tell me...

will tomorrow bring,
     all the things
i'm longing...
    stowed upon its elusive wings,
tirelessly beating
    and fighting
to show what's dangling
and hanging...
          ready for the picking...

                          awaiting...
such time so it could begin its need for unloading,
                   delivering
                                      and dropping,
its gleaming
                      treasures
on those who are deserving,
        in no way lacking
so they could be at the receiving
end of this pressurising,
           inking
                      of dwindling
                                        words...

carel­ess thoughts conceived only to
              fuel
           my deranged ramblings...
incessant mutterings of a shattering
                         mind...

           bending backwards, almost breaking,
         risking...
the chance of ever fully
                                          mending...

hopin­g and praying
   for a sentence that's pending
dawn's approval...

allowing
   the rising
of the sun...
                  paving
            ways for thriving
                                          wishes,
unbarr­ing
                  gates for soaring
                                                dreams, unlocking
                   latches,

relieving...
the heightening
                     anxieties of grieving
                                                        ­ hearts.

constantly whispering
                               utterances, promising
good will, happiness
                              and titillating
                                                     ­ sanity.

we're thinking...
     the earth is spinning,
         the moon is setting,
     so the sun must be rising
                         but...

             tell me,
                           tomorrow...

                                *is it coming?

Wait a moment I'm thinking,
The sadness syncing,
Maybe i'm dead,  I'm never blinking
always in a room closed, in my head
And thinking, and inking, in my bed
Never awake, always sinking.

Bottles by the bed, in my head
with fear shed, and years bled
and my sadness been drinking
All my tears and pain,

Maybe i'm insane, tell me, what's my name ? What's my name ?  Tell me, what's my name ? I'll ask again, what's my name ? Please whisper!

There's nobody else in my brain, It's so filthy and i cannot even look at the man in the mirror.
He makes feel so ugly.




From Compton to the streets
I heard their names
From a random city
I try but i have no game
I have no name, and no shame
Feed me your hollow
I'll eat away a part of your blame
I'll follow you around the world
Just tell me my name ?



I'm no one, no heart, maybe someone
But no scars, I'm tired and done,
so fired up,
In love, here to lose and burn.




I'll never learn that i can
Never ever reach the sky
More lies, sure i'll cry,
If someday i die, before my time
Maybe it's all in my mind
The walls and the rhymes
The kind man and the blind
I don't understand but it's fine

I'm not gonna make it
I hate it, hate that fact
In fact, it makes me want to
Not be mad, makes me sad
That I wasn't raised to be bad
Taught to be mad,

So normal, wearing formal
Staying dormant, fearing gold
And the glittering ornaments
There's no fun in fancy garments
I don't have any green for the
Entitlement,

Maybe I was wrong to seek
Enlightenment,
Not meant to speak anything foreign

Always looking for questions on the line, online, on random forums, what's mine
Whats yours, nobody knows and that's the moment, where you can find your torment,

The pain would still grow and my voice will still hurt, fill my share of world with words and more dirt,

Dawn to dust, gone with rust, here i lust lest i fall in love, and i know i cannot keep up, i'm so fed up, stuck within myself and locked, with no one to talk, not enough space for me to walk, i wear no face and i am who i am not, when I see in the mirror it stops, the clock is shattered, and it doesn't matter who won.

Wait a moment I'm thinking,
The sadness syncing,
Maybe i'm dead,  I'm never blinking
always in a room closed, in my head
And thinking, and inking, in my bed
Never awake, always sinking.

Bottles by the bed, in my head
with fear shed, and years bled
and my sadness been drinking
All my tears and pain,

Maybe i'm insane, tell me, what's my name ? What's my name ?  Tell me, what's my name ? I'll ask again, what's my name ? Please whisper!

There's nobody else in my brain, It's so filthy and i cannot even look at the man in the mirror.
He makes feel so ugly.


that old man on the pavement has no eyes,
It's better to be cold than to live in a fear you cannot describe,
With every tear we hide, more of us, and more of us die,
every year we make a resolution for pollution and we try,
to fly without wings, we can do without things,
they say sky is the limit, but nobody asks why, why can't we search for it within

People going bezerk over little things, and you cannot win,
Or you'll be left in a riddle, felt alight for a while and now i'm back in the middle playing second fiddle to my heart that is brittle,

My pain won't wither, and they won't whisper to me why they linger

All around my soul, masking me whole, and i keep asking why am I so cold ?
Where is the life, my rhymes, that line when I need something to hold

Nothing's new and I've said everything I had to say before,
Painting my blues, as i can, but I don't understand, i'm never sure,

Have no clue, they've locked the door, and now i'm a mad-man.

