Red
Scales glisten
In the moonlight

Smoke
Rises in plumes
Before the dark night

Fire
Scorches all
Whose swords do fight

Desiree
A dragons name
Is one to cause fright

Purple velvet curtains mimicked purple proses of long dead authors
Auteurs and Anglophiles expressing desire, the desire for Desiree
and she danced, she danced.

Christie too, she danced, she danced
Kick, snare, kick kick, snare, she danced rhythmic hypnosis
Daddy watched from the bar, banal dance of the bandits

And Katzarina, baby in the back, dances for love
Fatherless child begging attention
Dance no more my dear soul, for you deserve more

Lecherous lounge acts, the men in ties
Order another round, girls gather around
Please me, dance for me, ****** and bashful
The purple velvet reminds them of mother

Cruel institutions that decay our psyche
Patriarchal pesticides in pasta and porridge
On the side of the mango, matriarchal monotony
Oh stop this pretentious pillaging of poor prostitutes
You are but a boy at the gates of existence, fear not, for the father and the mother shall hold your hand in the heavenly harem.

At the phresh gates of the Redwood Dreadnaught Blog,
I screamed! I dug a tunnel to
your murderous lips!
Everyone's swimming, but you and I are the Sunburnt Bourgeoisie,
so we'll resign to simply dancing
in my groovy groovy grave.

Steady trying to fill this void from my mother no living full of lost at the same time thank the lord for what else is given,

So I stand here a man with sum of his heart missing cause mama gon left my heart wishin,

When it comes to the heart you are the half to my whole, sum wounds are healed but I still bleed from my soul,

Trying to keep my faith steady but you passing got me ready,

So every time I wake up without you I die again thoughts of going with you but I no its a sin but God willin I'll see you again, and every time I pray I ask him when?

So I'm left with tatoo tears without the ink, holes in my armor with out the ***** but I stand on his word and will not blink and will not blink

There was once a famous painter who, to express his love for a woman, cut his own ear off and sent it to her. We all know the story. Even I, a pretty eccentric and extreme person myself, thinks that's way too extreme. but hey, nothing says I Love You like a ****** chunk of cartage stuffed in an envelope right?

A couple days ago you told me to do something that scares the **** out of me, at least once everyday. No, I didn't cut my ear off or anything like that. lol. but that night I sat and thought about things that frighten me but to no avail. I wouldn't say I'm fearless, but I'm a person who enjoys taking risks and prides himself on surviving the most horrific experiences. There aren't many things in this world that rattle me. I'm not superstitious, I have no interest in what others think about me, and pain is only temporary. Well, Physical pain. Pain of a more emotional variety can last. Years even. An intangible, constricting weight of question. A couple thousand needles of "What if?". A potent venom of repeating "I wish". The things that spread your eyelids apart in the middle of the night. When you tell your body "No." When you squeeze your pillow and mumble to your own thoughts "No, don't you dare wander to that place." When you plead with yourself to forget.

Nights like this are the reason why I find it hard to write you, the nights where I don't sleep, can't sleep until I write you and even though most times I don't send the messages, (Or they get sent to you accidently baha) I'm gonna send this one to you. Because it scares the **** out of me.

Starting is the hardest part. It's been probably forty five minutes since I've started the occasional ritual of tossing my bed covers aside and pacing around my room tenderly as if I'm scanning the ground for the words I need, as if I could just pick them right up and hand them to you. However, I always find nothing. I skip every other step on the way down to the computer and sit gingerly in my lame floral chair, watching my cursor blink against your empty message box. It speaks to me. "Blink type something ****** Blink." After a few minutes of typing and erasing and typing and erasing I thought "This is stupid." Then I remembered the story about the painter. It made me think. People have always done stupid things for love. Sure, I'd be embarrassed and vulnerable and possibly even having you meet me with a spine shattering "sigh", "This is getting old." or even have "What is the ****** point?" hammering my morning thoughts. But Hey, At least I'm not mutilating myself.

Well. I tend to beat around the bush a lot, but at this rate I'm just stepping on the twigs. Dancing on the torn leaves and such. I'll stop. I have some things I want to tell you.

