What a beautiful world, so fragile and fertile
Pain filled the void when boy met girl
He’s a puppet to nature, one year later
Now so deeply and sickly in love it makes him hate her
The average romanticized American relationship
Sinks, capsized when either side becomes a slave to it
Conditioned, dependent, afraid to be alone
He needs that feeling that he can’t create all on his own
He despises the fact she has a life outside of him
It drives him crazy to think she’s not insanely consumed with him
Give her the guilt-trip and maybe she’ll quit living,
To stay behind his prison walls and lose all individualism
Well this is happiness, masochistic torture
Played by the decadent, craved of affection
The needle digs deep to push contentment through his bloodstream
And drown out hollow, the pothole of a ******
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If he could only hear her sing, he wouldn’t want to break her wings
But emptiness has such a warm, subtle sting
She makes up for what he lacks, trapped,
He can’t imagine life without someone like that

We’ve rediscovered the long-lost art of dying
Only the lonely resent angels for flying
Twisted, living off of each other’s sickness like parasites
This is paradise

We’ve rediscovered the long-lost art of dying
Only the lonely resent angels for flying
Addicted, afraid to take control of my own life
This is paradise

What a beautiful world, emotionally destroyed
her became plural when girl met boy
Between several breakups and plenty relapses
Routine bred-comfort led to serious attachment
Now every once in a while she forgets to breathe
Terrified of losing him, paradise is misery
Too much faith in the life-saving knight in shining armour
Now her knight’s noticing the scars she can’t hide any longer
But they were her story way before he was
It was gross hope to think he could heal such deep cuts
At first it felt so right but after one too many fights,
He turned out that hallway light and all the wonder turned to spite
So they sleep in the same bed with guns to each others’ heads
Dead to romance, boiling the blood that painted roses red
Suffering from post-honeymoon disease, bleached through
His whole existence, she’ll die if he decides to leave
Addicted to the way she feels when they spend time together
Detouring the now in a childish attempt to find forever
Despite the fact they hold each other heart to heart
You can’t be that close to somebody without being so far apart

Silence, the most obscure sound I’ve ever heard
Those lonely, giant spaces in between your every word
And maybe, I’m totally crazy for holding on but
Just *** I’m insane, don’t mean that I’m wrong
Now that you’re gone I can’t sleep at night
I barely even function right, my memory’s on overdrive
Too hungry and too cold to cry
Miss the companionship I once took for granted
The way you helped me manage, the partnership that vanished
But I don’t expect you to stay chained by the ankle,
There’s so much world to see so, fly free my angel
I’m dying without you, but it’s teaching me to live
Heaven ain’t something someone else can give
It’s all inside of me.

By: Eyedea - Paradise

on days like this
long and not really
profitable

i detour down to the
sea....before i go home

and sit fully clothed
on the sand
looking at the last rays
of the faltering sun

and wait for the sound
of the tide
and the smell of the salted
breeze
take the frustations of
the day away....

i throw pebbles into
the waves
naming the problems
they represent, in my head
give them over to the power
of the waves and sand.

and then when i am
sound of mind
and refreshed in spirit

i journey on home
with a smile on my face
and the smell of the sea
lingering in my hair.

It is usually best to avoid
crushing hopelessness, to swerve
and defer disaster, but even so
the world is well and truly ****** up.

Seek solutions to this conundrum.

Try to avoid curiosity, a pernicious
strain of insanity that conjures up
irrational fears of orangutangs
with meat cleavers, lethally ascetic
Tibetan monks, bathroom carpets
of abandoned razors or Big Macs
rife with E. Coli.

Avoid metaphysical musings that lead
to questions of coleslaw, vegan
water parks, the Team Quadraplegic
Gymnastics squad and the horrors
of the Hilary Clinton Naked Network.

Seek refuge in the present tense to
escape the interrogation of mirrors,
the crafted answer, dacryphilia,
remedial rage, landslides of therapy
and memorizing each month's horoscope.

