Those stretch marks are not tiger stripes.
Instead, they are the waves and ripples in the reflection of the ocean on the side of a boat.
They are proof,
of a death before birth.
Proof of a still born baby's water birth,
and how the pool of blood and fluid leftover from the trauma,
became salt water poisoned by tears.
The red lines are the way her eyes looked.
Blood shot and bruised from the previous blows.
They are proof that she lived.
That the ***** donor that does not deserve the title of father, lived.  
And that the baby girl is dead.
She never got to see her eyes open.
Do not romanticize those stretch marks,
saying that they are stripes that were earned.
They are nothing but scars of a horrifying event that she is reminded of every time she sees a baby,
and every time she looks at her body,
because she is no tiger.

When my mind was buzzed, a sabertooth swallowed me whole.
His stomach wasn’t digesting me so there I was, just thinking about the life I had lived in the abyss of his stomach grits.
I wanted my body to explode in glass pieces and break through his skin to escape, but all I was doing was playing with a messed up fate.
As some would say, I made this arrangement to have this play date.
“People are crazy!” was their debate.
He wanted to satisfy his hunger, I wanted to succumb under the pressure and just accept what was whatever.
It had always been a possibility to be the target someday- so now I was the prey.
You can’t outsmart the hunter, you become meatier and meatier every day.

‘t was nice till now.
I’d be a sad fool to complain.
There are others that deal with
much more **** then I can ever imagine.
There are happy homeless chums
that don’t give a **** about sadness but, unfortunately,
their madness is voiceless
and, sadly, our ears get numb after 3-4 minutes of elevator music.

It was cool and everything but now it seems that you’re only
showing the back of your head, as you’re kneeling down in front
of everybody.

No spine. No dime. No nothing.

Death lies hidden in your breast pocket,
just waiting to bite your hand or that of your loved ones,
in a blink of a blind eye.

My inner black dog chased away the black and white cats
and all that jazz is just not enough for
a healthy restart of the brain membrane.

Get closer and hear me out.
I’m speaking through my heart – this yellow bellow fella’s almost done.
I’ll whisper and you’ll understand my stubbornness,
like an unlit candle in the wind,
like a simple quiet rocket/piano man,
like the unlikely event of crashing in a brick wall.

‘t was nice.
All the dreaming
and drinking
and smiling
and crying
and cringing inside my head.
Oooooooh, what a match!
The crowd goes wild and that’s so unlike them to do – clawless, fangless, white tigers.

You might not recognize this day as being amazing and wonderful and all,
but trust me when I say that you’re in a blind spot right now and
as soon as it will be over, you’ll see it.
You’ll understand.
Those were not drops of desperation but exquisite fine wine left unattended.

Hear the echo inside this caveman’s body.
Look in this broken mirror and admit that you cannot see the eyes.

This generation of morons will stay put and eat macarons all day long.
It’s just a burning house, as Robin nicely put it in his song.
There is still hope for this silly antelope.
There is time for the timeless universe that we live in.

You’ll eventually get tired of seeing everything backwards,
of going against the stream, like a red herring in a Quentin T. dark alley.
You’ll get tired and admit that
you’re the ******* queen of everything wrong in this world.

Stop complaining.
Get over it.
For now.

You are the tiger burning bright
Deep in the forest of my night
You are the one who keeps me strong in this world

You sleep by the silent cooling streams
Down in the darkness of my dreams
All of my life I never knew
You were the dream I'd see come true
You are the tiger burning bright

I was the one who looked so hard I could not see.
Now I could never live without the love you give to me.

I lived like a wild and lonely soul,
Lost in a dream beyond control.
You were the one who brought me home down to earth.
Now I will love you unconditionally.

Naked,

as the rising sun echoes

deliverance. Behind a shroud,

prowling the edges of Shangri-la.

Pounces to devour sea and sky.

And the very last, the endling,
Caged in the sunlight at Beaumaris Zoo,
Tired of the poking and the prodding
Paced out of existence into history,
Into emblem and icon
Legend and label,
On to things protected by copyright,
Footage and fable,
And the internet's electric jungle,
And into that great white emptiness
Of extinction,
That giant ship which we are building,
Stacking and storing,
Fitting and filling,
Recording into the grand voyage
Of oblivion.

Tears trace their way down her cheeks
The pain in her heart is to much to take
She sits in the dark and lest the pain take over
The pain
The throbbing pain like a wild beast in a too small cage unable to stop its pacing
Claws digging into tender flesh
She weeps and wants to let the poor beast out
She wishes for a way for the trapped animal to escape

She understands what she must do
But she is scared
Her body shivers at the thought
But it's the only way
She picks up the blade and slits her wrists
Her blood pooling on the bathroom floor
The beast inside screams in pain and then calms down
Sitting and waiting to see what's next
Her blood red like fire and as deep as the dark gushes out of her slim wrists
She is fading life slipping away
And the beast is closer to being free
As she takes her last breath a tiger orange like sunsets with red marks around his eyes appears before her
He looks her in the eye and bows
Acknowledging her pain and torment
All of the dark days she has endured
Every night of tears
He stands upright
And starts to fade
Her vision is going
Her life is gone
She closes her eyes for the last time
Never to be opened again

That night the neighbors heard a sound
Like a great beast morning the lost of a friend

The tiger pounced,
Arrived unannounced,
She's Chairman Meow,
Don't know how,
Here anyway,
What to say?
Fine thinking woman this,
Doesn't take any blip,
A femme of self-esteem,
A misogynist's dream!
All dance to her tune,
Is this a tiger moon?
"Yes, dear," men reply,
I only look and sigh,
Why can't I be like that?
Training men--old hat?
Really don't know how,
She's Chairman Meow.