Please, I beg.
I can't deal with another
You're my irreplaceable.
My favorite human being
But I'm replaced so easily.
And I feel it pierce my soul
To know her is not just knowing her
name, birthday and her favorites.
No, to know her you have to notice all the
little things that make her, her.
The way her fingers tap when her favorite
song is playing out loud.
The way her eyes always search for that
one particular person in the crowd.
The way she holds back a smile when
his name is mentioned.
Most of all, how she is when she is all by herself.
Nothing shows better how a person is,
than their behavior alone.
Then she is a hundred percent herself,
and that, my love, is the girl you want to know.
O Young, you're not afraid
You're not scared
you're a soldier
You're not a receiver
you're a donor.
O Young, you're not a student
you're a teacher
You're not a cheater
you're a lover
You're not asleep
O Young, you're not blamed
You're not bored
You're not hurt
O Young, you're not rude
You're not sad
You are not evil
You're not tired
O Young, you're not crying
You're not violent
you are clam
You're not injured
O Young, you're not a failure
You're not the dark
you're the light
You're not lazy
O Young, you're not in pain
You're not hateful
You're not upset
Young, you're dream
of your family
and beloved to everyone
in this world
Young, you're a dawn
to the dark night
Truly, you're the favorite.
Green grass, over the fence
Oh, how she wished something would happen.
Sometimes, I could imagine a duo as Hector and Debbie,
Trusting the process and accepting prophecies.
Things like Hector's passion about music,
Persuading rhythm alike classic romances.
Of how he wanders histories behind every key,
He strums his fingers in swift, never off-key.
Hector is somewhat lucky to have a sister like Rowanne,
Checking his contents for loopholes, because then she found one.
Chapter Two, 'Hector goes into a sponge state and has a satori',
To the point where he meets a maiden, named Robin.
Conglomerate, quartzite, sand stone, and cigarette butt.
Why not, let's seek the mighty Debbie's hunt?
Her hook of appreciation is beyond inspiring,
One's looking at the bright, fuzzy picture in the magazine,
Yes, she thought.
Chapter Twelve, Debbie had truck lessons taught by Lenny.
He asked permission from his Dad in the field of gloom.
Debbie and Patty stood inside a thriving mountain of rhododendrons.
Hoping it wasn't too late, she thought the word 'soon'.
A poet would like to bid its period in this closing narrative,
She would like to walk further and swim deeper to the medium paged papers.
This selection of scenarios frames to the advocates,
Oh, how she wished something would happen.
I had a second chance at heaven
And I threw it all away.
I once again felt my happiness
Sour into hate.
On this page are the words
That exemplify my rage.
I once was great
But now I'm lost,
To this misery and pain.
My path: a fog, through trodden dirt
To a cemetery gate.
For what dark fate
Does this soul
So very anxiously await?
My boots are caked with mud.
The smell of iron permeates,
Along with moss, the smell of dirt,
And most certainly decay.
Never mind my mortal soul...
What kind of demon lies awake
In the midst of human fruit,
Over-ripened in the day?
The splitting corpses seem to beg me,
"Stay away, stay away!"
Burgeoned fruit spills forth,
As the rinds peel away.
The tortures yet continue,
Testing will and sanity.
Stumbling forth into the mixes,
Pestilences use the meat:
Fruits of flies spill their guts
Under muddied, weary feet,
And in the soup, in the gore,
Coagulation races feast:
Clots of blood battle vermin;
Scabs crunch like autumn leaves.
To this yet, there is more
On this journey I have seen:
Fire burns, and humans shit,
And mix the ashes in the breeze.
What soulless cur,
What kind of beast
Inhales with pleasure
When he breathes?
Smoke and fire burn the horizon.
There is nothing left of peace.
To the camps I was swept,
In the tide of the deceased.
Hard at work in heat,
Tattered and flayed meat
Toils in agony,
Swinging hammers in defeat.
Slip from fingers weak:
Wood and metal sings
At worn and weary feet.
Rusted chains sling,
Slicing through the heat,
Slicing through the smoke,
Slicing through the meat.
In the distant, murky background,
Drums of war greet,
As flesh and bone and flame
Dance to the beat.
Chastened bones respond,
Breaking stones in the beyond.
The work of hell waits
For no man very long.
Gangs of chains tag along,
Making quite the fiendish song,
As the billions in the lakes
Add their agonies to the throng.
The shrieks of charred lungs,
And throats ruined long,
Build the thickness of the air:
An anguished plague of smog.
Keep the fires burning;
Add another human log.
Respite is just a word,
An idea like winter frost:
Once before, it had purpose,
But now, its meaning, lost.
Abandon hope, is what they say...
But not for very long.
In the fire, in the rock,
They find their words are gone.
... Long forgotten, but for the lyrics
Of the Devil's favorite song:
A timeless tune, that my soul
Had been singing all along.
I wonder if you rememember spending some time together,sharing my favorite Skittles
Each time we picked a piece and our face distorts, nothing else could be heard, only our giggles
The yellow one was Sour Pineapple, it was only us, not minding other people
Sour Cherry Berry was purple, nothing compares to it,it was irreplaceable
Mandarin was color orange, a sudden startle yet still hoping that nothing would change
Sour Apple was green, it was tangy yet sweet,it was like imagining what we could've and should've been
Lastly, Sour Raspberry, our regrets, our sorries, the one that ended our story
Piece by piece we tasted it together
Hoping it would never end, wishing it would last forever
We appreciated every flavor
Each of them we wanted to savor
Skittles, my favorite sour chewy candies covered with colorful candy shell
I didn't know it would mean more than that,it described our love well.