I won't let my guilt stop me from saying what I want to say this time as I've done many times in the the past. I think that's what holds me back, the guilt? Whatever.. I mean you're over it, I should be too. I know you're over me too, but that won't stop me either. Des, I miss you. I miss your voice. The medicine in your laugh, the discipline in your scowl. The way that we'd talk all through the night till one of us unked it. The several stones that would plop in my stomach when I would get a text from 'Desire Deslonchamps', Your french *** name (It's so **** btw) I miss the armada of butterflies roosting on my ribs whenever you'd tell me you adored me. I miss our conversations, you have always reached higher than anyone else I have ever talked to intellectually and I mean that quite literally. it baffles me how no matter who else I was with, they were never good enough. That I was always comparing them to you, and thinking "Des wouldn't have said that." or "Des would have loved this more." No one is as funny or talkative or as tender or as wild as you. I would stuff every single one of those girls in a shredder just for even 5 minutes with you.

I look through your pictures all the time, I feel like a teenager sifting dreamily through a magazine looking at some chiseled, oiled up celebrity that doesn't even know she exists. I read everything you post, I worry when you seem sad, I laugh when you laugh. Everytime Facebook tells me you've uploaded and new picture I always go look and end up sighing like a ***** maiden. Excuse the metaphor but it's true. haha.

A couple days ago, when you were telling me about your ex, for a second I kind of thought you were talking about me... and I got so excited, I really thought that you still felt for me and that maybe I hadn't completely lost it and that you weren't jaded or whatever, but when you showed me what you actually did write him, and everything and... ugghh, I just felt so stupid. Sososososo stupid. I don't know why... and I know you still really like him and everything, but I just want to let you know that the level of emotion and personal attention I have for you is strong and consistent. I'm not saying that no one will ever feel for you as strongly as I do, But I'm saying that it'd be pretty **** hard to top it. I just want to let you know that this will never go away. I have tried everything short of a lobotomy but I can't ever, and will never forget about you. I know how foolish it is, but there is no way I could ever help it. Humanity help me, it's literally impossible to knock, like that crazy romance **** You see in movies. It's unreal.

Desiree I think about you more than I think about Sableyes and Adoring fans and Acid trips and soft melodies. All of the things I daydream about. Whenever I daydream, I always add on the wishful thought of someday sharing whatever I'm dreaming about with you, or just sharing me with you. I laugh hysterically in my head at the thought of ever being what I once was to you again, a laugh developed by my pride to stifle my cries and soak up my tears before they ever surface. No, I'm not sad all the time, just when the thinking reaches a fever pitch. Sad isn't the word, more like frustrated. You know me better than anyone on this planet, seriously, You know that I have problems communicating my feelings properly. Most of the thinking is me trying to put words together for you. Though I usually don't come up with anything until I actually do write you, There's always been one thing that I've wanted to tell you that I could never form an appropriate form for and even saying it now would do it an injustice because I can't make these words jump off of the screen and wrap it's arms securely around waist, or whisper quietly in your ear or emulate the disparity of them properly, it's all I got. This xenomorphic phrase.

Physical pain may be temporary, but I'm still too much of a ***** to cut off my own ear, So these words, They're all I have left. The only thing that I can give to you with every bit of a human heart and genuine honesty I have...

Desiree Deslongchamps,

I love you.

orange cones
                                               &
       y e l l o w
                                 t
                a  p e—Nothing
                                               to see
                                                          w
    ­                                  here?                          ­                        hear”

       see is
                         what                 i think i
                                                               ­                 thinkyoushould;
       say do             what i
                                              f r e e l y    
                           em

                                                      ­            bedded in I—
      My
                                 herostory; (limits
      endowed the scope—action
                                                       controlled by
                                              knowledge]
     ­   true,
                                   even heroes
        can become jaded to their promises,                   tis noble duty
to their state                             to spoil

inside their o w n Suit of Just
                                                            ­ice)(the state is not me,you,us,them, we’re all a l i e n;]
                                                             ­               cast
                                                                ­                to the fringes
                                                        o­f dissidence,

my sweet
d i s
                  a r r a y; can there be a center to this shrouded mass?

behind face of the clock
                                                           ­     work(the cow
        ard’s mask.


