The age of plastic
Melted into a mould
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Because everyone's a star
Did you see her new post???
It received more Likes than his
Shall we post something outrageous?
Grab everyone's attention
We could express our thoughts on things we know nothing about
Let's meet online
Create a total fake ID
I could choose my hobbies according to your preferences
I could tell you exactly what you'd like to hear
But remember I may not be found in this game
The real me will not be present
I could choose my height and weight
But when we meet in the flesh
I will not resemble the image
People envy me for the life I (don't) have
But yet I try to combat my battles
I try to pay my bills
And tomorrow we'll all suffer the consequences
of lives built on cheap thrills
Oh, and don't forget to BUY NOW
While love's on special
For one week only

If ever my heart stops beating
Bring her, she's lovely,
My clock would once again start ticking
Like they're back in the 80s.

Even if the photograph of her fades
She's still my beautiful grace;
Pardon me, Lady Highness
I should brought you a bouquet of roses.

Once the time of us stops,
It's not the end, but only a minute pause;
It only meant the end of this host,
My head will continue rest unto your lap.

In an era next to this
I will still be your lover, I promise.

I'm in my villian era;
That is to say
I'm in my intolerant era
My "I don't give a ****" era
My "I don't have patience for peoples emotions and stupidity" era;

Except its not an era
It's a day
A week
It is a come and go feeling that helps me to function and push forward,
It is an intensity
A fire burning, but not from anger
It is power and control
It is a wall
It's still kind, but different, tainted
Searching for the motive, the string, the catch
proceeding wearily, lacking child-like faith.

It is the only way to protect myself,
demanding respect
To declare that statement:
"Don't **** with me"
To be a sheep in wolf's clothing
Until I feel safe enough to rid myself of this hyde.

the cult of the ideal woman.
silent era mignon.
pass the baton.

a little diplomacy.
a little electricity.
and a waterfall of curls.

she moves with the fayre.
I see her idling on Fifth Avenue
and at work behind the counters
of the stores.

besotted men plant young, leafless trees upside-down,
roots in the air, simply because
she wants it that way.

a groundbreaking end
to The Broken Oath,
and her name on the credits
for the very first time.

screens, fans, and umbrella stands.
or maybe lilies in a field of seclusion.
she is stardom.
she is the eternal question.

I hate who I was & I hate how you made me feel for it.

Punch me in the nose;
I’ll cry at the end of the era.

I’ll mourn the years.

Flooded streets;
Cement stairs.

I wrote this song about you.

It sounds like how you make me feel.

Layered voices filter the room.

You touched too many memories;
So my brain chose to have no thought at all.

I felt,
Unheard.

I felt,
Like something was wrong with me.

I felt,
Really ******* sad.

Watermelon chopsticks in summer;
Warped social perception.

Walking the streets pretending to have a purpose.

In my head;
Trying to figure out
what the **** is going on.


& Why won’t they answer my questions?
I’m frustrated.

Im confused..
Why was I always confused?


Am I loud enough?

~
abruptly waking to discover
the sempiternal daylight of herself
in a small silent village in Brussels

the sky's a cloudless blue
and she needs the sun
like children need two parents

sunglasses conceal bedroom eyes
smiles hide like inverted *******
clothed in peekaboo milieu

a highly individual creature
in an era of the exaggerated curve
she's an amnesiac

doodle-dawdling in the altogether
wrapping herself around
mise-en-scène

it's breakfast with Mr. Svengali
then unacquainted foothills
and undergrowth
in the flaring of conjugal
light and shadow

hum
thrum
'n strum
she's got the whole wide world
in her hands

her simple slantwise silhouette
declivitous neck
inclining embonpoint
summoning him

no clock, no watch
the keeping of time
is served by rapping
her crown upon the headboard
at regular intervals

her open-tempered sighs
closing with the heaviness
of a sleepy hush

until the echoing of church bells
announce the footfalls
of tomorrow-come-looking
~

****** words paint the flowers a crimson red.
A dove recites the end of all mankind.
Rounding out his edges and sharpening his knives.
Amorous lovers ride the wave of life.
Heart worms my body still tries to burn away.

Kindly, I delude god and myself into a dream.
Every mindless prayer, my secrets scream.
And only my love remains.
To this day, he accepts the woman he lost.
Opals eyes that cry remorse.
No reply.

I can live without the friends I knew.

And each and every missing piece.
Morose taxidermist lives her dreams.

Sullen chords play the lonely song.
And I tell myself that I am strong.
Do the roses in your garden look pretty?

Everlasting
sentinel of forever
keeper of time
lie with me
in the forest sometime
let the droplets
of memory
**** the nerves
of my consciousness
along with the many
summer songs and
midnight rains therein
everlasting
lover of infinity
timeless and prime
sigh with me
in a melodic mime
dampen my senses
denude my mind
free me from
the utopian paradise
of realistic sham
everlasting
master of moments
endless and divine
eternal
immortal
celestial