Consider that mercy is on back order from God.
Remember the best lines of an unread book.
Nap on a battlefield; haggle over imaginary debts.
Set fire to the umbrellas of passing strangers.
Stop to watch the loudness and burn the recovered dead.

Call up new magic for a dying world.
Find beauty in the irradiated glow of burning cities.
Try not to bounce existential checks or notice
the crumbling of distant walls, ruined outhouses,
and the immense bleakness of forever and ever.

Take up training small rodents and lighting holy fires.
Ignore the broken stars, long dead and beyond grief.
Discover the pleasure in erasure, enjoy the biology
of strangeness. Walk many miles without a map
beneath innumerable ladders carefully detouring
around immense flocks of rabid cassowaries.
Throttle the recalcitrant blue sky's silent throat.

Listen to the melody of car wrecks and smashed guitars.
Abandon assumed corpses to dreams of endless cold.
Appreciate futures you cannot believe in but never visit them.
Learn to diagram sentences in Esperanto then speak with toads.
Ignore the slot machine odds against your deepest desires.
Hide beneath the ravenous trees from time's famished maw.
Seek sanctuary in toothy optimism and complete amnesia.

Follow these impossible instructions to the letter
and you will become non-valent, invisible, immune
and no longer notice the world is ****** up
beyond redemption. Go on, give it a try.

  ~mce

To simply state the complexities of life, “Our roads are ever crossing but never merging; forever intertwined yet different roads we stay.
When we first met at mile marker 230 I never thought that I’d feel this way,
and as we’ve driven down the roads we go our dotted lines have met again.
Remember back at 238 when your overpass zipped cross mine?
O what a joy it was to see the new you, all paved and smooth, and lined with such beautiful trees.
As for me I looked much the same, still cracked concrete I did remain,
but the smile it gave me to see you again was worth the journey if that had been the end.
Much to my luck our roads crossed once more,
I passed you by while you were under construction somewhere near exit 242.
That was nice and all. I just wish I could have slowed it down and stayed a while but I had to keep moving, had to continue the drive, and once again our roads passed by.
Again we met round Exit 244, just down the road from where our pavements last met. I enjoyed that road as you stayed close by at least for another mile or “2”.
Now, not far from there, our roads seem to be detouring once more, mine going east and yours moves west. Before we part I want you to know,
I never thought I would feel this way. As the concrete has poured out and life moved on, mile after mile I only hope to see once more.
When can we meet again? When will Interstate “You” and highway “ME” finally merge for all eternity?
This question is the most difficult of all, as our roads remain
Always crossing, never merging.

I’m ready
Written with the help of the opening lyrics of
Bad Company's "Ready for Love"


“Walking down this rocky road”

Pebbles stare like boulders
Detouring my thoughts
Blocking motions to feel
Curbed by jagged ridges breathing

“Wondering where my life is leading”

Checking the map for intersections
Wanting to find some sense of truth
Written on an overpass
In graffiti spray paint dreams

“Rolling on to the bitter end”

Following the signs
Watching my sneakers tear
Exposing flesh to the elements
Of wandering longings

“Finding out along the way”

That things don’t last forever
But where the shadows sit
From the lost, the new
Are waiting in the cool shade telling

“What it takes to keep love living”

And I listen, learning which each painful step
Dragging my emotions behind me
In a knapsack of desires
Whispering out of breath

“You should know how it feels, my friend”

It is enlightening, burden lifting
When I finally realized
Someone is waiting at the end of that road
For me because…

*“I'm ready for love”

Dalmatia and Other Localities before the War
When we ate grilled fish on the floating restaurant
lording it on the Dalmatian coast

...mistaken for Party children- daddy must be an
official for them to have a motor bike like that...

how cool

when we stood on the quayside at Budva then later
stranded on that hotel island watching the causeway
slowly disappear beneath an unhurried sea

when detouring to Kotor to see the earthquake damage
imagining the earth move a dust shrouded town
staring through chained gates as if at a movie set

when I drove the Honda too fast skidding around
potholes and you giggled later drinking rocket fuel
local liqueurs in a bar with currency for wall paper

then when we strolled the leaning streets of
Mostar where soon there would be tanks
Then what of our own smouldering conflict

our own trajectory of spite filled ordnance
could you sense that it was coming?
a nurtured, carefully concealed attack

time worn sophistry
what of that when gun smoke
smarts your eyes.

