She sits unassuming
Not contemplating her world
She has beauty
She has prowess and potency to boot
She carries the world on her fragile shoulders
Without malice
If only she believed,,,,,
The world would sit gracefully in the palm of her hand.

It's like I missed the alarm,
So I'm trapped here dreamin',
Whole time screamin',
Trying hard to stop believin',

Clenched a fist in my hand,
So hard that I thought I'd grow wings,
Lot of pressure in my veins,
But I can't feel a thing.

Took my body on the edge,
Took myself up in a pledge,
When the time that I'd go down,
I'd bring all that brought me down.


-HIY

Eyes lift
Controlling the heart's release of breath
The none constricting motion of the lungs
Emotion shown through listening ears
The heart now following what the eyes see
No longer a grunt made by tight motions
Seeing it's belief,
Straining the strange euphoria strung by tendons and muscles
The gift of giving one emotion to another
Nothing is as problematical as we present it
Unclear changes unselfish in the manner given
This sensation made in haste
To whom this particular change
This nursery of voice that calmly lulls the suggestion of peace
The suggestion of need
of consideration
The improvement of self in order to give
In order to love another as you love yourself
The existence of infatuation opinionated.
Still asking the enlightenment of eyes
The foresight of heart to give in the eye of love
The humble abode of running along without restraint
Free as breath
Feeling the state of complete togetherness
Eyes close
In the most relaxed state
Relaxed in the embrace of knowing
Feeling
Believing

People who know nothing are doomed to believe almost everything.

I can sit here and stare at this wall for hours and not one thought will pass through my drug infested mind. Blank stare. Truth or dare. I dare you to breathe. Breathe in this air. Toxic poison air. Breathe ******* it. Are you scared? Are you fckng scared?!!...................................
My skin has become leather. my bones concrete. You may think you know everything, but you don't know me, I don't even know me.
Step one. Take two steps back and re access things. Step two. Try to love what you may feel is ugly in you. Step three. Realize you cant change the past. Now dont look back with regret, move forward and be one with forget. Time heals your open wounds, and all that will be left are scars . These scars are reminders that you have overcome. Have you any open wounds? If you do you are already dead. Be grateful and less selfish. You are alive. Life goes on.....

To answer your question, it could be I stopped believing
years ago when I sent my friend before the chopping block.
Stop! I'll sell information for passage.
Stop! I'm scared to death of dying.
Where she lives.
Such a shame.
Where she hangs.
I'll take the blame.
Where she showers, even.
Stop! I'll give you the words you want if you make this hurting stop.
Stop! You don't have to crack my brain open with a hammer chop,
you don't have to use pliers to pry what you want from my head,
when you can listen to me talk freely, then take the message and run.
Where she lives.
Such a shame.
Where she hangs.
I'll take the blame.
So much will change.
Where she showers, even.

But if you call for me, I'll be there.
Wearing a straight face that's
driven me here, so insane, I don't
care how rapidly my conscience
eats the very strength on which
I stand. I'm alive without the will to live.
But if you call for me, I'll  be there.
Wearing a straight face.

Don't invest your time in people
Invest your time in God

Most people are a waste
Only around for your good taste

You tell them lets elevate
they rather sit around and wait

So much on there plate
But with the drama
There're  never late

Don't let them take you out of your zone
When your dreaming at night
Remember your alone

Lynn Browning ©

Do not talk of the honey I pickled in your light bulbs

They do not have the map to help us reach The Alps

Just talk of the hungry flower growing on my lungs

At least they have the address to the hut on my palms

That’s drawn by the little girl who feasted on the chalks

The butterflies long ago planted along in their pulse.


Quick,  


Incinerate the 1800s post-mortem portraits

In black light's faked midnight perfumes

For you are my forlorn apostrophe high on gas

That might ask questions while telling us your tales

Or reluctantly whisper ****** things about Laqus

Who is wasting us to the wistful hell flowers.