And the madness grows, the sadness knows, as the winds blows,

And the sand eats the earth, we were all dirt, we are all dust.

And nobody knows.




Yeah, i read, i read all day
I bleed, i feed all day, i see
I'm free all day, and it repeats
It eats into my brain and it feeds
It sinks deep inside my viens
And inks me when I'm asleep
I blink and what i am think-ing
Makes no sense in a heart beat
It's so hard to beat what you need
And what you keep is so hard to reach
Its better to be ripped apart in pieces
Than to leave it out in the open to feed
So broken and apart but still i greed
No smile on my face but i still greet
Every tear with the same surprise
My brain is in a free- fall i cannot
Describe, i don't subscribe to what
I believe, i believe more in lies
They teach more than they preach
And that's enough confusion
To suffice, in so many illusions
You cannot seek that one delusion
And become what you cannot hide
It's true, the dead cannot die
No good-bye's, it's all in our heads
But we don't get, we are designed to
Forget but maybe just not yet, no, not today, I keep telling myself all night
From so far away, there are so many ways,
She could have stayed, he could have stayed, but nobody stays, and nobody stayed, and that's how we were made, so broken and vile.

I breathe beneath the ocean
And i drink my tears out in the open
My head is a night and eyes broken
I say things loud in fear, so rotten
And soon i'll be forgotten.

Wait a moment I'm thinking,
The sadness syncing,
Maybe i'm dead,  I'm never blinking
always in a room closed, in my head
And thinking, and inking, in my bed
Never awake, always sinking.


Bottles by the bed, in my head
with fear shed, and years bled
and my sadness been drinking
All my tears and pain,

Maybe i'm insane, tell me, what's my name ? What's my name ?  Tell me, what's my name ? I'll ask again, what's my name ? Please whisper!

There's nobody else in my brain, It's so filthy and i cannot even look at the man in the mirror.
He makes feel so ugly.




And he keeps me, never leaves me
It loves me and feeds me
When I'm down it needs me
Never around when it eats me
Laid on the ground in the end,
Six feet too deep, or maybe burning
It's better to be afraid than never be
Found, better to hate, than be bitter
It's better to wither than drown.

So wear your crown of ****,
And wear your gown of thorns
That never fits, let it sync
You were born in a ****** place and an old town.

So wear that face, and glow
For nobody can know, it's been sinking and it's been syncing, and you've been dreaming, and it's so loud.


Wait a moment I'm thinking,
The sadness syncing,
Maybe i'm dead,  I'm never blinking
always in a room closed, in my head
And thinking, and inking, in my bed
Never awake, always sinking.

Bottles by the bed, in my head
with fear shed, and years bled
and my sadness been drinking
All my tears and pain,

Maybe i'm insane, tell me, what's my name ? What's my name ?  Tell me, what's my name ? I'll ask again, what's my name ? Please whisper!

There's nobody else in my brain, It's so filthy and i cannot even look at the man in the mirror.
He makes feel so ugly.

my breath is blue
cold and forgettable
in this dark room
and with my eyes closed
composed of a mind
and all its follies,
that I cannot switch off;

i am lost, yes,
bless'd with a life
i never would have
known otherwise,

of minutes, mountains and
stones, wise men; a home
and sun rise,

here on this rock
me and so many like me
will die, pretending we
never would,

consuming blood and wood
even burning the forest down
'tis his kingdom, filled with
people bad and good,

some mad and filled with
scars and broken days
then there's that who
has no need for a place,
some wear stars and some
wear no face, some are meant
to die, some meant to stay

some go away never to
come back, some find
grey days soothing as they
pass by, some live
in good-byes, and some dye
themselves, some don't cry,

some won't die, and we'd
watch them live forever,
whilst we break our lies,

i live the lies too, yes,
but that's more bless'd, in
this storm of illusion,
outside this dark room
where i bleed away bits of
me, everytime i step out,

loud noises and the clock,
to break me down,

silence louder than words,
empty air for me to drown
trapped in a circle 'round
my neck,

eyes to dream me a crown,
and a mind for the countless
worthless things i've found
gagged and bound,
in the deepest layers
miles deeper than my skin
sinking, and inking my
breath blue.