ANSWERLESS RIDDLES are mating with my squirmish thoughts
they swirl and ferment inside my skull; pulsating neurons in my head
I feel it before I hear it, as the laughter bubbles up from within me
but there is nothing to find amusing, and my hope lay dying, now dead ~ ~ ~
the last of the cords holding together my sanity are frayed and slipping quickly
I am helpless to restring them alone, so far beyond my arm's reach
I can sense this rushing of maniacal laughter building up within me again
and then my fear seems to dissapate as my mind travels to lands with too strange a concept to teach ~ ~ ~
in years gone by, perhaps I have known traumatizing troubles too intimately
maybe I have allowed myself to, continuously, keep detouring from a wholeness I possessed once before
this sound escaping my strained lips right here and now is speaking of a new, different story
oh thief!! sanity has become a stolen piece, and not again shall it ever reside in me, no, nevermore ~ ~ ~
I am, and yet, I see nothing, save for some undescribable, disturbing chaotical nonsense before me
failure... I cannot create any sense or light to manuever these biting, foreign seams
I cannot help but to question whether any true relevance will ever actually be found here
this laughter just, unfaulteringly, sings itself to and from anywhere - even in my resting dreams ~ ~ ~
this sudden, burning desire fills me, and I think I'll cut myself loose, allow myself to go now
I'll float on down this hideously contorting river of giggling screams that I've dreaded to face
yet all such fears have begun to fade as my undeniably worthless grasp is slowly released
destined in time for me to reside, here is a numbing, emotionless, vile and heartless place ~ ~ ~
I cannot hault this shrieking laughter that bursts forth, exploding from my lungs
yet, I feel blank, so somehow this, and all else too! - has found its path to indifference here
my few, meager joys may have run away, escaping along with my misery and sorrows then
I have grown numb, become spiritually void, thus, I feel none of this, and I've no worries, despite my sanity's departure (forever disappeared...) ~ ~ ~
Death's threatening gaze carries no weight in an existance which lies always so lifeless as this
already, I've relinquished myself to surviving as no more than a zombie, a vacant shell, chained and bound in a permanent, deep and impenetrable trance
I once clutched an empty chalice to fill the hole from whence my inner peace had, long before, fled
abandoned then, abandoned again, my only company fated to be the humorless laughter that comes flooding from my open mouth and leaves me a twitching death-maiden, bound to a passionless, eternal dance ~ ~ ~
but none of it matters, oh, not in the least, minute way, oh no no, not anymore
I haven't even the faintest hint, nor trace of awareness remaning for me to care
here, there isn't a god, there is not a satan or devil - no heaven, nor hell, nothing to inspire your soul
AND IT IS HERE, to this place, we shall all eventually belong, and together spend eternity, with naught but expressionless stares... ~~~

In just a few days time, our one year anniversary will arrive.

I still can hear your words resonate in me, your pure joy expressing why the 4th was your favorite holiday.

Reflecting on those moments makes my heart stop; my body tingles and I become bombarded with flashbacks of our endless nights kissing. The ones when neither of us would be tired, regardless of our exhausting days and lifestyles.

I begin to think about how in love we were; the way the color of your blue eyes exploded with passion and pure joy. My eyes have not been able to see vivid colors like that anymore.

I recall your scent; the way your luscious hair bounced around your heavy shoulders and that way it used to fall upon me as you listened to my heart beat so fast because for five years being with you gave me butterflies.

