"panted" poems
I like being underwater because it reminds me
of a different world.
Like the rim of the atmosphere, or the inside of a womb
where everything is slippery, even the past, and all
I can remember is the air in my lungs.
I like being underwater because it reminds me
of when you held me above the water as a child
that time we walked too far past the ******* and could no longer touch.
You hoisted me up on the hips that birthed me and
beatering your legs you struggled, your hairline trimming the surface
so I could breathe. And when we finally swam back onto the ridge you panted to the rhythm of the waves. Looked down at me and smiled,
“That was fun, wasn’t it?”
Fingers interlocked on the way home down the beach, where
bare feet walk on wet handlebars in the morning and footprints are flooded at night by the moon. The ability to erase but mostly
I like being underwater because I am made of water. And so are you.
And the ocean surrounds me with the salt of your last breath
felt stroking my cheek with weak, small hands waving goodbye.
You were so small and
the water is so big, yet when I’m under,
all I feel is you.
Oct 12, 2012
Oct 12, 2012 at 1:08 AM UTC
You were no Eve of Russian literature
like Pushkin’s precious Tatyana.
You were no young, innocent, provincial girl
seduced by cynical Onegin, that bon vivant
corrupted by modern European values.
You were no mysterious Russian soul
brimful of essential purity and self-sacrifice -
with a love of pain and pure disdain of happiness.
Tatyana resisted all temptation, refusing
to take flight, rejecting the man she loved.
She was too good to be true; but you, Anna
what a pickle you got yourself in, choosing ****** sin.
You could share an affair with dashing Vronsky
elope with him and leave behind your husband
abandon your beloved son, Alexei.
But these were not the dreadful choices
sealing your tragic fate, my dear Anna.
It was those ****** feelings you chased
all based on the sin of selfishness.
You fed on romance, passion and desire.
Your hot-hunger was insatiable, a fire
rip-roaring through restraint and all decorum
You sweated and panted wild for ******
They say you’re a ‘drama queen’; heartless and mean
a woman undone by excess, always longing to undress
nakedly making grand errors of judgement.
By ignoring Tatyana’s fine example, you certainly forgot
there will always be those who tot up the ledger.
Your blood debt was owing, it had to be paid.
You saw the light at the end of the tunnel -
cool down, Anna, let the raw feelings subside
be watchful, wary and ever-ready to step aside
let the moments of menace and gloom drain –
it might just be an oncoming train is due.
© M.L.Emmett 2016
Jun 21, 2016
Jun 21, 2016 at 6:14 AM UTC
i did not grow up with siblings.
i grew up with half-sisters, half-brothers,
a step mom, just like in cinderella. except i never met her.
and i never will. (my dad would rather slash his own throat)
i was by myself,
with beanie babies and whispering sunlight.
i had to cover my ears when the screaming pierced,
blindfold my eyes when blood tainted the creases.
i made friends through my bathroom tiles,
the wavy puddles looked like old men, like crushed flowers.
i talked to inanimate objects, squirrels lurking behind bushes.
with the first bunny, i grabbed onto his fur.
with the first dog, i howled and panted, hoping to become.
i drew elaborate stories upon sidewalks, vanished into the lines of
majestic quests.
the real world was nothing but glass with tainted red.
“didn’t you wish you had siblings?”
i escaped. i’m here,
with scrapes and broken bones,
but i’m here.
May 26, 2013
May 26, 2013 at 2:19 PM UTC
My faint spirit was sitting in the light
Of thy looks, my love;
It panted for thee like the hind at noon
For the brooks, my love.
Thy barb, whose hoofs outspeed the tempest’s flight,
Bore thee far from me;
My heart, for my weak feet were weary soon,
Did companion thee.
Ah! fleeter far than fleetest storm or steed,
Or the death they bear,
The heart which tender thought clothes like a dove
With the wings of care;
In the battle, in the darkness, in the need,
Shall mine cling to thee,
Nor claim one smile for all the comfort, love,
It may bring to thee.
