Three orange lights
waiting in a cue.
Warm, pudgy and sweating.
Squeezing the last drop
of pure sweetener
down your throat.

Delicious syrup
growing and spreading
on the finger tips.
Feeding the eager.
Melting bright nectar
dropping down the thighs.

Saliva sprinkels
on the piano lips.
Playing chants
of lust and thirst.
Lavish liberation
buzzing for more bees.

Get a job,
a husband or wife.
Make yourself comfortable
in your own life.
So they tell me
or would have told me
if they were still alive.
But they are dying slowly
by the magic pills.
They are no longer there
to protect and care.
I no longer have devils
that whisper and scream.
They can do both
but now they are doing non.
And I can see myself having fun,
not caring or staring
into nothingness.
Yet it leaves me in mourning
to know they are about to die.
Maybe if I hold on a little longer
I won't be lonely and then find myself
a job, husband or wife.

What will your order be today?
If I may.
Will it be one of the plumb ones?
Or perhaps a skinny fish?
Do you want an English meal?
Or a French delicacy?
What about one wearing white?
Or are you more into blue?
Do you wish for one swimming free?
Or one drying up with me?
I can tell you this
they all wish to be picked,
taken home
so they won't be alone.

Guys like broken girls
because they are no pillow princesses.
They are raging animals in cages
waiting for any bite
of raw meat they can put their claws in.

Diamond shaped hearts
cracking into two
forming elegant earings
for you to wear
once the reaper comes
and invites you down.
Just like beauty hurts,
so does love.

You left me in the dark
just for me to know
I was in the shadow too.

After all I'm not surprised
I recognize
you must carry on.

Now that the thunder starts
I might let you know
that you could have done better.

I said things I shouldn't
and didn't say other things
that I should have.

I don't know if I feel relieved
or sad in a way that makes me
go to the heartbreak hotel.

Stone-like, steel eyes
biting down the
sweet, polished apple.
Silky smooth skin slithering
on the thoughts of the tempted.
Desire of the improper,
cause conflicts to the conflicted.
Poison awaits,
with 2000 different faits.

I saw us in that moment,
three circles interwine
in a venn diagram.

Making me dry of words,
just because in that moment
I had nothing to make me dark.

I never thought I could find
what I just had a sip of
and I have never been more thirsty.

It's tea with no need for sugar,
It's a perfect milkshake
and an olive in the martini.

Now you tell me,
for my world is lost.
What am I now suppose to write about?

On four wheels
and on my knees.
Warm colorful tones
and cracking bones.
Up in the sky
and down to hell.
A trip I take everyday,
to feel well.
Foggy windows,
foggy minds
creating beautiful times.
Pulling the string
that makes me do things
which would make an angle
loose her wings.
She would forget to fly
and then peacefully die.

I'll cry you a river,
so I can bath in salty,
bright and perfect pain.
Let me shiver from
the words you tell me.
Let me drown
in emotional aching.
Let me summon
tenderness in my bones.
Make me cry I said,
and so the monster did.
Breathing like a beast
so much that only a priest
would be able to save
a nun like me.
For I go to church
and cry for my God
every Sunday
to Monday.
What God didn't know
was that crying means more
than sadness to me.
It means pleasure in ways
that are rotten and spoiled.
It means the Devils hands touch me
without God's permission.
Oh God, secrets are fun
and thrills run
up and down
so much that I end with a crown.
And I don't need your approval
for I've done it already
and I dare do it again
and again and again.
Till I'll make you cry and you'll
be just like me.
Even if you don't agree.

Your fingertips planted trees on me.
You left a forrest
full of life.
But with no rain
there was no healthy leafs.
So the forrest crumbled.
And I cut the tress down
for I did not wish
to have a memory of you
on my body.
Yet, roots of the forrest
remained deep beneath my skin.
And I will now forever,
if I wish or not,
have memories of your fingerprints.

