Has feathers,
sleeps in the nook,
by a red rock,
and the title of this poem,
made you look
at my ****.

__
To see a photo of my ****:
http://beautyineverything.com/5048983478

Far, far away, in a kingdom long ago,
There lived a ***** King who had a **** made out of gold.
He ****** his royal Queen, he ****** his royal Knights,
He shoved it in the Chambermaids, and up his Horse--did twice!

From the Page-boys down, to the Peasants in the fields,
He even ****** the Flowers whilst reaching for a feel,
-Of his farting ****, to scratch up and down,
'Then he headed through the forest to **** the whole ****** Town!

If you seem to wonder why this King continually ****** and Farted,
Perhaps this poem will teach you a lesson on how Government was started!

I fell for someone's eyes to gaze into
Not for your eyes

I fell for a face to look at
Not for yours

I fell for the kind words
Not the mouth that made them

I fell for the perfume of the flowers
Not for your scent

I fell for the gifts and presents
Not the bringer of such things

I fell for the tender kisses
Not the lips that actioned them

I fell for the nights spent getting high
Not for the company I kept them with

I fell for the romantic dinners
Not the hands that prepared them

I fell for the midnight lust
Not the way you made love to me

I fell for 'I love you'
Not for the way you said it

I fell for the absence of 'someone'

I fell for a hand, lips and body of a guy

I fell for the missing link

But it was, and never will be.

I didn't fall for you

It wasn't you

I fell into nothing.

That nothing - was you.

That first introduction
I wanted you
And I sensed you wanted the same,
But I said nothing.

The times when I caught you
Staring at me
As if you wanted to get caught,
And I said nothing.

Meeting out in a group,
We found ourselves
Drawn to one another all night,
And I said nothing.

You came into my office
Head next to mine
Your breath sending chills down my spine,
Yet I did nothing.

I see you, words are at my lips,
But I just smile,
And I say nothing.

Against the blackened auras
of the deserts of evil
there dawned a monarch
from the oceans divine

As the mane of the risen
cast weapons of light
fallen was the evil
to the warrior's might

The warrior of east
waved an ocean of glory
dropping a pearl
within the oysters of history

Betrayal at west
the verdict was set
by the clouds who turned
their shadows against

Pierced was the monarch
by the swords of dusk
shedding the dewdrop
reddened for death

Ressurect but will
the messiah of east
to lighten the lamps
of the evil's defeat

Midair captures me
And I don’t care
I wrap up in rapture
Exploding every flare

Afraid of a dark alter
Stomping up infinite steps

Dissipating under me
I am kept

Octagons and windy signs
Captivate me
And my dark eyes

Midair captures me
Exploding every flare
I wrap up in rapture
And I don’t care

Running to forms streams
From race to race
I yell for screams
From face to face

On a plane of peace
Worries and despair
Gone today
But always there

Midair captures me
Exploding every flare
I wrap up in rapture
And I don’t care

Urns and odours bring away!
  Vapours, sighs, darken the day!
Our dole more deadly looks than dying;
  Balms and gums and heavy cheers,
  Sacred vials fill’d with tears,
And clamours through the wild air flying!

  Come, all sad and solemn shows,
  That are quick-eyed Pleasure’s foes!
  We convènt naught else but woes.

Her nails stained with the perfect color of red. Dangerous is what they said.
Her lips quickly caught on to the trend. They turned to the lipstick for advice.
Her perfect blue eyes darkened by the black eyeliner that quickly took her under its wing.
The mascara danced upon her thick brown eyelashes turning them into what they said.
Her once dark freckles numbed with the pale foundation she was convinced she needed.
Her pale cheeks corrected with a bright pink toned blush that clung to her face.
The mirror sat in front of her. Taunting her eyes with an image she loved..
Her hair spray held it together making it stick to her head.
“Perfect” is what she said as she put down her brush.
For once she has found the image of perfection.
Ironically it was not her.
She wore a mask. And that’s a fact.
Her natural beauty abandoned for what she thought was perfection.