Alexander of Macedonia this time
won’t U-turn from the might Gangaridai.
At the bubbling edge in the Indian subcontinent,
one would dare, taking his last plunge,
believing it here the proverbial Well of Life!

Yet Al Khwarizmi will discover the algebra,
drawing from ‘nothing,’ purely untouchable:
The Zero from the Indian pole.
Not a digit, not a number on its own, yet it’s all.
Every number jumps up in the zero loophole!
Then the whole number bows down into decimals,
escalating the hunts of the 1.618 golden ratios.

Plough through at your own pace
for the uncharted water, for ab-e-hayath.
Sip in a drop of elixir in this secured zone.
Sylhet is in the core, is written in stone.

What do these mean? I too wonder
down the line, I was intrigued by the Arab
and Indian tectonic plates’ slow dance.
Both rolled out, hugging each other
Then the Makkan soil lying at the heart of earth
gets exposed, with Sylhet’s soil it pairs up!
360 Sufi dynamos, mathematically a perfect circle,
find the match giving a perfect heads up
laid on the nine yard show the whole box of wax,
simply inking the vivo jump on the storylines.

What’s under the tectonic-rug at the bottom of the earth?
Shush softly, whisper—the heavens might hear it out!
Hold on to the least bit, it could be all one wants.
The earth, the ocean, all started with a drop of water!
Let alone any well, which way did this original matter,
the first, primeval drop of water stream down
Has this alleyway been exposed here, or in Paradise?
Then how can we say we don't have a secret for Paradise?

I slept with her, my rapacious pen, took me in quiet vengeance in
full on conjugation

raken and taken, me,
her overlording me now, her authorship, so long held
in my maledom abeyance,
a kept imprisonment, unleashing at last, a tongue lashing~leashing,
de-spite my un-desirous craven lying supplications,
excuses of innocence and accident, coincidence and conflation,
ashes, ashes, denials incinerated, all fall down

she wrote/stabbed upon my heartless chest,
in the cheap crudités colors of a prisoner’s inking,
“user of words mine, all mine”

gathered up my innards of loose words,
speculative notes & titles yet to be,
born and kept hid in password protected silent back labor files,
now hers, leaving me sputtering, unable to create,
a homeless mute citizen, possession-less,
helplessly hoping her hovering harlequin might relent,
without any shelter, even a glimmering, a single aleph or bet

she celebratory cackled and clawed,
professed her reclamation ownership of all my poems predecessors,
zola j’accusing that I, ripped from her forcibly,
with no granted permission, her womanly touché of my scribing,
warning of no more global warming for my unprivileged hands,
daren’t try for pretenses of stolen legal guardianship,
warning of a new, forced caining inscription,
a tattooing of  “thief” upon my 5 knuckled right ******,
“plagiarist” boldly inked in back & blue upon my left palm

I, predator,
she, victim,
of my now self-professed, admitted confess,
she, my single victim,
of a decade long serializing criminal coverup

her parting poem a threatening,
herein issued in this very verse,
damning all who would falsely credit themselves,
to suffer shame and an unimaginable curse,
this, the newborn eleventh of ten commandments

parting, she kissing my lips, even my emptied apertures,
with warning bitings,
she knew all my
my numerous noms de guerre,
no dead scrolls caves to hid in, and to be discovered some future day,
and if ever marked as copyrighted,
’twas no tunneling escape,
the exposed truth to be over-stamped
upon all, upon each, in every language,

”copied right from the tongue of a woman!”