I think about listening to Beatles albums with you as we dissected lyrics and I watched the freckles around your nose dance. I fell in love with you all over again every time I was with you, regardless of the hard times and pains we endured together.

In a few days we will be celebrating our one year anniversary of not being together. You will be spending it with your new mate, and I will be thinking about all we still had left to experience and create. I can picture the enthusiasm on your face and then I look at mine and see the result through my bloodshot eyes and quivering lip.  

After you decided for both of us it was time to say our last words to each other, and gave me my last glance into your eyes which had become my sunrise and sunset, I knew I would never be the same and I needed you more than a growing garden needs heavens rain.

After all we created together, from starting as two complete strangers and over time turning into best friends and hopeless lovers - after 5 years of thinking about one another everyday non stop, you were able to turn that off without hesitation and become someone else's world.

The life I remember and the person I yearned for was left next to my empty pint of Blue Moon at that bar in Chicago  on that Fourth of July summer night.

I will never understand how if you promised it was all real and true, you were able to move along without a speed bump detouring your journey, like a freshly fueled jet on a one way destination equipped with no rear view mirror in an endless sky with no turbulence.

I hope the eyes I see in my dreams look to the sky and see those fireworks explode brighter than ever. I hope that the smell of gunpowder is more potent then before. I pray that somehow you will be reminded of the kisses we shared under my maple tree. And I hope that one day again, you will be able to call me your baby.

An old man lies in the street
Cold frozen blood tinged grit
Streaking down his ancient
terror stricken face

Eyes blurred by warm red once
blink frantically
As a shaking hand gropes blindly
in the sooty black slush

Clutching his chest
his legs thrash wildly
Slipping then stilled
by fruitless attempts to survive

An old man lies in the street
Traffic detouring
around his cold and lifeless body
and no one cares

Enigmatic and sulphuric
wonders and detouring ,
outside the box alluring
tempter of faint touches
skip the lust head to lunches

dip in the basket
dreams collide.
they have to!
BUT THEY NEVER STAY THE SAME
same vibe tho
He lost illusions delusions
and i lost the shy veneer of freelance escort
some may call -

but if you knew me as well as he does then you know that
lovers are lovers , and friends are friends - do everything with your heart
and it’ll ring true in the end.