2.1k
It was July and something inside of her began to thud. small and light as a pulse grew from a seed at the bottom of her belly, weaved and braided with veins, commandeered organs like ivy on headstones. washed up and sprouted from her chewed down fingernails, popped blood vessels in her eyes. she thought, 'if this isn't dying then it must be blooming.' this new presence was abashed by the absence of Arabic script and an African summer. it wept at dogs as they panted; they could let go so easily- a few deep heaves and they're back to pure. easy and breezy and not the sad, harsh tear of skin below shoulders, the bruises creeping over wrists and the shredded esophagus. the soiled heart and tar-heavy soul. it panicked more and more as the calender blew past. it sobbed as tomorrow became today and today became yesterday.
i lived a hazy summer. brown skin and hair that turned red at the crinkly ends as it baked. i walked through cornfields and slipped on husks. landed on my back and erupted in giggles at the snowglobe sky protecting me and caging me. incense and gin were as consistent as the advent sun. music blaring and bodies bumping and no release. no escape. my little book of plans was solid and secure. and then smashed. ripped. no poetry and braids. not dreamy just silly.
Dec 16, 2013
Dec 16, 2013 at 10:23 PM UTC
I sat at the foot of his bed, and he stood beside me with his pants half down, the top of his belt hugging the base of his **** and a thick bed of ***** hair curling over his jeans. On the sides of his upper-thighs where they grabbed the hips, his skin was striped with razor lines.
“I cut myself here so no one can see.”
People never trust you with these sorts of things when you’re sober. Then they open up to you with such shocking honesty and determination to reach something human in someone else, secretly trying to identify something human in themselves.
I thought to myself “what kind of genuine advice can I give him?” I thought this because I didn’t actually have anything genuine to tell him. I was riddled with uncertainty—which I certainly wasn’t about to reveal to him.
I kept searching for the advice that would mend the sores of my half-panted friend with his bare thighs in my face and his heart on the floor in-front of my laced converse. But I had nothing. So I simply told him, “Want to get lunch sometime?”
He agreed that we would.
A few days went by, and both of us got distracted with life as tends to happen. Our lunch date felt more and more remote. But then I started to feel a little sad myself. Then I started to feel a lot sad, and I thought about death a lot. I wondered if this was the way he felt before talking to me, so I called him and asked to meet me for lunch.
We met up in a Chinatown bar, drinking cheap beer and trying to be young. After a few sips, he asked me why I had been feeling sad lately, but I still didn’t know what to tell him. If I had known, I would have had an answer for him when we sat by his bed, drunk.
I don’t think he knew what to say either, so we sat at the table and drank.
He told me I was a great man, and lucky too. I told him he was the best man I knew.
But somehow we both knew we had lied. Or at least our good praise cancelled each other out.
That night, I got a phone call. He had moved away in the night across the country. He told me to come visit, and I said that I would. Naturally, I never went out to visit him, he was simply too far and I didn’t care quite enough. But I still think about what I would say to him.
Apr 27, 2015
Apr 27, 2015 at 7:57 PM UTC
When I rov’d a young Highlander o’er the dark heath,
And climb’d thy steep summit, oh Morven of snow!
To gaze on the torrent that thunder’d beneath,
Or the mist of the tempest that gather’d below;
Untutor’d by science, a stranger to fear,
And rude as the rocks, where my infancy grew,
No feeling, save one, to my ***** was dear;
Need I say, my sweet Mary, ’twas centred in you?
Yet it could not be Love, for I knew not the name,—
What passion can dwell in the heart of a child?
But, still, I perceive an emotion the same
As I felt, when a boy, on the crag-cover’d wild:
One image, alone, on my ***** impress’d,
I lov’d my bleak regions, nor panted for new;
And few were my wants, for my wishes were bless’d,
And pure were my thoughts, for my soul was with you.
I arose with the dawn, with my dog as my guide,
From mountain to mountain I bounded along;
I breasted the billows of Dee’s rushing tide,
And heard at a distance the Highlander’s song:
At eve, on my heath-cover’d couch of repose.
No dreams, save of Mary, were spread to my view;
And warm to the skies my devotions arose,
For the first of my prayers was a blessing on you.
I left my bleak home, and my visions are gone;
The mountains are vanish’d, my youth is no more;
As the last of my race, I must wither alone,
And delight but in days, I have witness’d before:
Ah! splendour has rais’d, but embitter’d my lot;
More dear were the scenes which my infancy knew:
Though my hopes may have fail’d, yet they are not
forgot,
Though cold is my heart, still it lingers with you.
When I see some dark hill point its crest to the sky,
I think of the rocks that o’ershadow Colbleen;
When I see the soft blue of a love-speaking eye,
I think of those eyes that endear’d the rude scene;
When, haply, some light-waving locks I behold,
That faintly resemble my Mary’s in hue,
I think on the long flowing ringlets of gold,
The locks that were sacred to beauty, and you.