and she would be wright...

~~~

i

the words spill
off the page like
water from the edges
of a flat earth

this way be monsters!


ii

curvature and the
intellect comes back 'round
guided by mariners
who know the point of
no return to reason


iii

isn't it ironic
that the sea change
becomes extant at
the point of no return?


soulsurvivor
(C) 7/14/2015

Sharp tongues do damage quicker than blade could manage.
Deeply scaring the mind, which in turn takes time.
Step light little princess,
Heading advice and walking with care
So as to not attract unwanted stares,
Speak when spoken to
and give pause
to process a slogan.
Think aloud only if you are alone,
inking pride deep inside.
Pretty papers leave trails that can be followed,
leaving you to weave lies that can’t be swallowed.

Wide, grey waters rolling in
Invisibly it flows
Like a spreading carpet over mud
Inexorably it grows.
Created by a lunar force
And global winds at play,
Twice each day the tides do surge
To crest and flow away.


Twice each day the tide rolls in
To cover shoals of sands
And beds of oysters, muddy brown
With squirting water glands.
And twice each day the seabirds flock
To alight on draining shores
To harvest succulents and *****
And other tasty mores.


Oyster pickers congregate
In flocks of white and black
Red beaks plunging deeply
In green pastures for a snack.
Amazingly, they all take flight
A thousand beating wings
Which heel about collectively
Inking out all skyward things.


A thousand, million wavelets play
Across the level span
Pursued by wind’s relentless glove
In a patterned, surging plan.
And each reflects a kiss of light,
Each wavelet in the run
Collectively illuminate
Like diamonds in the sun.


Above the waves the seagulls ply
In corridors of air
In squadron flights of symmetry
To weave and wheel with flair,
Their raucous calls at distance
The poetry of sound,
In tidal terms, a symphony
Of seaward things profound.


The haze at the horizon
Of salt spray in the air,
White ,crunchy shells on beaches,
Pohutukawa’s everywhere.
A feeling of things tidal
In a lazy, salty way,
And enjoying the quiet beauty
Of this lovely, coastal bay.


Marshalg
@ the Gate
Mangere Bridge
4th March 2009

I can feel the golden warmth awakening  my paper.
Everything is so right,
it's a cool spring night,
the city is so alive,
my poetic mind should awaken and come to life,
then why don't I want to write?

Perhaps what makes us put our ink pens to our lined papers,
is when we know,
we must give it love, anger, sadness, assurance, care.

When our minds and bodies are touched,
so tremendously with feeling,
that we must rejoice with our beloved;
as we make it feel what we feel,
inking our thoughts permanently,
scratching the surface until we are content.

But if we only feel neutrality,
it is alright to stare at the white blankly.
We will rejoice another day perhaps,
tomorrow, a month, who knows?
Only time will show.

I've driven myself in
to the valley of deserted
Tears.

To where it's too hot,
while living is an isolation.

There's no river nor
lush forest around,
its as dry as the desert
sands, then humidity
strikes your nerves
that you'll feel
overcooked.

The crimson sky
Bleeds of its inking
Beauty...

I on the other hand
solidify my strength
to ease the burden
I carry, as i lift myself
Little by little towards
A meaningful step
For SURVIVAL!

© pax

All through double science Sheila thought about the boy shed seen go by that mid-morning break not that hed looked at her too much or responded to her shy smile but she thought of him even to the degree of inking in his name on her small palm John scribbled there in black smudgy ink and she thought he had looked at her he seemed to look at her the way he had turned his head indicated to her at that time that he had and the science teacher talked of something to do with gases and she copied what he had written on the board into her exercise book in her minute scribble with her head to one side has she did while writing her arm at an angle her small hand gripping the pen in an odd fashion he had smiled yes she was sure John had smiled as she had smiled she sighed softly her eyes lifted to the blackboard to take note of what was written her hands scribbled her mind wanted to think of the boy with the quiff of hair the smile yes yes he had smiled and she wanted to stand up and say HE SMILED AT ME as loudly as she could but she never would she was not that type of girl a elbow nudged her the girl next to her nudged her and nodded towards the blackboard the teacher was pointing out something and asked her a question and Sheila had not heard him ask her the teacher was staring towards her expectantly she blushed sorry Sir didnt hear the question she muttered looking at the board and then at the teacher who seemed put out then listen girl listen he said then pointing to another to answer the question he repeated and Sheila still blushing looked at the girl next door and shrugged her thin shoulders the girl looked at her blankly