NEW AGAIN
AGAIN I AM LONGING.
FOR AGAINS ARE REPETITIVE.
IT SEEMS I NEED TO HURT.
I NEED TO OVERCOMPENSATE.

BUT I AM BROKEN FROM BEFORES.
SHOULD I AGAIN, AGAIN?

QUICKSILVER THOUGHTS,
RUNNING MADLY,
DEADLY IF CONSUMED.
AND I AM CONSUMED AGAIN.
THE INNOCENCE OF EYES,
MY OWN FAILURES REFLECTED BACK.

I AM MOTHER, DAUGHTER.
EX-LOVER, EX-FIANCE… EX HUMAN?

I AM TEARING AT MY SOULSKIN,
A WEREWULF AT FULL MOON.
MY INNER BEING IS SUFFOCATING.
IT’S TOO EASY TO BE HAPPY.
HARD IS GOOD.
I MUST BE GOOD.
A GOOD LITTLE PUPPY.
A BAD LITTLE PUPPY.
WILL I BITE THE HAND THAT FEEDS ME?

And there it was.
your toothbrush
still in its usual spot
the perfect epitomy
of what is left of
what I feel for you

it is the last of
all that you left behind
the proofs that you were once here
an item on display
the final thing to throw away
but I don’t do it.

dusty and morphed
it shows signs of use
yet being untouched for so long
sitting there and waiting
for nothing
a lonely cobwebbed fool

it reminded me of better days
of the closeness and the comfort
it hit me just like that
a glance and a notice
I was trapped in flashbacks
all from a **** toothbrush

there is little left of what I feel for you
yet there it still sits
a subconscious essence
and once it was acknowledged
it brought be back to our befores
when you used to use that toothbrush

I don't think of our yesterdays.

Not wishing for our tomorrows.

I care about our todays as this is
the moments when our love is happening.

The fantasies of love; I fancy myself
a glove— holding onto old befores, and
wearing out the test of time

A girl I would proudly call mine
Bribe my way into making a memory my bride; two
seductions of the tied ties, sleeping together at the odds night
And to wake up with a reasonable excuse to be tired

But I've tried to be like a peck of flightless birds—
no reason to fly south like the rest. As I encouraged
her to rest under my wing, upon my smothered talk in
her *******

Two crushing walls on my face in between thighs,
and her ****** being a tall tower close to rise
But I despise the extra seconds it takes to build up
her high. And why like vampires ****, is because
they don't use much of their tongue

But by the batting of her eyes, she is close to come,
to a point of returning a tip of this favourable fun

Through the haze of dust came
The miraculous love.
Love brought vapors of sweet befores.
“Ahh the smell,” thought he, “This be the
Temptation of youth.” Girls doused in
Thick smell: summer’s scented sand.
T’was not many girls, but one. One who
He loved—He fathomed possible.
Soap and towel, given for the purge.
Dunked in baptismal waters,
But the earth was resilient.
The details are in the fabric.
The fabric is in the details.
Was it his stitching, or the towel’s?
imprinted with a thorny crown.

In the mist of it all, I'm just a yearning, passionate soul, looking to be loved.
To be understood,
To be seen for mind verses matter.
In the mist of it all, I'm lost in a body of a bodies.
Everyday thousands of people pass by me.
On their bikes, in their cars, on the bus, by feet.
I'm in my own world thinking about THOSE people thinking,
At the same time I'm competing with myself.
I find myself at a at very Freud stand point.
In the mist of it all, I've always seen right and wrong.
I used to see the in betweens,
I used to see the befores and predict the afters.
And now, in the mist of all this doubt, all this fear, all these people,
I find myself lost,
I find myself scared,
I find myself lonely.
This mist scares me of my own greatness, but at the same time it serves my incompetence.
I look at her, I look at him, I look at all of THEM,
And in the mist of it all, they look okay.
They look happy,
They are riding their bikes, taking the bus, driving their cars,
And walking towards something....
In the mist of it all,
I know assumption is an ignorant observation,
We are all a spectrum in this thing called life.
but in the mist of it all, I need a security, an explanation, a freedom to feel, to cry and to indulge in self-doubt.
But in the mist of all this mist, I need some one to hold me tight,
To reassure that my fears are only fears,
To secure my feet,
To believe in my thoughts, because they don't believe in me.
To make me feel,
God.
Where have I fallen in all this mist.
God please help me live, feel, cry for passion and not for pain.
In the mist of it all,
In the mist of it all,
I'm left with thoughts, thoughts,
And thoughts.......
In this godforsaken mist.
I yearn for love, I yearn for hope, I yearn for dream....

with a hair tuck the atoms bent
to curl in a loop around her ear
compressed into a snaking stream
of custard comets, pouring down
her neck, over collar bones, passed
the ribcage made of gold limestone
holding grains of sparrows eggs turned
to sand, from ten thousand years ago

seeping into skin, grey fake tan of
statues, mountains, ocean beds alike
the ache in the pulse at her wrist from
the steady thrum injection of the worlds
squeezed, twisted, turned and churned
into a potion, a medicinal miracle, a fine
powder substance that grows at liquid's
touch.

dripping through her palms, fingertips
to create a stain upon the sugar paper
flesh of others, like a children's picture
turned tattoo in highlighted colour and
sound, drumming into ears, road works
on the way to the brain, cause a migraine
cells screeching to infiltrate all they touch
bred, genetically modified, embitterment
of the human race, a flawless system of
this, that, none other, its aim to destruct
befores and reconstruct them differently
against the wishes of the girl who calmly
indifferently, lazily, unknowingly, seductively
tucked that lock of hair behind her ear.

The aging blind man at the florist's
Recalls his vision, his statue'd youth

Here, the sensation of scent
Is a meadow of heartache
When days were alive as a bouquet
Nostalgic now to go / see his love.

Alas when sight was fragrant...

He carries lilies out the door
Old and blind
A man holding memories
Of bright befores...

Alas when sight was fragrant.

from the first kiss of the day
to the last kiss at night
we smirkingly wring the grey waters of
Logic & Reason
from our Passion
(so that it smells like
newly-washed old
bed sheet
deeply rooted in  
Hole-y Memories
Faded 'I love yous'
Nostalgic 'We've done this befores'
and
Hopeful 'Let's do it agains'