Yet the day may arrive, when the mountains once more
Shall rise to my sight, in their mantles of snow;
But while these soar above me, unchang’d as before,
Will Mary be there to receive me?—ah, no!
Adieu, then, ye hills, where my childhood was bred!
Thou sweet flowing Dee, to thy waters adieu!
No home in the forest shall shelter my head,—
Ah! Mary, what home could be mine, but with you?
1.5k
I never thought I’d find myself running outside on the sidewalk
Bearing to go faster just to be home.
I never felt my heart beat so fast
And tears overpower my beautiful face
As I cried for everything to stop while
Sprinting in school clothes and a backpack.
I never shook so much.
I could not even breathe as I pushed through the isle and jumped off the steps.
I screamed “No!” at the top of my lungs
When all the kids demanded I obey them
Because I was
Different.
I ignored the boy who laughed and asked why I was getting off.
I ran, I panted, and I found my mother in the house
Where I arrived early.
My own stop was two after the one
I ran off the bus.
I told her they wouldn’t let me have the backseat.
They restrained me by holding my arms, pushing my hand off,
And lashing their voices to the point I was shattered.
She reported this to my father.
They said I did the right thing.
Impressed by how I removed but mostly how
I ran.
In my yard I would see birds fly in and out of the trees.
How I wanted to be a Blue Jay and fly to wherever I could go.
I may not be able to fly,
But I could run, and wear the color blue.
I can run away and grow stronger more than any
Micromanaged child who was taught nothing but
Self-absorption.
I could run whenever I was in trouble and
Nobody dared to catch me due to my fiery
Speed.
Today, I write this with an icepack under my left foot.
I’m injured, but will be back to my usual
Routine eventually.
The nasty kids are where it all started.
I told them not to cry to me when they received an
“F” in gym.
If they do, I’ll run away ;).
Nov 11, 2015
Nov 11, 2015 at 11:46 PM UTC
I always wanted a name like a color,
But then I felt bad,
Because what if the other colors got sad,
because if my name,
was to cause them pain,
I'd cry,
and wish to be wrapped,
and panted,
in a rainbows vein,
And be know as,
spectrum,
Color Spectrum.
I'll be an array,
of entities,
as light shines threw,
I will be more then the common,
and Physical Propensities,
because besides light waves,
the sea will go though me too,
and the mass and length of both,
Will not hold me down,
because I am color spectrum,
And with the rain and the sun,
I am one,
A prism.
Creating the suns rain,
into a bow of color across the sky,
red, orange, yellow, green,
fly,
blue and indigo,
will not just be colors,
to color up our sky,
and violet,
sweet violet,
will combine us,
make us one,
but we are bond,
a band,
bands of colors,
pretty to the eye,
we still hold so much more,
invisible to us,
but still with us,
because like the bands,
we are the same,
with feelings and emotions,
there,
but unseen,
until you look a little closer,
because we are a spectrum,
and that has more to do with our hearts, bodies, and minds,
then the names, looks, and colors,
we bare,
Apr 28, 2015
Apr 28, 2015 at 3:28 PM UTC
I was angry.
******
I ran from the beach. I held my towel and sweater.
My glasses were foggy.
I couldn't see anything.
I pulled them off and clenched them in my fist.
I flew over the bridge and tore through the woods.
My flashlight beam was slow
Wavering.
I ran
tripped
jumped
panted
scraped
screamed
flew
up the stairs.
I was angry.
******
Why couldn't they leave me alone.
Up the stairs.
Rocks
Sticks
Bumps
******* sharp things
Leaves.
The lights of the house glowed up ahead.
Bright.
Too bright.
Like my grandma.
I ran to them.
Around the house.
Through the door.
Bright greeted me.
Are you going in the sauna?
Why the **** do we HAVE a sauna!!!!!
We're in the middle of nowhere
We swim in a lake
We drive an hour
To get to the closest town
And yet we have a SAUNA
No. I'm not going in.
I'm already steaming.
Even though I'm steaming
A *** boiling over
She SMILES
******* SMILES
Why are you SMILING?
So you're just fine like that?
Slam.
Slam the door.
Goodbye.
No more.
I'm crying.
Hot tears over my cold body.
My nose hurts.
I cry and cry.
But no one hears me.
He's in the next room
And he doesn't hear me.
They're still at the beach. I hear them
And they don't hear me.
I sit on the floor.
I ignore the wet spot I'm making on the stupid grey rug.