and looked away she looked ta the blackboard and read it through slowly as she could taking note what had been written about gases and she stifled a yawn and looked back at the exercise book and what she had written in her scribbled handwriting she looked at the inner page where she had scribble John and drew a heart-shape with an arrow through it she held the page open just enough for her to see it then opened the book to wait for further instruction regarding gases the teacher walked along in front of the class pointing to the blackboard and indicating a diagram he had drawn Sheila wondered if the boy allow her to hang around with him after all she had seen other girls walk round with the boys either in groups or singly why couldnt she? she asked herself sitting up and staring out of the windows at the grass and the blue of sky over the way and what if he said yes how would she feel then would she walk with him or would she feel too shy to  and then all of a sudden she panicked what if he wanted to kiss her as shed other boys do with girls actually kiss on the lips sort of thing and shed never ever kissed a boy before not even her brother Bert a panicky feeling crept into her stomach what then? what if he wanted to kiss her a piece of chalk pinged onto the desk in front of her and the girl next to her elbowed her again SHEILA are you with us today? the teacher asked bellowing her name out of frustration she nodded and blushed again have you been listening? he asked yes Sir she said what did I ask? he said she stared at him blood pumped through body as if she was on fire and she shrugged as words wouldnt come see me after class he said and walked along the front of the class and asked another a boy with his hand raised she watched the teacher and listened to what he was saying about gases and types of gases and the affects and effects and so on and she felt the need to yawn but put her hand over her mouth and let it out secretly as softly as she could she smelt her palm then gazed at the word John scribbled there and with her lips kissed the inked name as if it was he she kissed her lips on his and she felt spittle on her palm and wanted to leave it there so she could pretend it was his spittle and not hers she looked up at the teacher and tried to give the impression of paying attention to his every word the boy had his hand up again as a question was asked and the teacher nodded and smiled then just as she prepared herself for any potential question that may come her way-God forbid- a bell rang for the end of the lesson and a sense of release flowed through her despite having to have stay and see the teacher afterwards there was a movement of books being put into bags and chairs being moved and voices and talking and the slow moving of bodies towards the door but the teacher was eyeing her as she moved towards him her book tucked away in her bag her palm clenched into a loose fist to hide the scribbled John in her palm she stood before the teachers desk and he stared at her sternly Sheila have you something on your mind? she shook her head feeling the need at that moment almost suddenly to urinate well you certainly were not paying attention to the lesson were you? he asked something worrying you? he asked she was going to say something but she didnt know what to say she couldnt say she was thinking of a boy and about if or not he was going to want to kiss her so she said nothing just shrugged her thin shoulders and gave a vacant expression-an expression her mother said indicated a near death experience-you must pay attention the teacher said I am paid to teach you as well as the others the sciences and I feel it is my duty to do my best to do that do you understand? she nodded taking note of the leather patches on the elbows of his jacket brown and sewn on maybe she thought by his wife or mother now please listen Sheila or youll get behind with the lessons Ok? she nodded and he dismissed her and she walked towards the door wondering if the boy would be on the playing field during lunch recess and if she had the nerve to ask him if she could hang around with him and if he would want to kiss her and o my God she thought panicking what if he did and she blushed at the thought and moved along the corridor amongst moving throng of other kids on their way to lunch or home and a bite to eat and she stood thinking of the boy gazing at her black shoed feet.

flipping through pages of his mind,
caressing unspoken quotes; I whisper
slang of lust in his ear, ******* his big
ego to the bottom of his page, while his
drool trickles between breast; uttering
syllable after syllable as I re-write his script.

his hardness speaks fluently, inking
parchment with liquid tipped quill, oh! the
thrill as I bend his will, to fluidly flow; dipping
in inkwell of thoughts, penning desires and
want in liquid diatribe of lustful pleasures; like
a moth to flame flickering, as I lick verbs in
hunger to peruse his re-written script;
gripping sheeted pages to uncover his
