A Beast of a man in appearance and soul,

A silhouette of her memories chilling him cold,

Sitting alone with his thoughts hating time,

Screaming inside trying to shatter his mind,

Immune to pain from his love of Roses,

The beautiful thorns struck vivd poses,

His love was a curse, She laid it herself,

A disease, a sickness, It shattered his health,

It occured at first sight of this beauty, This Belle,

Time had been spent she was treating him well,

His eyes wet with tears, His cold heart growing warm,

Foreshadowing revealed the oncoming storm,

She had to go away with a promise of return,

He gave her a ring and his voice had been stern,

He brushed her cheek gently and said very clear

"Remember my love, Im always right here"

After being home and revisitng her life,

She decided to stay, an unsuspected knife,

With the last of his soul he picked a final rose,

In the dark of his castle where the sun never rose,

Be it magic or hope the rose never dies,

Never to be witnessed by another Belles eyes,

He locked it away, Hidden without fail,

You say youve heard this? An old Fairytale?

I guess it is close. Similar at least,

Look closely my friend.. I am the Beast.

Wake up to reality
Seems like I’ve got an affinity
For playing with your center of gravity
Can I paint your mental walls red?
Hop on a plane just to find myself in your bed
Possible....
Some might even say probable
But only if you bow down
To worship my invisible crown
Misled, misread but still a thoroughbred
Undeniably ready to be ridden
There are no misgivings
You want vivd?
Tie me up in ribbons
Enjoy my only submission

© 2014 Peach

I need the night time like a entertainment ****** reaches for the remote.
The airwaves become quickly clogged with HD Grade A(ss) Crack.

Whereas i...relish in the freed up air time ,
empty roads , routes , biological networks...
For miles around............................................... only a few souls dj their late night slots..
emanate their energetic pulsations with the precision that night time calls for,

don’t worry the drunks fall under the radar..
Delta wave walking...

i need the night time.. for the forgiving nature of loose shades of shadows
and the seams between imaginary and vivd hallucinations blur for a while...
some may say that neither of them exist in the plane of relative ‘normal’ thinking ...


but i’d say imagination is the hardest one to fathom.

Vivid hallucinations make up our senses.

it’s roughly 11:29pm and i have you roaming around in my mind, then again what else is new?
i can imagine you humming along to these tunes while you tangle your fingers in my already so easily tangled hair and i’d count the minutes you spend trying to untangle yourself from me - limbs and all while you’re at it
before you left you made it a point to tell me about how i was like the light of your day and maybe i just might have imagined the caffeine scent that hangs over every single word that spills out of your beautiful mouth in that ridiculous accent of yours.        you’re ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous.                                   i love the way you make shades of blue seem more vivd and i love the way it curves in to rest against my shoulders as i find inklings of you along the sleeves, almost as if you’re right here next to me. i’d fall asleep in an ocean with dreams as succulent as honey oozing from your lips, catching myself saying ‘good morning’ to a silhouette as i realise that i just may have left just enough space for you to slip your arms around my waist as you pull me close enough to rid the glass between our eyes

i’d like for that to happen again sometime, if you don’t mind and i’m sure you don’t judging by your sleepy murmurs that i manage to piece a ‘i wish you were laying here next to me’, out of when you dial me.

you asked me if i was angry at you, repeatedly, oddly enough you can’t help yourself on fridays. i brushed it off with a laugh and a roll of my eyes because you fail to realise that i could never stay angry at you because well, you make me feel so much more than that
[bullet train of emotions just rush into the gateway of my heart every time i lay my eyes on you]
anger is just my daily attire but you make me want to change into something new and that’s why i am so in love with you
so very
in love with you.

maybe i’ll tell you when you ask me if I’m mad at you some friday of a week.

new years day, only someone like you would plan something right out of a reality television show and i wouldn’t switch channels to be honest, your heartbeat on my left as you leaned in and i don’t remember if i shut my eyes when yours graced mine but it was my first time and i know i play the blind card to it but i remember what exactly it felt like and how my heart was jumping out of chest and how you were trembling right against me as i asked you to kiss me again
[its been a few months and i still hesitate at the thought of kissing you because i’m so afraid of tripping up somewhere but it doesn’t make me want it any less because sometimes i feel like your sugar laced sweet every things could spill into me and i’d never forget how special you make me feel]
yes, i am aware that its ‘sweet nothings’ but anything you say means everything to me and maybe i don’t say it enough but the chance of you choking over my sweet abyss wasn’t a factor i would definitely let it slip out once in a while
you’ve asked me to describe what your scent was and well who would i be to say? i mean sure your scent clings onto my jacket no matter how many times it takes a spin in the wash almost like the thought of you contrasting against the carnival of fairy tale blue fairy lights i hang by the side of my bed, i’d like to imagine that you do the same, i’d like to imagine that you flip through the words left stranded in those pages i’ve spent days rewriting and taking minutes of my day to ensure that you’ll be able to read it - whenever you feel the blue from your clothes painting your spirit, i’d like to imagine that you curled up with your jacket at dusk the same way i did as i tried to dissect parts of me from you only to find that i really couldn’t
it’s the next day and 11:50pm, but you’re still on my mind,
“you’re like the light of my day i can’t get you out of my head sometimes,”

sometimes i flinch when someone makes contact with my side and my shoulders but for a second i think that it just might be you cause’ i’m so used to you pressed up so close to me as you run your nails down my side in the darkness that swallows me whole late at night as you pull me closer eyes still on the screen ahead of us as i learn to let go and take your palm in mine, running my fingers over yours delicately just to remind myself that you are here and you are mine and that this moment is ours and ours alone like the others i’d store in the attic of my mind whereby i’d use the fireflies as light to read off the water colouring you’ve left in my mind.

i know you’ve never called me yours apart from that one time whereby i couldn’t differentiate between the sincerity caught between the tides of those flamboyant words of yours that entraps me with every breath as i submerge under the tides.