(Mystic Machine, please
                                                          ­                  cloak us
                                          in hour
                                                         uncouth explanation of the our!
un
                         burden our backs
                                                           ­           of those crosse


       d t’s & dotted i’s,
                                                                ­         so we may

                          be  f r e e                          to carry our religion

      sans
                                 the

immobile prescriptions
        of our structures—
                                innumerable volumes of procedural scripture & scroll,
                Mandate and Prophecy.(

                                                   ­               …but OUR brain weighs a ton;
                                     (yes
  but w h o
                                              stored it in the w r o n g vat?
“In fact, we object to the framing of that concept—I


                                         control my mind, to the full
est
                         extent nature a l l o w s

Just
                                     ask the cat
                                                        who assumes itself
       Master of Domain—I lay claim
                                                                ­           as gatekeeper of
            the input, to engineer the flow of my information
                                                     ­   consciously, constantly,
                                                     ­   without a shadow
of intellectual guilt
—This is my herostory; if you
                                               aren’t with me,
                               you are againstme”


Every
                        body got a story
         with a hero, even ideas. but there’s alotta b o d i e s;
This world
                        must be seething with villains too,
the worst clothcut of villain, the most sinuous form of e v i l. that of
            Average Evil—              the
                                       unremarkable,
                                                   ­                                                      tacit kind;
but i               over
                                       stand—it’s philosophically strain

                                             ing                                                              ­
                                                                ­                                 to
        precisely and definitely
                         define players vs. pieces

Wheres the end? slow down
                                                            ­  we don’t even know
where to start?
                                               blistering mound of
                 opinion turn man of reason sheepish to
analyzing, let alone

         cutting the circulation
                                                                ­     to the veins of ideological fires,
                          sure to wait
                                 until the b o d y is scorched
          we may examine
in order and consolidated, complete,
                                            and stored in an urn.

a slave to Time,                         unfit for given task—
                                                    to proof eternal equations,
Mechanical narratives reach unintelligibility
                                               ­           when incorporating those remote
        rules of the game: counterintuitive
                                                ­                                      to our abilities—
                     mysterious areas
                                                          r­ife for exploiting,
                                                                ­with juicy soundbites
rather than laying out full-courses;
How can
                              one                            ­T h i n k and C r e a t e
    when surrounded by
                                                           f o o d...mm
              but can find no nourishment?                                       (then
                                          
                ­                                                 it'd be
                                                              ­                    time to survive, a narrow state of being:
                                                s u r v i v a l—it's either
                         sanity or intellectual
    consistency
                                    ­                                            
                    ­                                                "ya can't c h o o s e both)

On the play for some action
                  but whose knowledge am i acting on?

even as i type this,
                           searching for the path
                                                            ­              to distant answers     but

              whose questions am i posing?

If I had to explain her
You would need to give me minute
Come from two different worlds
And yet we get it
Now you could say we are opposites
But you would never know
That she's my best friend
The one who picks me up when I'm down
The one who fights off all my demons
The one who knows all my secrets
She is everything you could want in a best friend
The thought of leaving her terrifies me
I'll cry every night
Like a cry baby
Telephone calls and text messages
Just won't be the same
I'll tattoo her name in my heart and in my brain
Desiree
Who has been there when the world shut me out
Was there when I came out
Would beat up all of my haters
If I asked her to
I would never ask her to
But I know she would
Just to prove
That skin color doesn't matter
Sexuality doesn't matter
We overcome all of that
Wherever we end up
Wherever our paths take us
Distance will never break us
We are just to close

Driving down a small country road.
The year is 1946,
Brand new truck,
fresh off the line.
A warmth embraces my hand,
My fingers intertwine with hers.
A spiderweb of emotions and flesh.
Golden engagement ring rubs against my knuckle.
The newscaster on the radio telling us about another day without a glimpse of humidity.
She turns the radio down to where the muffled voices are barely audible.
"I love you." She says, observing me from the passenger's seat.
I look ahead at the road still.
"I love you, too." It took me a second to think about her French accent.
Desiree, her name.  
Flew over to America after Paris was bombed by the Germans.
I was the only person who took her for who she really is,
Wonderful.

Bombshells are strewn about,
Thames Riverside, England, 1943.
My leather war boots are poorly placed on top of a landmine.