beguilement; drinking in acknowledgment
of his golden chalice.

I want to decipher his member in autographed
curlicues of calligraphic swirls, teasing and
taunting as he watches, awe-struck; as tongue
etches each throbbing vein in ebonized charcoal,
sketched upon pages of wanton verses making
him scream with passion in prose; on bended
knee tasting my rose, penning his moans in
quotes against throat.

in heat of our passion, pages and scripts are
flipped allowing him to drip ink upon lips as I
whisper softly to his mind; want of him to grind
his neb of ache within my archive, articulating
history of hunger; as limbs mime each cursive
letter, insinuating one vowel at a time; licked
against silken parchment in tender stroked
consonant utterances; shuddering inside  
walls as nouns clench and moans escape
in adjectives shattering mind as wet tendrils
slide down firmness, fore, only she can do this
to me; making me flip volumes of pages while
inside wetness she drips ink all over in
chaptered stages.

each chapter I lick her spine; cornering her
in my mind as a sensual adversary; claiming
her as I untie her collection of copious sighs,
my mind tries to deny copyrights to her library;
as I place her upon my shelf, while against the
wall; ravishing her like the wild section of animal
kingdom, lusting while I watch her body fall
prey to breathless hunger, devouring
and savoring her bookmark; paying full
attention to her glossary of delectability,
that melts upon tongued bilingual text;
her nectar leaves its imprint upon
our handbook of worded aphrodisiacs.

cherishing our artistic volumes in ardency as
we're ready to publish our first draft, but not
before I slide her lubricious cover upon my
shaft; we begin to lay strokes of signatures
against our first editioned copies belonging
soley to us, as we scream in accented jargon
every second I tease; easing in and out,
shouting out in voweled ecstasy; gliding
thickness, gently against taut bookmark.

turning each page with deep thrusts, into her
inkwell; as I swell with friction, speaking in
fluent diction, of addiction to her sweetness;
dripping, as I'm slipping in tomes; thinking
about how she begged me to re-write our script,
spilling ink in delirious closure, in *******
exposure while losing our artistic composure;
writing manuscripts as ink spills upon volumes
of pages in disclosure.

This struck a chord!
That just stabbed me like a sword!
“The earth laughs in flowers.”
How did you even come up with that?!

So much ingenuity
So much imagery
Your words derived from my muted emotion
So relatable, I could fall even without your love potion

Through your words
Petals cried
Lips lied
And kisses had eyes
With a pen, you breathed life into the dead; god in disguise

Sometimes, I wonder what you'd been through to spill like that
But all I could really do is keep on inking and not falling flat
Maybe someday my words could string your heart
Like yours to mine, then I would have done my part

Sitting across from the cold building about to 'constitute' my tomorrow
I reach for my ink
So To remember the words I scribe
In my vulnerable moments
.........

DK
3 June 2008

Don't "take" action...it doesn't belong to you.
Don't "take" action..."make" it instead.
Radioactive Reaction...I, Radio Re-Active
We make, Radioaction.
Iconoclashing against a faction Hell bent on Heaven sentiment.
Fictional filament tethered to the Town Hall Square Circular non-secular content.
Stitching Supra-stitious suspicion.
Weaving away, in the name of good faith.
Imperial pillows to suffocate  un-resting heads
blankets of banners-it's story time to go to bed.
Yet here i sit...reaction-ing in script.
Creating activity...through creativity.
Cre-activity.
Recreational reaction.
Revolutionary open-caption inking passion with a digital pen.
"Make me"...such a passive statement with such a threatening proposal...a posing promise...a convenient conviction to tend.
A submissive request to influence choice over chance.
Change over circumstance...situational aggressive targets
subjectively objectifying a marketable stance.
"Make" action...don't just take it
Only then will it be yours to keep.

Bedside table minds clean paper
Pen at the ready, lying in wait
for wording as I wait for the sandman
Thoughts pole vaulting at high speed
tossing, and turning then settling
unable to make it over the top
Mind frozen in time with selections
untamed uneducated words, hitchhiking
around my head, seeking new adventures
on paper with other more interesting fellows
Words stuck in the corners of my mind
spring cleaning energy is needed here
to pull them out of their aerobics class
Forcing the words down my right arm
in Gymnastic style movements
out of my pen they stream endlessly
inking up the page in the stillness
But I dare not move to switch on the light
for the theme will be broken for all time

I'm a sinking stone, this I know,
because I fell to the bottom and I'm starting to erode.
I can't feel at home
when she's not alone.