I pull my wet towel to me.
I haven't dried off yet.
I don't.
I don't care.
I stand up.
I stop crying and pull my towel over my head.
It is dark.
I stand there.
And then I walk.
Through the room
Bumping into beds and walls.
I am nothing.
Nothingness itself.
I see no one
And no one sees me.
I can't see.
I can't see.
I hear my name over and over.
What is that?
Nothing.
What did you say?
Nothing.
What do you want?
Nothing.
Yeah right.
What's up?
Nothing.
Sure. Nothing.
The word one uses when we cannot speak.
I stop being nothing and take off the towel.
I am not nothing.
I am Nikita.
I am crying again.
I hear them coming up the stairs outside.
I gather my clothes and put on my glasses.
Still foggy.
I take them off.
I leave the room.
Are you heading to the sauna?
No.
I go to the bathroom.
STOP SAYING MY NAME
I DON'T WANT DESSERT
I DON'T WANT CHOCOLATE CAKE
I'm crying again.
Aug 27, 2013
Aug 27, 2013 at 9:08 PM UTC
He called me his little good girl:
it was less of a compliment, more a command
that if I did not follow every order,
he would tell on us. I had to walk with his limp
so he would not derail my secrets, make
my boyfriend mad. It only worked because
I was acting like a bad, bad girl
with someone old enough to be my dad.
I remembered he could put a gun
down my throat if I misbehaved or wore a skirt
too long or too short, too pink or too black
or if I seemed too happy or too sad –
good girls have no emotions, just let men take
their breath away. I panted under my sheets
and I came to the thought once,
soon after, this man, he made me bleed.
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 8:15 PM UTC
Wandering words of wisdom
curl eagerly
around the smoke stack songs of southern savages.
Whispered wordlessly through the generations
my gut boils with ******* bravery.
The sounds of ancient ruins
those panted grunts of trance bound elders
are what they have named me.
I've plucked my eyes from their plush pillows.
The lies they slept in kept them slow and useless.
They will wander in the dark
open with anticipation
free of the blinding roads of gold
you had set so slyly as traps for them.
Jun 30, 2013
Jun 30, 2013 at 12:56 PM UTC
princess blood cult
throne of tethers
rumor's of frazzle drip murders
and blood spatters
on a bed of grinning hooks
X
marks the *******
she bled they fed
in love in bed
torn dress and flutter ******
form her squandered torso
as bare feet dangled
while skies shrieked knotted eyes
watching her get it hard
wet **** drunk
she tumbled
in this little black house of madness
****** her in a sack of sins
while **** buckarooed
in a wood shed paradise
welcoming death by sexicide
she backstroked head over heels
exposed
flirting in the graveyard hacked and black
beckoning orchards that
caressed her by squirming *****
she adored the mole that snuggled her
while thighs shuddered with anticipation
hurricane tongued
she licked grinning *****
for pudenda's pillow
shimmed black light disco daggers
down her lips
to ****
to thighs
to drooling
raw lips
her ****
like a shucked oyster
whimpering disciple
of enticing wounds
bloom in gloom
she tasted like taffy panicked *******
erotomaniac
from head
to lips
to feet
chanting squeals
of infernal opera
in the throws of blood *******
and weeping barbarous
stammer
beezel blaba blaba
Beelzebub
her body stained labyrinth floors
in soiled cathedrals of desire
while growing phantasm babies
he whispered death music
in grottos of legs over head
that made her hotter than
boiled fish eyes
chopped her in two
she squirmed
shivering inkblots of madness
cu cu cu cu cu cu
*******
swing the scythe
and
get the knife
she shrilled
pump the ****
split the bone
smudge the lips
spit and blood
moon eyes turn blood gauze
and heads swivels hula
the **** yields
a spooled mouth contortion
her *** crack
a smile of accomplishment
and tormented ballet feet
stretched tickle toes
for heavens edge
she panted rolling away dark air
in an uneasy creeping
and widened thighs
she lost her head
like a chopped carrot
for the miracle of oblivion
you could hear the last thump
falling as silence falls
she spread like bat a wing umbrella
Sep 19, 2020
Sep 19, 2020 at 1:03 PM UTC
To see the world through fairie lens,
The scrying pool, the artist's pen,
To live in such a wond'rous world
Will feed the lover's soul, unfurled,
Will free the heart to catch the moon
Will start romantic hearts to swoon.
