Brown temples
Avid, too sore for sense?
Background music, finding what will...
A look of devotion, for a tooth called suspense?

Black wishes
Turmoil is a vaguer clique
Of comment's, sigh's make God's fishes
Just a rue to understand what is...

Grey orbit's
Of miasma, found in a suggestion's field
Known by sight, a bird has wit's
Another bird has seen the sun, and it's yield

Green future's
Vicinity to unity, the poor
Is realm to *****, word's of impurity
Set amid tree's, worth their wars

White death's
Would we save a child's shadow?
Regret as hot, as marvel's lead
Meant only with yesterday's yawn, are we that we are, mellow?

Am I no longer fretful of my youth?
Do I have any antipathy of death?

A reproof of scarlet riviera  
darken its seance that acclaim unforetold entrance
of lactose hence virtual lecture,
edifice with preponderance in guidance if hesitation
ready hinders them entertained by inordinate *** and
whether garish is gruesome for glutenesque and
intricately hard to maintain as their distraction is subliminal
that pain is debilitating and overwhelming in modern lifestyle.

Once upon a time, a woman was picking up firewood. She came upon a poisonous snake frozen in the snow. She took the snake home and nursed it back to health. One day the snake bit her on the cheek. As she lay dying, she asked the snake, "Why have you done this to me?" And the snake answered, "Look, *****, you knew I was a snake."

Sometimes...
I cannot hear your thoughts
Your mind to me
Is like smooth jagged glass
Beneath a pool of liquid winter
A lake of crystallized silence.
It hurts.

Sometimes...
I cannot feel your emotions
Your face is like an empty mask
A hollow shell
Your eyes are depthless glass
Living ice.
I can feel your heartbeat
I can hear you breathe
Tears flow down my cheeks,
Freezing in your frigid warmth.
They sound like antipathy.

Sometimes...
We kiss
Mental screams against silence
Passion against nothingness
Motion against stillness
You don't lie
You don't speak
You do nothing at all.
There're no roses amongst the thorns.

Sometimes...
I hear you speak
Flowers blooming in winter
Blood burning through snow
Your voice is a sirenic thing
Filling me
Maddening me
Tearing my heart apart.
A captivating inferno.
A glacial wind.
A numbing kiss.
Your voice is poison.
I crave its touch.

Sometimes...
I wonder if you're a corpse
I wonder if you're hollow
I wonder if you forget to feel.
Your smile
Is an existential thing.
Your laugh
Is a detached melody.
Your stare
Is an empty dream.
Arctic indifference.
Words fading into the wind.

Sometimes...
I can only see you
An aloof statue
A pitiless observer.
Tears flow down my cheeks,
Freezing in your frigid warmth.
I no longer understand you
Perhaps,
I never did.
Flowers blooming in winter
Blood burning through snow
My devotion
To a narcissistic fascination
Your voice is a sirenic thing
There're no roses amongst the thorns.
It hurts.
I wish to **** you.
You don't lie
You don't speak
You do nothing at all.

Your face remains an empty mask
Mental screams against silence
Arctic indifference
Decayed insanity
Inert image upon darkened glass.
What do I do with all these feelings?
You will not die.


It hurts.