The little smile you give to me,
When I give you mine:
It's kind of like conspiracy,
Shared in our two minds.
The little giggle that you let fly,
When I let mine fly, too:
It's like laughing gas
Has come to pass
Between us: me and you.
You know what's coming,
And so do I.
No reason to try and hide it.
The smile grows into a grin,
No trace of guile inside it.
Defensively, you try to cover
Everywhere you can,
But you're helpless and you know it,
You can't hide from Daddy's hands!

A squeal of laughter breaks the still:
Anticipation let go in a voice so shrill.
The giggle becomes a full-force gale.
Were both laughing now:
A full-force wail!

Let's play a game,
We'll start from the top,
Just like it's something new.
We'll call this game
"Son and Pop,"
Or maybe just,
"Gonna Get You!"

Chances gambled.
Seconds ticked.
Across the room,
Eyeballs flick.
Paths intersect,
Feet move quick.
Hi, I'm guy,
And your name's chick!
You have ****,
And I've a ****!
Let's get together,
And see what fits...
Throw *** at each other,
And see what sticks,
Share gasps together,
And then feel sick.

It's never black or white,
Up or down, night or day
In the twilight of the plight,
In the banal and malaise.
I can wish for better sight
In the mist, in the haze,
But I'm left with waning might.
See the dimming of my gaze?

But then, AWAY...

Lift the veil with burning blaze!
Evaporate the mist
As if the sun had come to play!
Push the pastel and fluorescent
Past the limits of distaste!
I see the best of light's forays
In the spectrum of your face,
And through the tears of blinding beauty,
You are the color in the gray!

Run.
'Cause I have to pursue you,
You got me with voodoo,
Who does it like you do?
None.
Overcome with the new you,
Swept in the word,
Of a curse,
Of a homebrew:
Fun.
I knew that I knew you,
But all that I've been through
Is enough to give into.
Come.
Come with me and we'll run to
A place where the sun dew
Is run through with rainbows
And all that is come due.
Want to?

The most difficult thing I could ever do
Is dare to write this rhyme.
Words from pen, and ink in line
Fail to catch this moment of mine.
The look, the smell, the touch I feel,
Are all but lost in time.

I saw an angel look at me.
She knew she caught my eye.
But once I stopped to wonder,
The moment had passed me by.
I ache to gaze that lens again,
But when? Know not I.

And ache I do! 'Tis true! Unfair!
It seems the story of which I'm defined,
For I know that never,
Not in this life,
Would she deign to be mine.
How could such a mortal man
Pine for things divine?

This isn't the first time I've seen this angel,
And surely not the last.
...In a different vessel,
But still I wrestle,
I fight to drink her laugh.
I breathe the air when she is near
To taste her heart beat fast.

But not for me,
Would it seem
It beats for in the least.
I've pondered this in anguish,
Over hours, days, and weeks.
Yet still I nourish hope
In the face of my defeats.

And so I wonder how it came to be
That she would cross a path with me
And glance a short eternity
To tease me with my heart's decree.
Was it chance by some degree,
Or torture aimed accurately?

Neither thought doth hold much sway
For swiftly she is swept away,
And I will ache another day,
And pain will find another way
To force a man with no beliefs
To wish he had the gall to pray.

I had a second chance at heaven
And I threw it all away.
I once again felt my happiness
Sour into hate.
On this page are the words
That exemplify my rage.
I once was great
But now I'm lost,
To this misery and pain.
My path: a fog, through trodden dirt
To a cemetery gate.
For what dark fate
Does this soul
So very anxiously await?

My boots are caked with mud.
The smell of iron permeates,
Along with moss, the smell of dirt,
And most certainly decay.
Never mind my mortal soul...
What kind of demon lies awake
In the midst of human fruit,
Over-ripened in the day?

The splitting corpses seem to beg me,
"Stay away, stay away!"
Burgeoned fruit spills forth,
As the rinds peel away.

The tortures yet continue,
Testing will and sanity.
Stumbling forth into the mixes,
Pestilences use the meat:
Fruits of flies spill their guts
Under muddied, weary feet,
And in the soup, in the gore,
Coagulation races feast:
Clots of blood battle vermin;
Scabs crunch like autumn leaves.
To this yet, there is more
On this journey I have seen:
Fire burns, and humans ****,
And mix the ashes in the breeze.
What soulless cur,
What kind of beast
Inhales with pleasure
When he breathes?

Smoke and fire burn the horizon.
There is nothing left of peace.
To the camps I was swept,
In the tide of the deceased.

Hard at work in heat,
Tattered and flayed meat
Toils in agony,
Swinging hammers in defeat.
Blood-slickened handles
Slip from fingers weak:
Wood and metal sings
At worn and weary feet.

Rusted chains sling,
Slicing through the heat,
Slicing through the smoke,
Slicing through the meat.
In the distant, murky background,
Drums of war greet,
As flesh and bone and flame
Dance to the beat.

Chastened bones respond,
Breaking stones in the beyond.
The work of hell waits
For no man very long.
Gangs of chains tag along,
Making quite the fiendish song,
As the billions in the lakes
Add their agonies to the throng.
The shrieks of charred lungs,
And throats ruined long,
Build the thickness of the air:
An anguished plague of smog.
Keep the fires burning;
Add another human log.
Respite is just a word,
An idea like winter frost:
Once before, it had purpose,
But now, its meaning, lost.

Abandon hope, is what they say...
But not for very long.
In the fire, in the rock,
They find their words are gone.
... Long forgotten, but for the lyrics
Of the Devil's favorite song:
A timeless tune, that my soul
Had been singing all along.

Men have scoured the earth
In search of lesser women than you.
Wars and famine,
In veneration,
Have been stricken in pursuit
Of the likes of half your substance.

Lain waste, the kingdoms of men,
And religion alike
In the name of madonnas
A mere fraction of your awe.

Tearing hell through this earth,
Here you stand before me:
Never prostrate, but exhilerant!
Sparks flowing from your hairtips:
A woman scorned!

All for the adoration of a poet:
The subject of your wrath
For his perception.