Hospital beds are more comforting than a mothers hug.
"Sargent Jack, you're going home." The nurse says.
Off I went, that night I was sent back to Missouri.
I bought myself a new truck.
A 1946 ford.
Fresh off the line.
A warmth embraces my hand.
I look down,
Memories are slipping between my fingertips like blood from an open wound,
the wound being my mind,
not my head,
my mind.
Thoughts strewn about like bombshells.
Disorganized,
Written off,
Buried and left on the battlefield,
the corpse of my sanity awaits for nothing.
I'll never make it back.

Tick tock, tick tock.
One more minute til I can clock in.
On goes the apron,
and my name badge pin.
Up goes my hair,
pony tail style,
perk up the cheeks,
for the fake prosthetic smile.
I clock in and walk,
small little talk.
Five more minutes til opening,
tick tock, tick tock.
I wipe off the tables,
open the blinds,
look outside,
and there's a small line.
Oh great,
here we go.
It's now twelve,
so let's start the show.
I say my little speech,
and give my little greet,
take down there orders,
and repeat, repeat, repeat.
Not even close,
to being done,
I have one table,
with a Mom and son.
Another with a man,
old,
newspaper in hand.
Both are polite,
funny and nice,
only request,
is a refill with ice.
The old man waves me down,
probably wants the check,
I have it in my grasp,
and make sure it's correct.
I hand it over,
he leans in closer,
and asks me about the lady
at table 480.
He says,
"has she paid for her bill"
I reply, "no not yet,"
"well then put it on my tab,
as a part of my check."
I stood there shocked,
mostly surprised,
cuz in my town,
no one does things of that kind.
His next request,
was to stay unknown,
as he said to me,
in a soft sincere tone.
I changed his total,
a smile cracked,
never met someone so nice,
he replied,
I'm just giving back
The lady with the son,
is now ready to go,
and when I tell her it's taken care of,
she moves really slow.
No longer in a hurry,
her eyes become blurry,
and in her purse,
she begins to scurry.
Looking for cash,
in disbelief,
and with a soft touch,
her arm I reach.
I say it's okay,
you don't have to pay,
someone took care of it,
for you today.
She begs me to tell,
and let her know who,
but I explain,
that's just something I couldn't do.
She understood,
with joy in her eyes,
and then the tears fell,
as she began to cry.
With her sons fingers,
tangled in hers,
they left me with a feeling,
I can't put in words.
I clean off the mans table,
grabbing an empty ranch dip.
I glance at the check,
and he left me thirty dollars tip.
This person,
giving generosity,
with the gratuity of their hand.
Doing it out of sincerity,
this gentle hearted man.
My day of repeat,
comes to a pause,
by the thoughts,
of this individuals cause.
My boss barks
"we just sat you two in the back,"
but this time,
my repeats,
don't seem as bad.

© Copyright 2013 Desiree Sheppard

Emptiness&horniness;&hungrinessAll;
feel the sssaame, slithrin’ like a snake baked’n fish oil
some callit desiree but I’m thinkin like I toil
hard to the soil. Y’know I need a fence era wall
to keep all them whatsabits outta here. Don’t stall
they’re coming tonight. We’ll put on the fight&boi;;
some pasta & F like we oughta *•••••”’ recoil’s
the worst part about having some FunwittaGun
You think she cares bout bein in there Wait – a crow’s call
Yall be quiet now, now now, now for You my one
I’ll eat you myself, then get welth&helt;;&MON-;
-EEEEEY – again with the crow, I’onno know wher its from,
maybe he smells ya, or ya babies, baby, beast time to
Feast and face the East or West or ******* You!

Chilling, to think
"social media" (whatever that means)
is really just building up halls
complete with old tattered wallpaper
for our ghosts to haunt
like a rickety Victorian mansion.

You,
Pinned to a wall by his van,
like a packet of paper
pierced by a preposterously red pushpin,
a coward is now getting off on being scared
shitless,
and overwhelmed with intoxicated rage,
because he was trying to claw his way home,
no matter the cost,
like a fearful animal,
and excuse
and excuse
and excuse us for our lack of pity.

You,
taken prematurely from your infant son,
your infant marriage,
your infant life,
you're still around, frozen.
Immortalized as you were,
tagged in photos.