a horror to behold... i rather not have a woman cook me food, i rather not have a woman clean my house... come to "think" of it... walking abortion as i am... one chain-clink short of *****-bank list of incestuous ancestry... but i am drinking bourbon... and... the cultural export of h'america from the 20th century aside... god i loved the Beatniks... two things stand out as... concerning to give focus to... bourbon... &... peanut butter... it truly is a horror to behold... i've opened a bottle of jack & jackie and i'm worried that i, just might... finish off the entire litre of this... gorgeous... gorgeous... ****-**** of a glug-glug-glug... metaphors obvious... why didn't i cite cinema? why didn't i cite music? sometimes a hour comes... an hour that completes a day... and if i'm not slobbering on some peanut butter... i'll be drinking a bourbon... i might be watching some b.b.c. police drama: line of duty instead of making a fetish sandwich of a moo-vee... while listening to... some Finnish folk-rock... i just find it sad that... men and women can't return to something akin to... james horner's for the love of a princess...  you know... when women were mystifying... celestial creatures that would be imagined by a frail mind of a colt as... seemingly unable to burp, ****... or take a ****... perhaps it's that same old testament of: in love with the idea of love... a woman as both an idea... and an ideal... interchangeable: idea through to ideal... it' not even i, willing to compete for what's readily available... since time immemorial, the ultimate freedom was to be found on a bicycle.. not even a horse... i will never mind not having a driving license... but a bicycle can overpower a horse... why? i like the refreshing injection of being able to: create my own momentum... that's what a bicycle is... esp. coming to a roundabout with... shy drivers... oh **** me... don't get me started on the problem i sometimes have when... a ford KA is about to overtake me... takes it about a mile... and a dual-carriageway to do so... but some ****** in a SUV or a van skims past me like... nothing... i actually want to be naive once more... naive enough to want to fall in love with a woman... i want to be naive about naiveness... n'ah-eve... i'm just seeing red markers underlining my words and... if it's a spelling mistake, proper? well then... if not... then back into phoneticism... English is readily available to cushion this sort of detouring... . so much for a romanticism surrounding a galloping horse... or a car.... to heave all this riddle of insurance... not worth it... skittle-brains: jelly on the side... i like the idea of generating my own momentum... this might translate as a grasp of... what ana ******* feels like... add a bit of spice... what a limp little richard ******* feels like before a nylon clad ******* feels like when you're about to be shamed for objective purposes... at the same time... a stiff-neck... it feels mightily gargantuan and with prospect of... non-revisionism to be ****** off: *****-nilly by some imitation of a housewife.... just saying... like i would gulp up a furry oyster once in a while... here's to licking metal in sub-zero temperatures... or reading into bark... seeing faces in trees... i own two maine **** cats and i like my house to be as freed from excess fur as possible... is that, somehow... emasculating: i want to bweak fwee kareoke take on what's demanded of... cleanliness?  last time i trusted a woman to cook for me she gave me some cognac with a slice of lemon... then... butchered a chicken twice-over with a dry-set of *******... i was looking at 165 degrees sort of juicy... i got... ******* chicken breast: chalk "tenderness"... i don't eat meat... of the poultry variety with a "feel" of chalk... like you could brush your teeth against it... i can grasp the consistency of eating liver... along with the tenderness of bean-bounce akin of the hearts... chicken stomachs in a gravy... but don't give me... chicken ******* that are like biting into chalk... whereby... the teeth imitate sticking together like i'm eating some injection of protein into... ******* fudge! i've seen how certain marriages expired... one undercooked potatoes... another overcooked pasta... yet another had a case for a "lost cat"... how the ****... how can you... "lose" a cat? i say a leash i say a bursting concept of cranberry... a lost dog is... i've seen it... the one you chain to a fence... and run off from? how the hell do you even begin... to... lose... a cat? point being: the cat ****** off... the cat decided: **** this... i'm out! i have to think it's impossible to lose a cat... but the cat might "think" otherwise... how do you lose a cat? you forgot to leash-it? what sort of a... what a terrible person you must be... to "lose" a cat... cats are never "lost"... some better elsewhere... i'll take my chances as a stray... only today i performed the impossible... i showed her furry-snout into my ear... for what? for giggles... obviously she didn't like it... but i got the giggles... most assuredly... well i lost a turtle... i accidently flushed it down a toilet... what lack of character... spine... to supposedly "lose" a cat... a bit like: **** me! i guess i might have... misplaced... a ******* pyramid! who says that?

while juggling some politically terms...

