I'm the wounded swallow
With a needle in my arm and multiple doses of thoughts
I'm god of the world
That doesn't belong to me
Drowned in my bath
My own ocean
As deep as thoughts
As sweet as dreams
As dark as past
I still have that artist fingers
Which leaks the truth
The sharp knives that tears apart
I have demons behind my eyes
A stone in my chest
An aimed heart in my head, which I call brain
My candle still burns
By a different flame

She says hellos laced with laughter
Like ice cubes in whisky
Punctuated with silence
gave it to a wolf
Because the sheep wanted not
For smoke stained lips
And embroidered skin
Drenched in sweat
And the smell of strangers
Deer running with wolves
Doe eyes hidden under
Rainbow ray bans
a world of frayed conversation
yarn that needed to be burned
A fire to cure all guitar strings
To fuse the seams of broken hearts.

i still say hello
to the tulips in
my kitchen,

speak to the
two sunflowers
in my garden

who grew
despite
my absence

I've run out
of what little
patience I had

yell at people on
the road and tell
people to get out of
the way at the store

convinced I am
probably meant to
be alone by the way

I still say hello
to the tulips in
my kitchen,

softly touch the
two sunflowers
in my garden
and smile by
their gentle adversity
and the way they don't
respond at all.

I'd like to know through you what he's wearing, what does he smell like what does he look like, what does he feel like, when did he last smile, is he wearing his purple shades, is he wearing the necklace I got him, did he shave, did he cut his hair, did he like his hair better before he cut it...
I'd like to picture him again and you are the only way. A way I don't like at all but it leads me to him.
Maybe I should stop searching for him through you and I should start looking for him in myself.
He lives in me and only I can see him inside me.
Everything else is only an illusion of him.



- LynnAA

Too many questions fill my mind
Too many answers seek to find
What will be known
What won't reveal
What is truth
What am I to feel?

She is grass cut fresh on the hill.
She is the chaos that's holding me still.
She is birds in a nest in a tree.
She is the formlessness I cannot see.
She is here.
She is now.
  She is bread in an oven.
She is a river of blood.
She  is the vein in Atlas' forearm.
She   is  juggling chainsaws and daffodils.
She    is the deer in the forest grown from the ashes of the last forest.
She  is everything and nothing and something and some more or less.
She is the Goddess who birthed all your gods.
She is the oldest and oddest of all.
    Sheisheaven,hell,thedeepestwell.
She is answer E) All of the above.
She is fierce, violent, conflagrate love.
She is the hole punch around the binder ring.
She is the throat through which we sing.
She is swimming through my eyes.
She is running through my mind all night.
She is whispering herself in my ear.
She is the ashes, the forest, the deer.
She will repeat it, if you did not hear.
She is She is Again and Again.

She is:

A story.


A good one.

I will read I will read Again and Again.

Behind the happy faces
countless secrets are being hidden
But if you look into the eyes,
you find the mystery and the poison.
So every clown wears a big smile,
yet people are scared of them,
because under a gleeful mask
is where they hide their mayhem.

from afternoon thunderstorms
while the sun still shines
and the sky crackles
a hypnotic lullaby