I won't call it a disease,
I'll call it this This instead.
Tired of sitting in meetings
about meetings.
Tired of swallowing pills
stacking up bills.
This is what I live with
and "it must be so hard"
but I'm strong.
A strong woman searching
to be weak.
Using various techniques
to dodge a flaming hot tear.
Because I cannot bear
watching myself crumble
at the expensive of evil emotions.
So I unconsciously chose
This instead of emotion.

"Moving is like dying"
Empty pasts haunt
the reborn body.
Minds collapse and form
new beautiful butterflies.
The more moving,
the more broken wings.
The butterflies stop flying
and start crying.
The hottest tears
for all the years.
The future becomes terrifying.

When you know
that you will never
have a kiss from them again
it hurts.
No more body touches
that are warm and make you sparkle.
Glittery eyes
that are all red
from purple heaven.
I need it
and can't get it.
I hate him.
This isn't for him
it's my emotions
drizzling down my brain.
But that warmth
it is something else.
It's a nice glass of pulp free
pineapple juice made with love.
So when it was all inclusive
there were shockingly many non-inclusive things.
The same for him,
he could be all inclusive
while being just like the hotel.
His body became a hotel for me,
and now i'm missing a vacation.

Glaring light
and white
bathtubs.
Steam and
high pitched
melodies.
Running water
spreading warmth
spreading legs.
Silky cloths
for the freshly
bathed human.
Confusion and
worried faces
all washed away
by lukewarm
bathtub water.

A dragon so red.
Throw me on you'r bed.
Between your *******,
I passed the tests.

Soft lining,
I see you shining.
Dress slipped off,
a fiery cough.

Precious eyes,
they speak so wise.
clawing down,
taking me to Chinatown.

How come no one really know
what they are doing with their life?

The sun and moon have purpose.
So why don't you?

Eyes wide as space
staring into another face.
Believe me when I say
I've never felt another way
of entertaining eternity.
For I have come to a conclusion
I no longer believe in free fun.
You buy it in small doses
chew it up and swallow.
Come on jump down
from you throne
and buy another gemstone.

Since they cut
my long heavy
navel string
they too
cut the feeling
of love.

Attachment
was never present
in the same
jointed way
that I once
felt thoroughly.

Then came
one who too
had a
broken heart
who's navel
was fully hallow.  

One who
would use the
navel string
to wrap it
around my neck
till I choked.

I realised
then
that
you made me scared of the word,
love,
because you used it in the wrong way.

You snipped you brown locks
off your twisted head.
Now chained to another princess’s bed.

Your affection is like the smell
of chlorine on a rusty day.
Do I want it to leave or stay?

You made the white flowers
grow within me.
Now go ahead and sip the tea.

My body and soul
can't be threatened by your stare.
Our feelings need a wheelchair.

You got me so drunk
I forgot what a hangover was.
Twisted lies,
and the devils eyes.
In between the happiness,
is what I call hate.
Unlike what you might think,
it's what made me want you
in the first place.
I crave a drop of you and your face
now and then
when I'm not really thirsty.
I search for mercy
wrapping myself in the sky,
going to bed,
planning what I might do
when you let me drink again
the next time I see you.

Love bites
for the dark
intertwining with the pure.
Forgive me for I have sinned.
bruised touches
that rock back
and forth.

Save the innocent
or let them feed on unholy blood.
Let them taste metal
in the finest state.
Let them lick off
any left overs
that are both sweet and wet.

Turn them around,
show them new paths
that they can learn to love.
It's not life that deserves love
it's the after thought.
It's the mellow dark
that tinkles and pounds the heart.

Let yourself go,
and show others to do so.
Bite down,
caress and kiss
the mother of death.
For she has risen
and shown a way.

I let you in on my secret.
I told you half spoken truths
that twist with lies.
Because a broken doll
plays pretty until she falls
or drowns for that matter.
Only seven to go, what do you know?

She had so much love to give.
Yet, no one wanted it.
So she forced herself
to act like she didn’t love.