can it be deemed so unfathomably "emasculating"
to want to live in a clean house,
rather: for the man to clean his abode?
cleanliness is somehow an inherent quality
of femininity?
                        some *** with an un-kept beard...
man dragged through the dirt...
what is it with gender roles or: what's in man
specified to be: man...
           not in the 20th century not since any time prior
has there been this "Copernican", ahem... "revolution"
in ontology...
one might almost gag for the resurrection
of the Soviet empire...
at least you could have something to push-back
on with airs of moral superiority: even if "doing the right
thing" might implore you to be deluded:
or that's how i see a period of history of western europe...
placebo solipsism - a genius of "autism"...
it's not like the mongol horde came knocking
or the ottoman turk...
            as a side note: it's that old urban myth trope...
can two straight men share an umbrella?
it would be terrible of me but truth be told...
a sentence from the handmaid's tale...
a woman contemplating the ****-availability of
a "low status" male...
first example on offer: Leibniz... the ******* librarian...
or rather: two isolated incidences of discovering
calculus - infinitesimals...
well... it would be hard to believe that...
the same thought could exist in two people...
two contemporaries...
              the argument in England stands with the right
of Newton...
a man left alone to his own devices...
deus ex machina: **** in machina...
a river of time on the otherwise head-spinning
carousel of: 35 springs, 35 summers i count to
invite: this autobiographical sketch...
it can hardly be unheard of...
a river's delta -
             but it's not like Copernicus was not
overshadowed by Galileo in western Europe...
the little pride in original thinking these
poor schmucks lodged between the Germans
and the Russians would ever have...
but is it... emasculating for a man to...
clean the toilet in the house... vacuum...
is it all: airy-fairy all of a sudden to keep up standards...
to wash your hands etc.
it's not like i wasn't supposed to write this:
give me any ******* novel...
and i'll take more pleasure from it than from
something written by a woman....
sylvia plath is an exception...
         clarice lispector... i tried...
                        virginia woolf...
             while a man will divulge his innermost workings...
i find it hard to imagine that a woman
would suddenly... give up her mystique
and over-complicated simplicity for...
   a what? a novel...
      while everyone can grasp a tease of misogyny in
this... god... for the love of ******...
how a brothel always reminds me of opening
a bottle of bourbon...
out of h'america... besides discovering the continent
in / with canned sardines:
what's does a gingerbread to do with a windmill?
since reading ******* literature one can at least
imagine oneself turning a tongue into a phallus...
i have never read a book by a woman
where i'd think about gorging on a mouthful
of... a floral-skin-mush... ripple...
        eating an oyster gives me a vague recollection
of eating ****...
although: of the latter... you're not exactly
eating anything... all in the foreplay before all that
brute piston work-out...
the tenderness of skin in the vicinity of the collar-bone...
since Sappho... because...
man had the monopoly on literacy?
  let's not cite who was probably responsible for
writing the first surahs of the quran then...
the illiterate-would-be-warlord / merchant...
or his... older... acumen-proved... wife (Khadija)?
is it... emasculating to clean one's home?
well... it sure as **** wasn't emasculating using a grinder
to cut a bmx out from a winding hug of a Wisteria...
even through the dust mask...
the smell of quartz cutting through steel...
it has to be a tier above that familiarity of cut grass...
a spinning disk of quartz making steel
feel like a tub of butter.

March with me back into history down memory lane
Oppositions upon oppositions being the blame
A voice being strong injustice like a blazing flame
Dr. Martin Luther King who was ready to take aim
Colored as it was used in the 1950’s and 60’s
****** called being all Afro Americans names
Beatings upon beatings
Enough was enough in Dr. King speaking out in no more
We shall overcome, but the message, we shall not run away
Fight we will along with the consequences still
There’s a train a coming, but its destination is victory
Multitudes all marching with a Civil Rights story
Eyes to the skies with God being the glory
Clasped arms and holding hands in togetherness illustrate
Numerous biblical songs for inspiration
March On and don’t tire, as we can’t let freedom expire
Washington needs to know, and we must let our disturbed voices show
Dr. King felt they had marched miles from towns into southern cities
But we as American’s people need no pity
But the time was right to move further south into Washington, DC

The very words of Dr. King brought the multitudes casting the Civil Rights presentation
The multitudes came by bus, car, train and motorcycle, as it didn’t matter, there was rapid message that needed to be heard and told
But the march was just that bold
Mahalia Jackson sang the gospel hymnal of “How I Got Over”
But added with that in my opinion, but how I got closer to knowing who got me over being God himself
However, this march was more than just colored, it was for all people in detouring the separation, but bringing all races together

Yet the opposition was always trying to get over in making injustice right
Yet American was stuck in it being the plight
But God was on Dr. King’s side
The multitudes proved it being the stride