So Percy, young and free at heart,
Who from his love was torn apart,
Walked the woods in shadowy gloom
Proclaiming death of love, and doom,
When stepped he into fairy ring
And heard the satyrs ***** sing.
He watched the dryads flow'ry dance.
He saw the fairie happ'ly prance.
And in the midst of this he met
A vision out of Heaven sent
In form of twinkling, thoughtful eyes
And skin as clouds that grace the skies,
Skin much softer than the wind, and smooth
As stone that's by the water, grooved.
By magic fire a dance began.
By this spell, lost was the young man.
With eyes the color of the sea,
Began to court the fairy sweet,
Did Percy, past his other love.
By one touch from enchanted glove
Worn on hand of Percy's goddess
His heart did swoon and heave his chest.
That night the pair was lost in song
And Percy laughed and loved 'ere long.
At light of dawn the blue eyed youth
Received a kiss that spoke of truth
From elven maid, enchanted.
By the sun the fairie panted,
Shrinking from the light of morning,
And vanished fast, without warning.
Percy, in the wake of magic
Was abandoned. Feeling tragic
He lay prostrate upon the hill.
As days did pass he lay quite still
And slowly, overcome by woe,
He begged the Earth, upon him, grow
And take his weight, his sky blue eyes
And help his tortured soul to die.
Upon the spot where once he lay,
So aided by the sun and rain
Did grow a pair of flowers, blue.
The Earth had taken up the youth.
When one year passed, on Eve of Saints
They Fey returned, with colored paints.
The girl who danced with Percy, young,
When all the singing had begun
Did find blue petals, growing strong
And wove them in her hair, so long.
Nov 6, 2011
Nov 6, 2011 at 9:16 PM UTC
Her skin reeked of chlorine
and yours of cigarettes
She lay in the car, unconscious and unknowing
and you panted and petted and groped
and, sweating, you stole her sanity
Nov 21, 2010
Nov 21, 2010 at 4:16 PM UTC
He has no choice but to chase her.
This hurricane of a girl,
who carries a roiling storm of turbulent winds behind her glances,
and breathes deeply of natural disaster.
Men will fall for forces of chaos.
Then pursue them despite emotional harm.
All he desires is her and that has made him blind.
He loves how the rain scents her skin.
She smells like dark mahogany and loam.
He loves her rounded gestures.
The way they angle in swooshing arcs,
cutting and emphasizing dialogue.
He wants to kiss her, hold her, be with her, talk to her.
But her crooked, crescent mouth sings only of destruction and implosion.
There’s no time for love or affection.
Her body is an empty vessel for primal lusts.
As slurred, blurred words are panted against her ear.
That’s how long she can stop.
That’s how long she can stay.
She’s caught in the swirl of her turmoil.
And like a hurricane she tears through place and setting.
Always in search of better things.
She has no time to puzzle out love.
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 2:28 AM UTC
i watch you inside my head
with eyes like binocular surveillance
spinning bulls
dancing widdershins
in mind erasing rituals,
from witchy book
voodoo tropical itch
that spits a mudslide
and who are you in this poem
maybe a hungry ghost or
just a girl who has a kink
for shadows burn
from midnight suns
algorithms of bleated conundrums
and luminous smiling star eyed teeth
your undulant music
melodically bleeds desire
swelling
aching worm tongued clitori
in teary shredded *******
that bows her head like sinking stones
to touch blood silent puddles
of Pomegranate Martinis encircled by
drunken Pentecostal Lucifer's
better than a kiss could ever be
you would **** to die goat horned
pink as dingo ****
and held down by storming arms
that stop you dead past memories blur
a martyred fruit darker than night
in a leg show
scumbag halo resurrection
under threat
ankles bound
fledged
split wide and trussed
she panted
"I hate pain
but love being forced to take it".
Nov 8, 2020
Nov 8, 2020 at 1:25 PM UTC
Inhaling your breath against my lips gets me high. Love this potent should be illegal, it feels so bad... like someone sold me your heart in a little plastic bag from the pocket of their hoodie in the cover of night. I lit it on fire and breathed in every panted wisp of smoke pushed up from your burning core. I bet distant cities can see our flames on the horizon, and the citizens are rushing to church to kneel before God and pray to be spared from the glowing apocalypse crawling towards them. What a beautiful way to die... but the world has already ended to me, because nothing matters in this moment but you. I think I can hear their screams beneath yours, as the ****** of Armageddon firestorms falls from the angry heavens that generously matched our souls.