Hands leaving passionate marks
for a crying nun
that has sinned her life away.
Let her pray instead of running away.
Let her cry warm wasteful tears.
***** fingernails explore
the filthy nuns surface.
Tracing bruises
and spreading pain
from the spanking received
for being too needy.
Forming nuances of red
on the prime target.
Sweet syrup fingers
dripping down the arms
of a freshly dead man.
Defeat for the nun
who now is done.

Boredom can cause you to do
horrible,
  dreadful,
    frightful,
     shocking,
       terrible
         things.

That causes hair-raising
and spine-chilling thoughts
to appear in your mind.
Yet they never seem to hurt the bee,
only the bird.

The length of the silk fabric.  
does not determine the quality.
It may be long,
or it may be shot.

So when you ask me about
the length of my poems
my answer will be
that I want to enjoy every word,
feel every sentence and
appreciate all of the fabric.

Im split between two,
good and evil.
Sitting one each shoulder
kissing my neck.
Caressing my brain
one more than the other.
But I will not let the devil win,
I'll hold on to the good.
Until happiness decides
I no longer deserve to be happy.

The vintage doll in the window
staring into thin air.
Fake tears in a pipet
drip down her face.
Born into original sin
and the urge for it to wash away.
Slow soapy circles
on the porcelain skin.

A made up story
to clear the sky
that otherwise
drip
drip
drip
down water
watering her eyes.

My head
just above water.
All alone
in an open ocean.

My thoughts
just acceptable by logic.
All alone
in an empty world.

You cannot title her.
For she is not to be summed up.
She is to be unlimited and infinite.

I met myself
yesterday.
I was like
honey-mustard,
rich
and
tasted like gold.

My edges were
toasted
and
my feelings
color coordinated
wet without
the use of water.

But I realized
I no longer
wanted
to live
in my own mind,
not even
a second longer.

Not too hot,
not too cold,
is this the strategy you wanted to behold?

In this case
I was luke warm
by all your harm.

I wouldn't say I was drowning  
or flying for that matter,
but you did make me sadder.

Now I've learnt
how you come and go
and I've learnt to say no.

From now on
I decorate myself with white
and wait for you to once again bite.

Slam the door upon my face.
Don't look,
think
or act.
Just stand behind the door
silent,
and anxious.
Wait for me to make a move.
Let me do
what you should have done.
Thats the easiest way
I can think of you
to live a life
where the sun doesn't rotate.
Because sometimes
doing nothing
is easier than doing everything.
And trust me
I will do everything for you.

Salty skin,
bare, burnt, buttery
and brutally BBQ'ed.

Amused by laying under
the rose-white parcel
decorated by green, blue and yellow.

Silver stars
beneath the blue lagoon
swallowing long limbs.

Appealing dry lips
consuming drops of shine,
kissed by the breeze.

Bathing beauty,
shy, sunny
and summoning sandy stares.

I question wether heaven has gates
and if the Devil is their master.
If his fingertips has the power
to leave me out of paradise.
If he will turn me down
for what my mind has made me do.
Is there a reason they tell me to **** you
Was there a reason for this madness,
this chaos in my head.
I think there is but
will the Devil let me in?

Raw meat on your silver plate.
Heavy fingers
caressing my bare flesh.
You cannot invite yourself
if you aren't welcome.
Then you used your
sticky, heavy and disgusting
thick fingers
to caress some more.
In my head  
broken people can only
create broken things.
So what if you created it  
you said while
everyone in the cinema
had melted hearts.
But this is no love story
more like horror.
For I would not bow
and you made me.

This is for you,
just out of the blue.
The moon dust,
will spark a star lust.

You will be,
everything below the sea.
My sunflower,
giving me radiant power.

In your eyes,
I see the lows and highs.
The red glow,
I see it grow.

You will be my one and only,
breathing air that's holy.
One, two, three,
flying free.

