I can be so **** fickle.
Get into situations that end so sour.
Sweet memories turn bitter.
Always craving to be forever green,
but then fear any routine.
Changing my flavor so fast like I've been pickled.
And now I’m an acquired taste.
I like it, but I know not many do
and most importantly you.
For you, vinegar reeked of betrayal.
I always knew you hated pickles.
Now you cannot stand the sight of me.

the words will come
just let them

the words will pour forth
without prior consideration of the meaning they'll produce

sometimes words have a tendency to do that
those fickle little things

little grunts and clicks and hisses and waaahs
that somehow collaborate
better than any set of politicians the world has seen

or sometimes create more chaos
more confusion
more discord

than if they'd never been uttered

so be careful with those words
those fickle little things

When you face the world by yourself
That path that you take may be unclear
Uncertainties will present themselves
You are dealing with a whimsical nature
Let these challenges build you up
Visualize yourself by taking action
Be fierce as you travel along the line
Get on your feet and make things happen

I've grown speechless,
secretive, deaf.
Running and hurling,
running and hurling
for what—?
There are only tides that beacon and retreat,
never one that lingers.
For how could love be blended
into such frivolous motion.

Longing to escape his clutches
A subtle begging for aggressive touches

A breeze is building

Something soft
She sees the risk but wonders the cost

Constant hunger needs constant filling
This yearning insider her wont stop spilling

Torment lined with silver
A blooming darkness deep within her

A glint of light appears afar

Beauty and tragedy
A dying star

The wind is coming

She can feel my scars
A pain that can't be seen

Cracked lips fill with sensual screams

The freedom she seeks
Passion
Adaptive and flowing

The storm is here

The wind stops blowing