Innocence follows her, but inside she's wild,
She thinks of things that shouldn't be thought.
Her mind plays tricks while her heart ceases desire,
A fiction of its own, a lesson never taught.
And as she lays in bed at night, her eyes never truly close,
Seeing the colors in silhouette form, the painful memory shows.
The pitter-patter of a heart, beaten and broken yet fixed,
The silent screams in the dark, yet not a sound, transfixed.
A rage trapped beneath her light, she refuses to become what she hates,
The river that flows within her veins, a poison left to manipulate.
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, she sings the melody again,
Paper bags and plastic hearts, a tune for only the insane.
"Each one has a color" she points to them all "some light and some dark"
"But those colors change in life when that person changes their mark."

We all question our motivation and endeavours
                     of life's cause and effect.
Then we realise,
           life is a challenge of moments,
and how we play the game of our finite moments...


Do we give up?
              or do we collect our strength
      and show all that were
                   stronger than a question mark..

whichever comes first
an arch or its point
you scratched on

a question mark
can not answer
the question itself

indeed so — even
in languages
which hasn't been created

Let me be the drop of ink
On your ivory canvas
Mark you at the center
Through suction
Came your subduction
Not a claim against your sovereignty
Rather passionate vandalism
From a guest stopping by
To your  milky temple

Your calloused fingertips
Carresed the inside of my thighs.
They navigated around my hips,
As pleasure was signified by drawn out sighs.

The room was covered in dark hues
As you land soft kisses unto my skin.
Heavy breathing insues,
Inflaming the desire within.

As you were kissing my neck,
You gave a quick bite.
Smiling, you said sorry,
I was gifted Love's mark that night.

Fire woken by the spark
Burns gentle and true
Ashes falling, leaving mark
Away the old, in the new

Bright is this flame
That rages into the night
Though we all die the same
A fire does not go without fight

The fuel for such passion
Is not found alone
Rather with friends of compassion
With whom we find ourselves at home

The wave erased its own marks on sand when ebbed...