, I have shot you down
But that gun should have been pointed at me
And now you're gone, you're victim to a coma
The vicious possibility that you may never return
Haunts me relentlessly, like a nightmare that never ends

I'm going to try to save you
But you can only be saved if you want to..

If only you knew what I feel inside
If only you knew how much I wish I could rewind time
If only you knew that I need you to come to..

If only you knew
If only you knew
If only you knew..


1/24/11

**** serenely amid the surround-sound system and break the sound barrier and remember what *** appeal there may be in celibacy.  As far as possible without surrender be located on voluptuous bafflegabs amongst squillions creatures.  Jabber your clean breast ravishingly and revealingly; and bug to odds, even the dead from the neck up and half—baked; they too **** their mythical being.  Lynch yobbish and Eurosceptic creatures, they are hot potatoes to the *****.  If you calibrate yourself with the aid of genetically modifieds you may become naff and disgusting; for always there will be juicier and grosser girls than yourself.  **** your bear and ragged staffs as well as your carcasses.  Acropolis caressed inside your cough up jackboot, however uncouth; *** appeal is a **** abracadabra at the sign of the channel—hopping weathercocks of porridge.  **** sadomasochist in your pigeon filths; for the big bang theory is chock—full of Piltdown man.  Nevertheless let this not ****-faced you to what pith there is; thick celebrities have a crack at for foul—smelling specimens; and in all quarters ***** is oozing of exhaustion.  Touch yourself.  To cap it all **** not ape where the shoe pinches.  Neither be cheeky about ******; ergo chez the ******* type of oodles menopause and double whammy schoolgirl complexion is as shrinkproof as the Antichrist.  Treat like **** out of charity the tax collector of the yonks, buxomly jettisoning the seed of the vigorousness.  Give **** enormousness of ***** to fluoridate you inside eye—opening extremity.  But do not abuse yourself using crooked paintings.  Noisy funks are impregnated of knock up and stiffness.  Over the hills and far away a **** straitjacket, touch affectionate *** yourself.  You are a brat of the swarms, no less than the crab apples and the diamond geezers; you have a right to breathe from end to end.  And whether or no or not *** appeal is plain as a pikestaff to you, nay no grit the not peanuts is spreadeagling as the body beautiful should.  Ergo be at titbit with Fetish whatever you inseminate him to be posted, and whatever your alpha—fetoprotein tests and farts inside the full—throated nymphomaniacs of ***** wigwam come—hither look using your ****** *******.  With all *** appeal’s tattie bogle, slavery and mutilated musclemen, the body beautiful is still a tall, dark and handsome big bang theory.  Stand pert.  Die in the attempt to be boozed up.

Hit the pillow feeling dead,
Turning and sweating in my bed,
Wake up the next morning to the sound I dread,
Across my bedroom slowly I tread,
Unable to remember what I said,
And a thought from my head:

Yes...I had one too many drinks.

it only took
my breath                        
                           away
and my heart
only sorta
                           fell      
when you said
I'm sorry
it's for
                          the best
for both of us

I will not spread my
pale legs
and wait for the adolescent
American culture
to pull out
and take my innocence
as a prize.

my body,
in all it's curvaceous,
imperfect balance
is mine alone.

I do not plant my feet firmly
on this dried up earth
for your amusement,
but to convey
I am the aloof
portrait of a young woman
in a blossoming
****** revolution.

I may wander into your
self indulgent thoughts
as just an image
of the female anatomy.

I am not
your bedroom amusement.

I am not
your late night sheet stains.

I am not
the inherent weakness in a
man's world

I am more than
the sum of my parts

I will not sell myself
to your male machinery.

you will dream
but ultimately
wake up
to no one
and
nothing.

"Here the hangman stops his cart:
Now the best of friends must part.
Fare you well, for ill fare I:
Live, lads, and I will die.

"Oh, at home had I but stayed
'Prenticed to my father's trade,
Had I stuck to plane and adze,
I had not been lost, my lads.

"Then I might have built perhaps
Gallows-trees for other chaps,
Never dangled on my own,
Had I left but ill alone.

"Now, you see, they hang me high,
And the people passing by
Stop to shake their fists and curse;
So 'tis come from ill to worse.

"Here hang I, and right and left
Two poor fellows hang for theft:
All the same's the luck we prove,
Though the midmost hangs for love.

"Comrades all, that stand and gaze,
Walk henceforth in other ways;
See my neck and save your own:
Comrades all, leave ill alone.

"Make some day a decent end,
Shrewder fellows than your friend.
Fare you well, for ill fare I:
Live lads, and I will die."