Red buds or beams flicker across my chest
lined and ready like a velvet-lined coffin
for me to take an infinite rest in.
Lips a bright cherry color
but it’s blood that’s caked.
Ruby gems in each earhole
flickering in the cave’s scarce light.
But I’m not dead yet
---just coming back to life---

pixie wings
arachnids donate
   their gossamer

One..
Your chest rises.
Two..
Your chest falls.
Three..
I heave out a breath.

Tornadoes. Sandstorm.

Those are nothing.
I can handle those.

One... Two... Three...

Not even the fear of natural disaster could beat this pain in my chest when I see you. This clenching of my heart. This feeling of everything inside of me being twisted and squeezed.

One... Two... Three...

I couldn't bare to look at you: how your chest rises and falls rapidly at times, how your brows knitted in agony just for you to take in air, how you have to rely on that stupid tank just to do the very thing human takes for granted.

Tornadoes. Sandstorm.

I can handle those.
But not this.
Not the torrent of pain inside of my chest when I see you.

I thought I'm the controller of the very thing you need. I realized I'm no god nonetheless.

One... Two... Three...

Remember those times I told you you take my breath away?
Remember when I told you I was left breathless by your touches?

One lift of the corners of your lips was enough to take my breath away.
Two playful wiggles of your eyebrow when you teased me were enough to make my heart skip a beat.
Three light touches of your lips brushing against my skin added with four minutes of hug drove me insane and left me gasping for air.

Right now I wish my breath is taken away for real and be given to you instead.

Right now I wish to breathe less if that could help you breathe more.

One..
Your chest rises.
Two..
Your chest falls.
Three..
I heave out a breath.

But worry not, love. I will always be with you.

One... Two... Three...

Even when the counting stops,

One... Two... Three...

I will be by your side. And when your eyelids open. You will see me there with you. Because if your counting stop,

One... Two... Three...

Mine will also stop.

For you are my air. My breath.

Hello my goddess of delight let that flowing garden spring to life,
My delicate treasure is always forever,

I wonder what I can see,
Within,
A light with me,
Of course I see again,

Like the feelings that surround you,
In the murky mire,
Of devious desire,
She's a lone in the town square,

I forget whatever you said that day,
All I remember is that fire in your sacred eyes,

All I love is that sacred scar around  your neck-bone,
Masked silence dawns brightly,

Grief weighs & troves

Hey Lonely daughter don't tell me the moons effects

the house settles;
i am not alone

There’s blood on his hands
Not that anyone can see
It’s the blood of the innocent
More blood than he could foresee

It’s been years and years
Of fighting and killing
Evil monsters and demons
To **** them, he’s more willing

His hands hold the weapons
With a strong and firm grip
He can slice off a head
Into evil he’ll empty a clip

His hands are calloused
From digging grave after grave
He’ll shake others’ hands
They’re soft, it’s what he craves

A yell for the child comes with momentum
It shakes a creak out of each elderly step and surrounding glass fixture
Wailing wakes the set of mahogany stairs before stopping at the moat of the dudette’s dungeon

Kaboom, it kicked the door in on the dream

Enter a flow of sunlight
Now visible dancing off the sweaty leaves and onto the walls of the hallway
Leaping onto the eyelids of our beholder
She turns to face the wall
This empty vessel isn't ready

The yelling quickly becomes relevant
As it Sharpens into an irritating spear  
Creating unwanted foramen
Making mesh out of the impermeable cushion enveloping the chrysalised girl

The parent is a lackluster alarm clock that she bought
But still wants to beat the **** out of.
Though they serve their purpose
the half conscious tend to be ungrateful

A smile breaks open now
knowing such noxious noise is futile Fighting the lull that was already present in the room.

Going through the first motions her feet find a base
and her socks slide dangerously over splinters and thornish nails peaking out of the floorboards
The drums of her feet meeting the stairs announce her arrival.

On the first floor there awaits a vision of her childhood
Her father watching programs and eating breakfast with Charles Osgood and his correspondents
Mother making moves towards the car.

She’s surprised
The sweet smell tricked the girl into believing adventure land had been relocated to her kitchen.


She witnesses Bands of fibrous smoke slide off of the bacon
And harden as happiness on the rims of her nostrils
Her hunger whispers clear thoughts and primitive instincts from her core
And a shell of rubber pellets is released to ricochet around in the girls belly like a couple of quarters in a piggy bank -
Wants reverberate and drive up her throat
Driving her hands to the cooler of the three tired skillets

She does a quick but thorough survey of the stove top eyes hitting every grease patch and
Yellow egg puddle worth avoiding

Sitting at the galaxy black table
Jaw tensing against its will
Gums sweating and shocked anxious
Tastebuds wiggling into the room left available by the imagination
Eager on ripping into fattening pleasure

Osgood leads them into their moment of Zen to be ended at the pace of the subject
Father different from daughter
Daughter different than the mother.