Then silence... the beautiful silence that drapes the earth once everyone and everything is dead except for us, at least until the sun returns, and the alarm clock rings and resurrects the world from its hallucinated grave, and I head out to work hungover with love.
lying together
in the last of the darkness...
I awake
to the hiss of flames
and plumes of candle-smoke
Jan 3, 2015
Jan 3, 2015 at 6:01 PM UTC
Peter the frog!
exclaimed jimmy the toad
I dare you
I dare you to cross that road
water and flies
the moistest grass lie
just out of reach
too bad you cant fly
oh I shall and I will
then a tale to thrill
of peter the frog
in water so still
reverence my sight
tomorrow you might
wish that you came
and conquered your fright
As peter explained
it was nights where he lay
pondering places outside of the bay
there now he was
on the cusp of his courage
and to think his delight had been so delayed
Never could I
Panted jim with a sigh
travel to places outside of the bay
If matter I live or I die who can say
yet simply I state it shall be in this bay
so travel now friend
you wouldn't want to be late
for a fate of fresh bounties lay outside the bay
I seem him no more
Hear him hurry his pace
the titan of timber along on his way
Jimmy the toad
had no interest in roads
only in having his *** by the bay
Nov 30, 2012
Nov 30, 2012 at 12:47 AM UTC
You made a mistake,
One you swore you'd never make.
Transformed into lies,
Covered up by pride.
You let her down, fool.
Told her you'd keep your cool.
Come out, come out, they chanted,
It was an uphill battle, and you panted.
You couldn't help it, suffocation set in
Trapped in a box, one you conformed in.
You're a liar, you monster.
Now you went, and you lost her.
Forever? Maybe. Don't think about it.
Your hands shake at the thought of it.
Get off your knees, brush em off, kid.
"You got this!" they said, but they don't have a bid.
This is the hardest time of your life,
Losing one that's meant to be your wife.
Meant to hold you hand.
Meant to stand.
Meant to kiss you.
Meant to hold you.
You shattered her heart, you monster.
Now you lost her.
You keep tellin' yourself you'll turn it around,
but you, yourself, can't even be found.
Mistakes, you made em, kid.
Jul 11, 2013
Jul 11, 2013 at 1:52 PM UTC
A mouse found a beautiful piece of plum cake,
The richest and sweetest that mortal could make;
Twas heavy with citron and fragrant with spice,
and covered with sugar all sparkling as ice.
‘My Stars!” cried the mouse, while his eye beamed with glee,
‘Here’s a treasure I’ve found; what a feast it will be;
But hark! there’a noise, ’tis my brothers at play;
So I’ll hide with the cake, lest they wander this way.
Not a bit shall they have, for I know I can eat,
Every morsel myself, and I’ll have such a treat’
So off went and held the cake fast,
While his hungry young brothers went scampering past.
He nibbled and nibbled, and panted, but still,
he kept gulping it down till he made himself ill;
Yet he swallowed it all, and ’tis easy to guess,
he was soon so unwell that he groaned with distress.
His family heard him, and as he grew worse,
They sent for the doctor, who made him rehearse
How he’s eaten he cake to the very last crumb,
Without giving his playmates and relatives some.
‘Ah me!’ cried the doctor, ‘advice is too late’
You must die before long, so prepare for your fate;
if you had but divided the cake with your brothers,
Twould have done you no harm, and been good for the others.
‘Had you shared it, the treat had been wholesome enough,
But eaten by one, it was dangerous stuff;
So prepare for the worst-’ and the word had scarce fled,
When the doctor turned round and the patient was dead.
No all little people the lesson may take,
and Some large ones may learn from the mouse and the cake;
Not to be over-selfish with what we may gain;
Or the best of our pleasures may turn to pain.
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 11:39 PM UTC
WOW!
what a time to be alive
what a great place to live
being able to wake up
any morning at 6:30
and be at the beach to see
the beautiful colors God panted
in the sky
over the blue bodies of water
is such a great thing
it is such a great time to be alive!
Jan 24, 2015
Jan 24, 2015 at 10:42 AM UTC
Soft kisses
Against
hesitant lips
Turns quickly too
Hair pulling
followed by 'i'm sorry'
then-suddenly it was love
And I had no idea-how
too escape 'it'
but nude-painted, panted promises
Are useless during
day lit seconds
Do not leave me beggin' for more
I could have destroyed you
instead, for you. I came - undone
Sep 9, 2016
Sep 9, 2016 at 2:21 PM UTC