Inheriting independence
Intruding boundaries
You let your actions stem
from insecurity and jealousy
You want to protect me
But now I feel,
I need protection from you.

You’re taking my life and air;
Choking
Caging  
Suffocating
And Stifling me.

Love me
Don’t own me.
Protect me,
But don’t bound me.

You’re being possessive
That it turns out obsessive
And sometimes situations get aggressive.

Fire burns in your love
But your intentions become impure.
In becoming possessive
You became invasive.

You try to move my blood to your accord.
Try to be the nerve to my muscle.
But you’re blinding my eyes with tears
And leaving myself internally screaming.
It is like a curse that brings problems without a cause.

I want to b r e a t h e  
I want to s c r e a m  
I want to f l e e  

I wonder,
Where did all the happiness go?
Because I just find myself lamenting
over the days that pass by.

- Beautiful Sensitive Soul

our relationship is biennial:
we speak, for a while.

my tongue is barren muscle -
and throughout saturday it toyed with your name.
since it has tightened in my mouth, lay itself flat
and made enough room to fit a small book.

my mouth is mine but we were born on different days of the week -
my mouth is younger.
my words are older.
still, i light up when i see the foxglove swallow the bumblebee,
i will stand in gardens and ask to borrow the sky.
even when there was a cover of smoke, fog and haze

as a consequence of growing up with my brothers under my wing
i have learnt to be close-mouthed,
it doesn't stop me from being with you.
your lips have never touched for more than a second but i admire what you have to say,
even for a short period of time.

We got out of the ****** motel early,
while we still could,
before the rental car got stolen
or our room underwent dynamic drive-by refurbishment.
There was supposed to be a
complimentary continental breakfast,
but the coffee machine was broken
and someone had already swiped all the donuts.

My only frame of reference for Inglewood was that it was Sam Jackson's character's home turf in 'Pulp Fiction',
leading me to suspect it
probably wasn't a nice area,
although the fat ****** smoking outside
when we'd checked in at 2am
had seemed very friendly.

You were right about LA, about
how there must be a sun, but you can't
really see it, you just
sort of assume it's up there somewhere
behind the fog huffing in off the Pacific
and the toxic breath rising from the
city's gridlocked mouth.

We made for Venice Beach, because you
don't fly all that way and then not go,
us figuring ourselves early enough
in the grey, jet-lagged damp, to
avoid the junkies, the winos and the crazies,
the symptoms of America driving itself mad with
unrealistic dreams.
But they were already there, muttering and
shivering on sand and cement, some
under rags or cardboard,
just waking up in
spite of themselves.

A woman with the hungriest face I ever saw
threw a cigarette lighter at me, then yelled,
shaking in her filthy clothes, that she wasn't giving it to me, *****, FYI,
FBI, CIA, JFK... then
started screaming about Kennedy and all those lying ***** up on the hill.

The ocean ******* away at the land behind us, like it was
whetting its appetite for the day when San Andreas splinters, and the waves finally get to
devour
California.

The hungry-faced woman was still shouting when
we walked away, through the graffiti and
gangs of *******-huge, hulking seagulls.
If I'd stopped and tried to talk to her, if I'd
gotten anywhere close enough, I was
afraid she'd tear a bite out of my face,
and I didn't know what shots I'd need if that happened, and we didn't have medical.
Which was a shame,
because I'd have liked to hear
what she had to say about Kennedy.

We walked to where you'd street-parked
the car which
still hadn't been stolen.
On the way, some guy, a stranger
coming the other way, called you
'Football Dude' and asked you
to catch his neighbour if she
jumped off her balcony, but
I think he was joking.

Oh, and the car was yellow.

Watching from beyond, writing their little notes.
Look behind the brainstem and see the past perfect present tense.
You thought about it and I heard it. We grabbed the thoughts.
New bones and muscle.
All the different ones, all the same thoughts pulsing, like brain radar bounding back.
They're of me. they're in me.
But he is not.
The serpent retains it's form but it stays inside. It blinds my dreams.
No escape, let craving; an eternal void.
As it all becomes one form and function. We join. We are the new being, hideous and beautiful.
I think he has taken my soul. I probably wasn't using it anyway.
I am his disguise.

They build tall towers around my neglected home,
Filling my weakened heart with jealousy and pain.
All they want is respect, the power of muscle and money.
The empty huge structures will host thousands,
For ages of birth and deaths, far away from the human world.
While in the human forms their minds are stone
They can not feel or think of any human weakling.
When free from the human case, they are specialists,
Mechanically repeating lives of existential happiness.
Who puts them on top, stamping on our human race?
Gods, Humans or Stones?