White diamonds,
and roaring lions.
Just you and me,
a budding branch on a tree.

From the cranium
to the metatarsals.
I dare you to be careful.
Or drown me in ******.

He went from the femur
upwards my symphysis *****.
Looking beyond the cutis.
Or does he wish to view the pure.

Slightly touching with the phalanges
pressure building from the carpal.
Hiding the face under a parcel.
Or is the phase under changes.

Cramps in the tarsals
going up to the tibia.
For him it's a game of trivia.
Or is he fighting marshals.

He bites down into the clavicle
pain and pleasure going to the scapula.
He breaths vernacular.
He and I are flammable.

Bones to break.
What a piece of cake.

I break myself
to be able to
feed you pieces
of me
that doesn't belong
to you

Splash
a crash
dead gone
badly hurt
maybe one
may die
in a
hell hole
to starve
and be
buried alive
go away
and stay
where you are
leave me alone
and die in
a hell hole

You have the smell of feeling something,
but the touch of regret.

Warm hands,
but a cold heart

You're like yellow,
a representation of happiness and sickness.

That one stare
you gave me from across the room.
Showing me how disappointed
you are that I no longer is yours to keep.

I feel every inch of my body
filled with terror.
Because you blame me
for moving on when you haven't.

You gave me no reason to stay
or obey.
But I will never recover
from your straight, lonely stare.

I hope you now learn
that you can't cut the wings
off the flying bee
and expect it to collect nectar.

For I am no longer present for you.

If you are in charge
you will end up hurting
your own soul.

You ask me how
I will do it.
I never told you
but I will slit my throat
in front of the person
that anger me the most.
I wanna see blood, red
and frighted eyes.
Scared for life.

I'm showing him new
ways to *****.
Try to forget the past
lovers, especially the last.
I let him bite and chew
on my recipe for the stew.
Let the precious events glide
while I sat and lied.
But I wouldn't call them
lovers, as they made me numb.
They would sit and stare
with another affair.
They wouldn't want to do
the things he asks me to.

Don't tell me that you understand.
Have you scooped out my eyes?
Like they were vanilla ice-cream.
Have you cut them open?
To see what they have seen.
Have you dug up all the memories?
To see what was buried in them.
Have you tried?

You will never know
what I have experienced.
Even if you took my eyes,
you wouldn't be able to feel it.

Glitter poured into the ocean,
sparkling,
shining like stars.

Beauty is an underestimation.
She, a sip of sweet tea,
nectar for the bees.

A dip in the cold water,
bathing in caviar
and champagne.

Glowing body
casting a shadow
on the burning sand.

The calm smile
stretching out wrinkles
on the peachy cheeks.

Rich butterflies in the stomach,
light as clouds
cotton candy flavored.

Bloomed and flowered,
at peace,
old but young at soul.

White locks of pure life
flowing in the wind
touching the tanned shoulders.

Worn down hands of insight,
which touched so many characters
with such sophistication.

Admired woman at the beach,
breathless,
with such a graceful face.

I wish to meet you again,
for you melt my heart
in another perfect imperfect dream.

Panic when pin-pointing.
Pathetic when trying.
Painful pleasure.
Passively flipping the page.

Packing the past.
Passed out from the last.
Painting it fast.
Put the panther back.

Probably paraphrasing this.
Preparing the premises.
Perfect in any position.
Please be consistent.

Body and flesh with the age of seventeen,
without being loud or angry.
Never been,
the warm yellow light.

Spiraling out of control.
Calmness collapses.
Burning a hole,
in what is assumed to be poured.

Deep pigment,
showering over loved once.  
Yet no commitment.
Daffodils growing in the garden.

Dripping from the ankle,
deep red,
ropes to get strangled.
Melting and mixing orange.

They may not know how i’m feeling,
but if they stop reality,
they see me hanging from the sealing.
“How young was she?”

You sting,
but at least you
could have tried.

Your thorns
are growing,
letting me bleed.