Falling fast down hovelled stairs,
digesting wealth to ransom cares,
grotesque men who soil and harrow
suspend my dreams from thinning rope.

As discharge weeps from places raw
and blisters burn a molten core,
another phallus, soiled and poisoned
wants for smack and *****’d ******.

I bleed from wounds so deep within
of pain so stark and crude and raw
that pins me ‘neath the brine of sin
like drowning prey in ***** and ****.

I fail to dim the moving shadows:
those twisting jerks of spewed release –
but coming soon will silent growls
of dripping fat and blistered guilts.

Voiced within me, vague and distant,
something cries, yet tears withdraw.
Copious unheard pleas are buried;
here lay I, unknown, destroyed.

To burrow past unhuman men
(to further seal a keyless lock)
would ‘splay me in the public eye,
exampled, maimed, defeated; lost.

Phlegm and fur may line my mouth;
engorged, my lips, a ***** for more.
But somewhere deep inside myself
I’ve walked away from Brothel Shore.

A pale fragrance lingers as she thinks back to last night.
The sheets of her bed cry and scream for attention.
Her bed yearns for action as it is succumbed to being shoved into the wall countless times.
Night after night..
But on this night she summons up the explicit scenery planted her in sub-concious mind.
The one thing she's been trying to run away from.
So she comes back to reality and realizes that she's hungry,as she sits in the depths of her despair.
She leaves her apartment.
And the only things comforting her are the soles of her feet, becoz...
when she walks the ground speaks.
She leaves her heart in the dump
Because she knows that it isn't worthy enough for the night.
She has long died on the inside
So she swallows her pride
And Gives the last man a joy ride
Not long after she's found next to the dump on the street side.
Atleast she was left next to her heart :)

Would you love me with blue-stained hands,
in the bleary hours of sand-crusted haste?
Would you love me in oversized sweatshirts and sweaty hairbands,
when I have ink on my fingers and creams on my face?

Would you love me barefoot in splotchy grass,
after my ankles have turned brown and green?
Would you love me when I'm crass and when I'm slacking off in class,
or doodling in the corner of a notebook in a dream?

Would you love me anyway
and, if it's not too much trouble,
would you love me every way?

Would you love me as much in a push-up bra
with red-stained lips and curled (combed) hair,
when I love with all the love I have
in the hope of getting some loving back?

Love me fierce and love me gentle;
Love me till all my love is gone.
hold me close till I am warm.

To trying and failing and trying again
because hope springs eternal
in our foolish hearts.

she was a fierce girl:
her wild, red hair stood out among the rest
her hazel eyes sparkled despite the angsts.

she worked hard, refusing to sell herself,
even if his deadline was nearing.

(she promised him.)

her hope and naivety were smashed into pieces
as she slowly ran out of time.

(his time.)

without his knowledge,
she degraded herself.

("As long as it's for you, this pain doesn't hurt me.")

her health deteriorated
as his became better.

curled up in a corner, naked and bare,
she counted the money she earned.

and smiled.



he was a plain boy:
his brown hair wouldn't stay flat
his blue eyes, dull.

he thought of others before of himself
and that's why she fell in love.

(it was the same for him too.)

he collapsed one day,
pain spreading on his chest.

(he knew that that was it.)

he tried denying her support,
but her earnest eyes refused to let him.

("Laughing with you by my side—I'll be fine with just this.")

he slowly became better,
and he planned all sorts of trips for the both of them.

they'd go have a romantic dinner by the beach in summer,
they'd spend new year's cuddled up together, hot chocolate warming them up.

after his surgery, he searched for her—his heart, filled with gratitude
he never found her again.


the scar on his chest would never fade.

I stand here on a street corner,
daisy dukes and fish nets,
my favorite Metallica crop top
floating up on moonlit skin.

Monster truck inching close,
breath pacing through the city streets,
I walk to the edge of his dark lair
to bite any hesitation.
With curt words and close heads
I smell the whiskey in his breathe.
Pulling into the alley's grip,
I let him lead and grit my teeth.

"Shhhh, I won't get busted again."
the whiskey whispers against my ear,
"Don't make a peep."
Then I'm not sure if it's man or whiskey
who turns me around in callused hands.
He spits first,
entering with a grunt,
and my hands slide down the window with each ******.

5 minutes.
I horn honks in the distance, long and mad,
as whiskey man unloads on my back,
along with his long, satisfied growl.
That's it, with a reluctant 20 bucks,
and I'm back biting the wind.

Horror speaks in silence
    and Fear speaks in signs
              it’s written on my face
                        and on the faces I see.

How did I end up here?

A masked man brought us food.
The smell of it drives us mad in hunger.
We eat like we're crazy.
Devouring it like messy animals.

I see the eyes of superiority
            in the sight of the masked man.
I look at them with deep curiosity.
He looks back with a look of intent.
Deep blue eyes inspect the whole me.
then I realized, everyone, including me
            wears nothing but just two pieces of
                                                      undergarments.                
I quickly cover my well-being,
then he just walks away.

I felt ***** ,
            Weary,
and Cold in this rusty dark place.
Where are we going?
Our future is uncertain.
I felt that our life is for sale,
like animals going to be slaughtered.

Sleep is taking my reality
Hoping that dreams will wash away
            the fear, horror and uncertainty along the way.                      




*© Pax

Do the heavens hear their cries?
How can they let these children slowly die?
I pray now spare them from agony
Sew their wings and set them free
For they are not slaves of poverty
But of souls unworthy of their sanity

A song for you my child
It is not your fault
You are not born to cry
A child is a child
Even if he sleeps in a bed of sweets
or in the busy streets
In your eyes pure innocence and love
In your hopes and dreams
you must fly like a dove
High as the angels above

Never will the sirens wake you
Never will the stones hurt you
Never will the cold bite you
For tonight you will not wake in fright
Rest in peace my child
The moon will swallow your woes
The stars will weave your dreams
And they will make you warm as you sleep



-Forgotten Angels, Margaret Austin Go