Are you disappointed?
That our dislocated touch
still
lingers,
In buildings now dilapidated,
Days seen better,
Pupils dilated in dire straights.
Are you frustrated?
Our genetic make up,
Ran away
d
o
w
n
your
pretty
face,
laced with love -
but deflated.
To reveal pale skin,
Rivers of mascara flow,
Eyelash flickered like wings,
And flew into destructive mushrooms clouds en passé.
We must move,  
Fast;
To survive the dynamites blast.
Let me demonstrate this,
Now;
Do you still see stars in my eyes?
Is it constellations,
Or conversations behind turned backs you wish to have?
Out of order,
To betray with sharp knifes in spines,
In spite of the time we spent
Fermenting like fine wine.
Are you still mine?
Or just disappointed?

I'm just pointing out the obvious,

In an ominous motion we
burnt
out
like
shooting
stars

alas

We made it this far,
You
whispered
into
the space i used to take up in your heart.

I just want the pain to float away into outer space far far millions of light years away and fill me with vibrant healthy radiating luminescence to battle my worries that keep me awake and creating more anxieties upon my body aching contracting squeezing fear into tiny stress dynamites exploding inside internally introverted paranoia worst case scenario expectations this is probably nothing and I am driving myself sick with my illness of mind quantum imbalanced fields vibrating and reacting to thoughts well stop thinking stop thinking stop thinking stop feeling stop feeling stop feeling for just a second to pull this all together before I fall apart and disintegrate and my optimistic limbs fall off leaving me with empty pockets empty answers tests and x-rays determining the origin of breath loss gnawing biting monsters eating my structure within images of myself bleeding obliviously not waking up because I am too stubborn to acknowledge I am not invincible to myself anatomy is an art form and I painted this hurt.

His was like that of a sponge
As he swirled his warm, moist tongue inside of me.
Erasing the past,
And soaking up the present.
Making me whole again and ready for the new future.
It was like the great flood of the Biblical times;
Built up emotions like a valley charged with dynamites,
I exploded and the flood gates opened;
And he smiled at me,
"Your ******* are soaked, will you like to go another round."
I tried not to smile but with him,
It wasn't far-fetched.
He made my ebony-toned cheeks blush.
He slid back before I could muster up the courage to nod my head to say Yes because I didn't trust my tongue to loosen and veer towards speech anytime soon.
How he made my heart throb!

I stand alone here under the moonlight,
Where we shared our first date.
Grand park , where vivacious lights lit up this fountain.
Fountain of youth ? No
It was the fountain of love.
Where grey clouds surround the stars that twinkle like dynamites.
I remember you enjoyed gazing upon the skies.
Your mesmerizing eyes has a hold on me.
Daydreaming on the future, opening your heart to me.
And I enjoyed gazing at you
when you had something witty to say.
Sarcasm was our expertise.
I adore you

I was out of place until I met you.
You were the missing piece to my puzzle.
I dream of masked man to save my dormant heart.
And as your touch inflicted on my skin...
I woke up from fantasy into reality.
My constant dream finally became true.
You were my masked man.
You instantly became the race car of my heart.
Beating rapidly every moment our lips intertwined.
I am falling in love

Little did you know , how much you imprinted into the sands of my veins.
A rush of waves touch my soul when you are
Near me , holding me in your embrace.
Our love story is just as deep as the ocean.
No place I rather be.

**I love you

i guess i do like the pain
cause i laugh after its done
how crazy it was
that my mum actually bit me
no like true story my mum bit me

you might think she is abusive
but i like her character art is impressive
she turns totally off reason
keeps her senses imprisoned

i tried to explain
but the rage rain rained upon me
all she wanted was to stroke me
i swear i lose my mum in that moment
cause i try look in her eyes and she nowhere near

she strokes me and unknowingly i hold her shambok in my hand
i stare at her to understand
but all it does it highs her temper
now she is pulling her shambok a little stronger
i try to talk but she is trying to pull
she cant listen
and she plays victim

the struggle continues
i watch her anger elevate and it fascinates me, weirdly
so i resist a little more
she starts pulling me to the kitchen
now the scene has more attention

pulling out drawers
trying to put hand on anything pain inflicting
and still i am resisting

made it to the door and out
her voice a bit loud
realising that whatever i try will not demotivate her
so i gave up and let her, as usual
let her stroke me to her satisfaction
and goes on and on
about me being stubborn because i am older
how i think i am stronger cause i am a man
man, whats wrong with mum

she strokes me with her shambok still
as i stood still
amused by her accusations
but am patient and let her

after she done she is angry still but satisfied though
now her eyes glow
she tries to conceal it by playing anger
i smile
it took me a while to understand, while
she was in her act
i had travelled mindlessly in my mind
thinking how a silly situation
of her calling me and me not responding
had become a series of chaos

little packages do become dynamites
this is what bothers me though
i do have a thrill everytime we have a misunderstanding
i dont understand this
i guess i am just my mother's child

I Won't Sing A Song

I won't sing a Song,
lest I misguide the feet.
I won't sing a Song
about this unpleasant world
unpleasantness at Hiroshima,
gore all over Jalalabad.
I won't sing a Song,
lest I misguide the steps.
I won't sing a Song
about this tragic world
Tragic plane crashes,
tragic capsizing vessels.
I won't sing a Song
if craftsmen will specialize in dynamite drums
and blatantly make fire spitting flutes.
Why should I sing if craftsmen know nothing
accept to make piano keys able to spew hazards?
Can't be so dumb as to sing
while craftsmen are busy making weapon drugs.
I won't sing a song
Knowing Napoleon had fought sixty battles
and the seismic Tsunami yawns from time to time
I won't sing a song,
knowing Tsunami as I do, a convulsive eater
and water all round, she will not stop to belch
Drums of dynamites,
fire spitting flutes,
pianos of long ranging keys.
These aren't my idea of music
so I won't sing a song
With Bleeding Kansas fresh in mind
and engulfing of the Persian gulf,
how could i sing a song?
I won't sing a song
when the refugees fleeing ambush of tigers
fall victims to the pride of lions.

Pavements made for pedestrians
Are covered with nothing but slight shadows
Walking on the edge
Fall off a 5 centimeter cliff
Into puddles of delicate magma
Laugh it off
Stand back straight
Up high
Head almost
But not enough
Touching the clouds
Doves are weeping above the mist
Olive branches in strands of destruction
Connotations amassing
Dynamites, pop. Pop.
Tasting feathers
While high frequencies slash eye globes with blades
Cuts above the hay
Vibrations penetrating
From anywhere
Whisk the brains
Look at the hands
look at hers
At his
Grin, frothing, grilling, flaming
Fading into dullness
Feeling water digesting
Eyes batting, lashes flowing
Chest rising up and falling
Down
Where knees are popping
And knuckles white and rose
And skin, so much of it
And eyes, so many of them
Joints activated with oil
Squeaking! Squeaking! Squeak!
Purposeless
Terribly terribly terribly
Girdled and not
Alone