It's useless, I know.

I'm a cracking stone, this I know,
because I like to love until I explode.
And with no container there to hold,
I fall apart and my cover is blown.
It's pathetic, I know.

I'm getting better, you should know;
searching for a good way to cope.
I'm turning my wheels, mending the spokes
by inking my blood into words of hope.
I'm stronger than I know.

Dear Diary,

It had been a long span since we met

Heal my Heart while taking its pain.
Draw with anger and paint the drain
A deep breath A dye to stroke blue again
Dear Diary you are a pain reliever
to my Hurt Heart and Boiling Brain

Inking Veins

Her hair flutters in the golden light
a lioness
she knows words like chiaroscuro
and chimera

Her eyes, lit by twilight
chase the evening star
from blushing clouds

The sunset, pink and red
inking out our silhouettes,
releases shadows
snaking through the grass
and trees,
eloping with the night

the girl with the blue hair
bled outside of the lines
like the overdose of colour in the
comics that she read.
big eyes and
big lips - the girls on the pages
had hearts for eyes and tears
of fat diamonds.
their sadness so precious.
their affection spans shaped
like rainbows in the
big big blue.

she liked all the colours.
the girl with the blue hair
painted her lips
in the new york cold for
life should be livid, life should
be vivid.
and she
wanted the colours
inside of her blue.

like inking a sketch she
filled herself up.
i was silent when this meant
she threw herself at countless walls
to call
the carnage 'art' -
see how

the girl with the blue hair
became an artist.

Would you let me?
Have a thousand years
to make ponderously slow love to you?

I'd just rather we hurry up and get on with it

Why not let me charm you
and make proper woo
to sweeten your heart to my liking?

I told you before, don't get weird or I'm charging you double

I'd like to search the bittersweet corners
of your mind and rewrite them so you realize how much i dearly love you

Whatever you like but I'm not wearing the image of your dead wife for less than a thousand

Would you let me stick a mike up your *** so I hear the throes of your passion
wh think o
*Understand it's not you, I'll be *thinking of

You should have used just a little more rouge and a tad less foundation here let me fix it
Oh dear the image fell apart, it seems that you are not the girl I came here to find

 Less foundation? Brick or grant?

Your name is a golden
shiny bell hung up in my
heart. It tastes sweeter than
apple pie and red hot cinnamon
flavored gum. It warms me more
than the heat that radiates from the
sun. It’s spelled out in four short
letters that sound fun when pronounced.
Its true i'm telling you, your name is a
golden bell hung and tangled between
the ventricles of my heart. It sounds like
secret prayers whispered in the dark.
Your name is slowly taking over my
thoughts

it is a mantra now, reverberating throughout my being
in a place where repetition is sweet fulfillment
and to say it , feel it, taste it on my lips..
To drown in the essence, the flavor...sticky sweet
like hot candy floss on my tongue
like a prayer on my lips
and a song in my heart .....
a prickly, tender stroking of every pore in my flesh
your sweetness becomes my depth and in that...
I am whole, satiated and warm with glowing rapture
I awake each hour to the hunger
and the more I indulge the more it becomes a thirst
and yours is the only nectar to quench this perpetual desire
thirst, hunger, desire, longing ..... You

Your name sweeps my feet
off the ground. It sounds like
secret melodies carried by the
winds and entering my ear. It’s
the only word that I want to hear
throughout this entire year. These
four letters shall forever be carved
on the chambers of my heart. These
four letters are what let me fall in love
from the very start. Inking my skin with
these four letters is all what I really want*

like a tattoo, indelibly inked upon my soul
there is you and your music and the melody
which haunts my dreams and fills my every waking hour
to utter your name is like a prayer
to hear your voice is a symphony of ecstasy
playing upon the strings of my heart
dare I say it out loud
would the entire world fall for you'
as I have done?
I’ll share the joy but never,
even at the cost of my own life,
will I release this feeling from my being
you are the message I have waited
my whole life to hear
sing it to me now, in dulcet tones of passion
create your vision of us in your own fashion
and now I own your name, your song, the dream
but you own me..For I am yours...entirely.
sing ..... And I promise the perfect harmony* ~

Loving you is
Shading a tattoo
Needles piercing already-open flesh
Inking your presence onto me
Permanent
Vulnerable
Covering it with a bandage
So no one can see
The blood seep out

I want to give you the power to hurt me
And trust that you won’t

But as the needles pierce my flesh again and again
I’m unsure if I still have skin
Or if you peeled it away with the rest of me

I miss you today