The air is molten,
Slow-moving and thick,
And filled with the heavy
Fragrence
Of white lilacs,
Like incense in the temple
Of the sun.
Memories float,
Seen through plate-glass
Windows
In people's souls.
Melodies lazily dance in
The summer sky,
Laughing notes that fall
Like trickling streams in
Scales,
In singing
Crystal waterfalls
That wash away the
Dust of life.

Handclaps, trapped, you are another clapped out hasbeen fading on the subtle regret of a haunted dancefloor,that echoes to a trapdoor of your reflection ,deep on a stained echo of  a fatigued stand up romance  fall at the feet of saints part time actors on shadows of downbeat sadness ,that chance meeting fall out from insight to quicksand that pours on a sinking fragrence of pitiful sadness and tide tiredness of desert slipstream and fragile happiness to upturned madness ,undressed to a ****** round of applause that maps teach us to follow to a statue frozen and silent .

Writing as a hobby
is  always such a thrill
the emotions that are brought forth
are like cobwebs on the sill
remnants of past feelings
pour from within
take you back a bit in time
to when you felt the whim

A distant season from your life
that taught you how to be
a fragrence on the drifting wind
that set your soul  so free
I often sit and think of you
you know who you are
stories shared and moments spent
drinking tea and laughing hard

Writing as a hobby
is like climbing a steep hill
pushing ever forward
ever higher for the thrill
escaping all distraction
as you reach so deep within
pulling out your deepest past
your secrets and your sins
relenquishing your ego
to fit the story in
its in these times I think of you
and the peace which flows within

scentless poison
fractured heart
tasteless fragrence.
everything has
fallen apart in
your world of
fantasy.
you're trapped in
this small white
room with the
hard padded walls.
they removed you
from reality you
dodn't need.
the doctors have
stripped your life
from you.
you're no longer
human.
all you are is
their toy, their
test subject.
but really, it's
all in your mind,
they really are
trying to help
you; you're just
crazy.

Go back to your black-and-white world

Void of color and warmth

And of depth and of passion.

Go ahead and crawl back behind

Pages of guilt and chapters of pain.

Hide your face with the cover

Of the latest Roth novel

And forget that color and fragrence

And feelings and senses

Exist.

you lost the war that was created in you, not by your hands but by the hands of someone who once spoke soft words in your ear
and kissed your neck that smelled of crimson roses and the prominent fragrence of dolce and gabanna
he spoke of dreams you buried in the back of your brain, he spoke beautiful words to you that were never sustained

you keep lying to yourself, saying that he loves you..
i don't remember love being a black eye, cuts upon the flesh, or broad holes in the wall..
put there by his fist.. put there by his hands.
I don't remember love being screamed at vehemently at 2 in the morning because you wanted to give him a kiss

you spent years drowning yourself to keep him alive
he talked of how worthless he was, how inconvient he was
and needless to say you tried your best to make him see that he was more

but in the end..

he did not love you. he does not love you
he loved the way you loved him, he loved the way you touched him
he loved that you accepted all of his flaws, while society teras him down for it
but darling, loving him is like drinking bleach expecting it not to **** you.

it does. and he did
he killed everything about you..
he killed your smile, he killed your laughter, he killed your charming soul

but really, the moment you loved him is what killed you.


-s

I AM GOING TO PLANT FEW FLOWERS IN MY HEART ,
MY FACE WILL BE SHINING WITH FRAGRENCE,PRETTY SMART !!