I can't but think of you
When those old familiar songs air;
As familiar as the friends we shared,
Songs we once grew old to,
That played as you ironed hair.
Tensions grew as the volume raised,
As your parents worried upstairs.
Songs of innocence, songs of experience,
Were on the radio,
And you'd find a station
In Daddy's car
As we drove back to school.
Lyrics I didn't know I knew
After all these years;
No photo could make you
More vivd than now;
Songs that immortalize
Those moments of our youth.
You tanning in the sand,
Transistor craddled in an alabaster hand;
The smell of beach on you.
Lips parted as you whispered words
To the ****** burning in me.
Then you dance close,
Your hair a symphony...
Some songs I hear
Are too much to bear
Beneath a firefly night,
When nothing came between us,
But the notes of songs we liked.

Maybe the reason she flaunts herself
is not because she's confident,
but because her hourglass figure
fits nicely in his hands.

She feels secure when his fingers
move slowly from her ribs to her hips,
like the way wine racks keep glass bottles
from smashing to the ground.

She's fragile and transparent,
but he fills her with feeling,
and for that moment,
she doesn't feel empty;
she's vivd and colourful,
supplying liveliness.

Maybe she flaunts herself because
eyes turn glassy and watery,
and at least she can influence something.

Maybe she just hopes that one day he'll hold her
as tightly as he does that glass of wine.

(NJ2014) All Rights Reserved.

maybe it will never change

maybe we will still be flowers on the side of the road

still no place to call home

but still flowing in our veins is the wildness and adventure that

we’ve always known to be

we would be gleaming with vivd colors.

still trying to survive


the droughts
the rains
the storms
the heat
the wind
the bitter cold

when winter comes along, and someone doesn’t stop to pick you next and we will be left

to wilt

forgotten

something once so beautiful and fragile

now lifeless and limp.

r. Powell

What if your nightmare
Is my reality
If you didnt know would you care
Heres what I see


If you dreamt,
You couldn't see your parents,
They may see you,
But must leave you be.
You have post traumatic stress.
And every night you can relive
The moment they died
Right before your eyes.
The fire engulfs them
And you here there cries
Would you to awaken,
Knowing it was there true demise
There no should to cry on not even one near


What would you do then
I know if it wasn't you
You'd bully the one
Who lives the dream
The one who awakens
With his own screams


This is what I live
This is why I cry
The others, they torment me
Because I never have dry eyes
Its been three years
Since I've truely smiled
I am a shell
Who simply takes space
Til that vivd day
I cut off my own face

The world is ash now
The colors are less vivd
a greyscale comparatively
my body parts work again
i can hear
whereas with you i feel like i am underwater
time is moving slowly once more
it moves so quickly with you
where i begin to wonder if you were ever here at all
I want to to trust you
but i don't

what about the future?
what about the past?

well, what about the present?

right now there’s so much going on,
like how i can feel the vibration of the mower
in the distance,
the little scratchy nubs all over my body.
i’m trying to see from behind the scratches on my glasses
but my eyes are so drawn to the 9000 shades of color that
are so pervasive and sensitive.

and your talking is hummed and hushed,
like your morals,
because you fail to practice what you preach,
and what i’m figuring out in the present is that
i’m doing the same exact thing to myself maybe slower,
now, it seems, but
somehow even quicker.

and the clutches of that Mazda clutch we crashed
when we were fourteen are crouching to my level,
trying to say hello but all i hear are bubbles
in the pond where your little sister tried to drown herself.

the spiraling candy slide has me nauseous and ready
to spew chunks all over mom’s new ornaments,
and the plane changes again, the doctor’s office
and white gloves reaching inside my mouth to shut off
my anxiety, my perplexity,
to show me the worm inside that’s making this happen.


but all he pulled out was my brain,   entirely whole,
and i snatched it from his hands
and smothered my hunger
with such a satisfying snack,
fingers included!
                            what the **** did i just do?              Was it that Demon called Panic that, personified as moi,
took me on that train
without my permission?
                                    
                ­i really will never know what it is   that i have
               that is so special enough to be able to see
all 9000 colors in the spectrum.

they’re so vivd, it scares me, honestly,
                               and in the dark i feel fine, because there’s nothing
to see, but,
in the light, for real this time,
i wish somebody would take out
my eyeballs,
                                          and walk me like a
                              dog for the rest of my life.

the crook in my mothers arm, the shadow of my fathers figure, the rhythmic cadence of breathing.
it was stitched together with strings of comfort to create a creature of unusual habits.
the shadow was never once afraid of the turning pages and the crook was transitioning to a state of playful wincing.
black teeth and ink stains run along attire from chewed words and twisting metaphors.
dry definitions of glued together meanings of the less lonely.
remember, give vivd contrast to stained windows and dusted fleshly faces within each page turn, but let shadows overrule the light and rooms fill with silence.  
why gorge the darkness on a substance less likely to harm the living?
minds deteriorate quicker than flesh after all, and bodies were not built for fear,
so build the strength while you have it.
folding words like origami and stretching beyond the sick feeling of failure, you lived.
you cannot write about what you don't feel and heavy weather cannot stop a driver from reaching a destination.
vitamins were only long stings rolling down internal skin,
after all, you were always sick anyway.
coming to this realization,
suddenly,
my eyes were playfully wincing and the black teeth and ink stains that remained on my body,
while i gave vivid contrast to the rejuvenated definition of the less lonely.
and i liked the silence.