In my schoolboy bedroom it is a completely different world
Brings me in confluence with my shadow
The meeting of two merging anticipated tributaries
Like cold blue morning and dark sprinkled night
Where my mirror has become the ritualised
Expression of my isolation of my individual consciousness
Fused as one at the edge, where all else becomes blurred
An abstraction, indefinably lost like the mixing of shadows
That cannot be deduced on any mental map
I hear my shadow beckoning me
In its uncoordinated marginality
In isolation I receive his thoughts, his considered reflections
Something has now united us through joint experience a totality
An idea a notion conceived, to abrogate the restraint on liberty
An erosion of all guilt, advancement to a notion
Of profound imagination, where invariably
Our congress will be complete there can be no latitude for digression.

She speaks with her hands.

Long, elegant fingers - pulling, twisting, curling.

Soft and strong - an artist's hands; their uses unlimited.

Her hands clasped so intimately with my own - clenching and unclenching; she directs our motion.

Her back arches as I tighten my grip on her thighs and breath in her scent.

She tastes of honey and sunlight and something bitter that is so indefinably her, I never tire of it.

Her hands fist in the sheets and I am gone; yielding completely.



She tells me it's my lips.

She places kisses along my collar bone and trails them down towards my breast and stares up through her bangs to watch my lips.

She tells me there's a silence in my smile that contents her.



Parting my flesh her fingers etch truths into my skin. I am lost in the imagery of her words.

A chorus of sweet nonsense passes between us and I breath it in, allowing it to spur me towards completion.

I feel the harshness of her breath in my ribs and the trembling of her body as we ride out the waves.

She buries her face in my neck and smiles.

I am content, wrapped securely in the silence that creates her.


Our story, written in the sheets - tomorrows laundry.

The sounds of others laughter and happiness of companionship...
taunts into me
through the old hotel walls.
As my soul lies here dying and craving a light from dark and shadowed halls. The shadows that lurk...
That are my days spent, alone. You sit and desire not to join those "public" masses of "Break feast"
As to be the "ridicule and blame ,"  
visions from your damaged past, show up within messages ironically playing...the song entitled "defeat."
They are  like broken records in a "Plays" sounding card, indefinably left to play and to broadcast.
You have forgotten what it is like to be youthful.
As when you have tried to enter life's "diner...."
A person "lets out a leg to trip you........."
As laughter fills your despair's cup to full.
Walking out due to being shamed and to  have been the one chosen to be the "example," the knife that started to cut....so you avoid and  you stay out.
The horror of being shamed has battered your heart.
Your self lies their in the dark. No escaping those who chose to find a way to hound you..
you let yourself suffer and starve.
As you wish to avoid the "emotional cut.."
that the youthful" and the "rebellious" have started to carve..
You try to snap out of this "silent" "insanity...."
Yet, there is no hand of friendship that is free to help guide you....."to lift you back up"

As you slipped from your feet.
"Just don't take it to heart..."
They tell you this time and time again..
As those who taunt you are allowed to stir around and to stomp into your bravery...
"Fly Away"
"away, "you hurt again and again from even more defeat.
For rules of "society" are never equally sided by those elders that provided
Sunday masses or spiritual strength in meditation.
To the masses....
Sounds like "Hesitation..."
I wave on despair's taxi
"as I will not be needing a ride."
You scream for all to hear on this almost empty and barren city street.

I'm set to plan my rise in the same heart's "room"
I started to die and pay for in stride....
"No More!" like in the Pink Floyd Album :The Wall.."
The song "The Trial" blasts in your mind...
"At kast another one hit wonder..."
Plays on from the same sound stage
as that once over-played song "What does this sound like?"
"Patronage..."
You have now tipped the fresh musician that has refused to fall to their freshly written song, "rage."

Wide and vast,
A world has stood.
Lucky to be
Unparalleled
In the eyes of man.
Gracious fields of grass, and
Indefinably blue seas rule.

A planet made for all.