It was on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial in Washington, DC of “I Have a Dream Speech”
This is just a sample that is paraphrased, “I have a dream today that every Black, White, Jews and Catholic will be able to join hands and converse together in freedom
A dream being told and a mission being fulfilled
The platform may be empty, but Dr. King’s words still pack that impact as if it was yesterday
Dr. King’s spirit is overlooking over us from upon in Heaven and a high mountain
The sunrise is the timing for us to get up and stand up for the cause
The sun is shining bright for us to not stay in the shadows, but come out with dignity and pride
We must still make the Civil Rights shout
Dr. King may have been gone for years
But his voice being the plan is for us to continue to preserver
Instead of killing one another, we must embrace
There should not be any separation in any race
We must strengthen the weak chain
Injustice today can’t remain
Dr. Martin Luther King marched to glory
He is remembered being American’s distinguished story
Tomorrow may be another day, but Civil Rights must be here to stay
My voice into yours, are you listening or will you continue to be a problem?
Dr. King journeyed and conquered, what miles in footsteps you will be taking in the future?
In the distance, I hear march on, but we all must be everlasting strong.

Why don't the weather presenters just say it like it is?

Why do they say 'Oh a high of 34 it's going to be a glorious day'...

When really that is a completely ridiculous temperature,
Its boiling and I know my head is going to melt just getting to the bus stop. I'm going to have a face like a baboons **** by the end of the day... but no... it's glorious. ******* is it...

Watch out for those icy roads...

No... but thank you for your concern. I however will be doing my best Bambi on **** roller skates impersonation because the roads are gritted but the pavements are like ******* sheet ice. I might need a replacement hip joint by the end of the day.

There could be an accumulation of snow overnight...

Well if an accumulation means three flakes and the town grinding to a halt, I'm moving to a ******* Alaska. At least I could get to work on time. Even commuting from there would be quicker than my bus driver detouring around three ******* flakes, one of which looks suspiciously like a bit of lint.

Why don't they tell the truth?

Why don't they say okay, it's going to be ******* freezing, I wouldn't bother. Phone in work and say your dog is sick, make something up because you are going to regret every **** step you take to work.

Or... it's going to be a snow day,

The schools will be shut so your shop is going to be rammed with rosy cheeked, sniveling kids with their chubby fingers in your pick and mix all day. Kids in the street are going to be complete **** holes and pelt you with snow because their aim is crap and they should be inside in the warm on their computers...

or Mate... its ******' it down...

You might want to build an ark at some point. Your dog won't even go out in it, it will sit whining it's miserable snout off at the door all ******* day because it wont use a litter tray...

But your cat will be happy... smug little ****.

Within the luxury of her embrace, I felt safe



Fervidly her lips trailed down the surface of my neck



Ever so keenly detouring to meet the crease of mine



Without a hint of dubiety, a dazzling thrill voyaged



Throughout my physique, devouring me completely



She was a ravenous creature who wanted me to herself



Who was I to deny her the pleasure of her wildest fantasies?



Willingly I succumbed to her lasciviously exuberant desires



A seductive sphere of passion and lust dawned between us



Unveiling the myriad of secrets unbeknownst to my heart

Always it's you
Beneath my skin
Catching my breath
Detouring my mind
Even when I try to
Fight impulses I still
Give in to you
Happily because
I love you and not
Just your **** smile
Keeps me entranced
Lord no! There's much
More about you!
Nonstop wit and
Overflowing charm
Power wielded over me
Quickly disarming
Really any and all
Sense of personal
Trepidation my soul may
Undertake in a final
Valiant effort to try to
Weakly resist your
Xenial nurturing way
You still pull me in
Zapping my last bit of will

While a resistance is stationary

detouring is always a possibility.

But when a coil spring is pressed,

there’ll be an inevitable response.


Gaza went from the solitary H of

Hamas to a 2 H Hezbollah/Houthi,

thus encircling those who were the

original cartographers of the corral.