"Desiree liked this"
bears an odd resemblance
to moaning from the basement
or footsteps down the hall
**** the bed
call for mom

Getting daily horoscopes
as though you still need
to figure out every detail
about your personality,
who you’re compatible with.
Virgos don't like spontaneity.
Scorpio is sensual.
Taurus are stubborn
in the way that
flowers at a tombstone
seem more sentimental
than script on a screen.

But then again the soul owns no
defined location,
no cage.

But, even more grim,
blow out the candle,
One day I'll be there too,
Plastered in white and blue,
When sleeping dogs should lie.

yet
if I fall
from
Heaven,
it will all
be worth it
because
I fall for
her.

When I wake up in the morning your up when I go to bed at night your still up when I am sick you take care of me.
When I am upset your there when I am to the point where I wanna **** someone your still there when I lay there wondering how you feel you don't answer.
When I come to figure out that your in pain and upset I'm there for you well sometimes but that's what moms are for and that is what daughters are for as well. We love you mom... We all love you for you.
        Love always, Desiree, Austin, Mason,Timothy

Hayaan na na giliwin kita
Sapagkat hihintin sa hangin ang lahat
At pumailanlang hanggang sa panganorin
ang pangarap
Walang saysay ang ibon kung nasa pugad

Tumunghay sa pakpak na gulay-gulay
Sa pagwasiwas ay di kaya umangat
Munting maya sa aratiles
ay kahabag habag nang di makalipad

Ganyan ang aking pagsinta
O Desiree Dawn Dela Peña
musmusin at nasisikil
Huwag sana husgahan
Sinsisipon sa hamog
Madaling manimdim

Iibig ako sa sariling paraan
Ngunit di gaya ng kaparangan
na nakatiwangwang at hayag
Kung ikumpara ay katulad ng liblib na halamanan
Mabubuhay nang saglit at mamatay nang dahil walang nakakalusot ni banaag

At kung masidhi na ang damdamin
Magpaparinig ng aking hinanakit
Gaya ng kulog
na nauulinigan sa ibayo
Umaalingawngaw doon sa ibang baryo

Lawmen oversee the old day's hanging's,
Exit signs designed only for those who wear worn out tennis shoes,
Conquered,
Overcrowding as if only cattle can fit through!!!!

No salt nor pepper to design creation meals of home,
Fall is near,
Plumbings far to clogged,
Days passeth night,
As night begins to freight!!!

Wolves on the outside trade fur's with ferrel dogs!!!

Clenching of teeth siren off as oven's they bake,
They brew,
Country town folk with rod and ungodly staff they overtaketh and rule!!!!

Crises of all temptation,
Bleeders to readers,
****** deviants get out to put down their own indignations!!!

Desire all thou wilt,
Desiree's,
Empathies,
Chalkers, scoffers , doctors of deaths pill!!!

Read on,
Read on uneducated pillar,
For thy hooks art thy scrolls,
Thy eyeglasses maketh thou gnomes of such readings to bring thou thrillers!!!!!!

Fragrant destiny resistant to all microbial force,
Accusation's humbling,

Sovereignty is a mystery to us mortals!!!!

Dragon's slayed to stature founder's ditches of war dug out of centurion portals,
Wreaking architecture drawn out of mapped whirlpools lies,
Some groweth deathly,
Sweet talkers are refusing to trust their own worried minds!!!!

Black coated tuxedoed hosts delighting their own escapes,
Some window's stay open,
Some stay closed in the fortress,
This inescapable place!!!!!!

Tis,
This human landfill,
Dump,
Waste!!!!

Morse code proofreaders
A type face to many covers
Dialect's go to many tongues
Many get old
Behind enclosed encounters!!!

Sensual time Desiree's
Moans louder
And louder

Achromatic lifeforms
Are all Blisses to me!!!

Tabernackles of keys
Wherein dark dungeons
Thou shalt confess

Adornos adobes
Good for tribal success!!!

Amrinones
You'll need from her to kick start thy playful heart
Wherein keepers push buttons
And buttons play all parts!!!

Koolaid mixes
Tingle with pleasure zone scores
Where board makes board

Four score!!

I’ll look up and see a wasp
Or a bee, hunting around,
Ready to die.
Collaborations simplified in rivers abreast
Oh, the shores of Lethe are so delightful
With their ash marked eyes and solitude beggars
Potted plants of desiree, coal jutted shouts cross
Blanket crowds shoved in a bruised corner
With a madman screaming something about
Lasting generation and forced collaration.

See the basket cases? Claimed they were
From the devil, Dee did, muttering about kingdoms
and collard greens
With her stuffed, shrunk coat waddling round the
same Dickey’s, a corner from Westboro Baptist.
And kitty corner from the statues no one’s taking down
Cause Mr.White said nah son, that’s not right
As he bombed Bethel Baptist one more time.

And these shores are so delightful, don’t you see?
Harpooned sticks and scarecrows, oh sorry,
I meant social expectations, but who cares anyway?
Wondering why we all say “i want to die’,
Have you looked at the government mandating
People inhuman, or the money situation,
Should be on the news, but
No we here at Fox and CNN don’t believe that’s important.
Say, I don’t think we should have Onion headlines
On the New York Times.
So we say ‘i want to die’ and the Gazette tells us
it’s those **** video games again
or maybe it’s the stigma and lack of empathy from
The Powerful.

And you hear on the street,
“****’s ending this country,”
Sorry, I wanted a break from all this ******* noise
From a country pulling apart at the beaten seams
Of another unwritten book.
Anger, you’ll say, irrational, I’ll add,
But pointing at the statue in the park

And you wonder why all those wasps
And bees we look down on, the gerbils and
Hamsters
That we never pull a punch on
Why they escape through the way they know how,
Why, wouldn’t you too? But that’d require empathy, sir,
And apparently you lack more than morals, sir.

Look, there’s Dee, getting her collard greens
In her stuffy, shrunken jacket,
Round the corner from Dickey’s and cracked roads with
littered breezes blowing past cars open windows, honking and
brazen calls.

Welcome to the Lethe shores,
Don’t worry, you won’t remember a thing,
Slipped a bit of Liquid X in your alcohol.

If I could change one thing about my life, it would be my job.
I thought I was working in the right field, and now I don't feel the same.
Waking up is a drag.
There's no excitement.
The people working there hate it too.
And everyday we repeat, repeat, repeat.
Clock in, clock out, go to bed, wake up, and again.
I want to quit.
If my job didn't pay my bills I would be out of there in a heartbeat without looking back.
I want to be like one of those people who loves their job.
How is that even possible?
What does that feel like?
What does that taste like?
Are they lying?
Is it some mythological lie to keep us fools hopeful?
I need a change,
Something different.
Something sporadic.
Anything!
If I could change it all I would pursue acting.
If I could change it all, I would do that.
Wait...who says I can't change it?

© Copyright 2014 Desiree Sheppard

Dear God,
Hi I know I promised to talk to you more but I can't seem to find the words
Please take care of everyone that I couldn't
Please take care of everyone up there and everyone down here that I can't protect
I thought I would have already seen you
I thought I would have already seen your golden gates
But I haven't always kept my promises
I used to see you everywhere and now I only seem to see you when I need something
Please don't take it personally I just don't know how to rely on myself yet
Please don't give up on me I have so much to learn
My head is empty and willing to absorb everything you have to teach me

Dear God,
I'm mad at you
Why didn't you answer my prayers?
Why didn't you answer when I called out to you?
I know you heard me
I know you knew I wanted to die
I know you have seen my scars
And yet you never answered
But I'm here right?
So if this is you working in mysterious ways
We both know I won't figure it out
Please just show yourself

Dear God,
Thank you
For bringing me Katy, Ashlie, and Desiree
I know there are many more to name but these three are your greatest work
They wouldn't let me see you right away
Watch over them always
And when I'm gone be their best friend
Without you I would not know them so I am eternally grateful
Miracles happen each day and they are living proof
So thank you

Dear God,
I love you

If there's one thing I know best
It's My obsession
Which lay deep down
In a room with shackles
Waiting for that uncontrollable period
To exhibit it shape
I know for sure
it changes shape
To be satisfied with figure
For obsession show's
With out knowing
It stain without showing
Just like a phone with password
I tell you it always a reminder
As date is.
It's certained that obsession leads to
Desiree's
Some can't be spoken of
Nor to be believed
For to know an individual
Know his obsession
And to know his desire
Hook up to his obsession
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