Venom!

Carry not venom in sharpened fangs;
Which pierce peace.
Bring not scorpions madness unto the kicking tail of abnormality.
Nausea sickens impolitely,
While walking through a softened heart.

Be not bitter as I am not.
Tells me that I am not forgot.
Each time with words you crucify.
A public notice not denied.
Cannot deny in whinging and whining.
Powerful hearts are both entwining.
Smash and grab,

A stollen heart.
That was Stollen,
Well bread.
Not stolen,
Straight rye bread,
Stolen from a German fantasy.
Fruity, spicy full of fun.
By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)

I've been missing
authentic selflessness
devoted kindness
and the soft laughter
you let out
when I used to do things
like try to cheer you up

I've been missing
fiery conversations
deep and vibrant
they used to dance across my face
every time I had a stollen space
alone
with your voice

I've been missing
grace within strangers
the signs of simplicity in nature
The way you'd stuff me into your
envelope embrace
and those hearty compliments
that  I used to save up for calloused
malnourished days

I miss
you impressing my brother
with your dutifulness
and natural peace,
showing big bright flecks of acceptance
in your eyes

I miss
the lightness I would feel
the second I pulled into our parking lot
and saw your muddy shoes outside
our place

I miss
noticing the yellow parts of the day
brought by your soothing spontaneity

I miss
laying my wild heart down at night
and being able to close my eyes
without wasp anxiety
stinging the lining of my stomach

I miss sleep and
the way I used to be with you.
Pure     beautiful     lovely                and utterly unique

Being in love is like painting,
you get excited while creating it,
but when it's done,
it becomes nothing more but memory,
you can only think or talk about it.
And when it's sold,
it belongs to someone else,
you may or may not reach it,
and it can be sold again,
stollen or rarely borrowed.

remember when
you would write
all your poems
about me

how you 
carelessly
would leave
your breathless
i love yous
in between
each line
like a secret
between the
two of us

hidden behind
your words
were our
held hands 
and our
stollen kisses

and your 
written art
was our love
translated
into the 
language of
the stars 

you created
a tiny universe
with every
line and curve
of every letter
and it was
paradise 

yet those 
days are 
far gone

and our
universe,
our heaven
was swallowed
whole by the 
boundless waves
of oblivion

you erased
the romance
and replaced
them with
stains of 
infinite farewells

now you
hold a pen
like its a
loaded gun
prepared to
shoot

and you
stare at 
the paper
like a
selfish god
depriving
a blank galaxy
the beauty
of constellations

and i just miss
your poetry

i feel
like i have
been evicted
from my own
home because
i lived
in your words

i found shelter
in the pages
you have filled
with your messy 
penmanship

so with 
shaky hands
and a heavy heart,
i try to recreate
the phrases
you have
written with
your heartbeat

but nothing
compares
to the image 
of our love
immortalized
in your poems

I recall our high place
Where we worshipped on summer nights
Sitting on the pond bank
Watching the sky's reflection on the still waters
Every star perfectly mirrored
We skipped stones along the lucid summer sky
Paying our tithes with moist kisses
Eternity whispered in our ears with breezes
Prayers scattered along the waters edge in white flower petals
We two children, closer to whatever God resided then in our hearts,
Than we would ever be again
Our laughter echoed like church bells rang on Sundays for worship call
The moon, our reverend, calling our hearts
To The Great Alter of All That Is
Time was still and stollen
We lived then,
I go there sometimes still and think of you
Since you were plucked so carelessly as the most beautiful of lotus lillies
~A

The iron man stood on top of the cliff'tall as a house all rigen and stiff. He's big as a bedroom and faster  than cheaters. His head is big as a bus and the iron maan is tougher than a lion some of his body came off his fingers crawling away his ear  ran away oh dear, Has the sear stollen his ear? dont know the iron man walked in the sea to find his ear he went deeper and deeper the iron man's eyes turned red then green the the iron man could no more be seen......

The iron man stood on top of the cliff'tall as a house all rigen and stiff. He's big as a bedroom and faster  than cheaters. His head is big as a bus and the iron maan is tougher than a lion some of his body came off his fingers crawling away his ear  ran away oh dear, Has the sear stollen his ear? dont know the iron man walked in the sea to find his ear he went deeper and deeper the iron man's eyes turned red then green the the iron man could no more be seen......

She counted time not,
In hours or even days
But in stollen moments
Glances, caught
From loving eyes
Graceful touches,
Deemed "sins"
The wife of a beast,
Daughter of a merchant
She, the sold wares
Counting not, the hours of absense
But time gauged in wishes,
Her scarlet letter, blackened
Worn over her breast
Scars hidden,
Beneath fine clothes
She wears the jewels given her,
To blind onlookers
To the cloaking darkness,
That covers her soul

I'm all worn out I can never get a break
My brain hurts, this smile is one i've got to fake
All they want me to think about is school, school, school
But the only thing I can think about is you, you, you.
I've been trying to understand the way that you treat us all

You say no one cares
But is it really you who cares about no one?
You tweak when you dont get what you want
But haven't you had enough?
A 25 year long party seems too much
All the things you've stollen, all the things you have bought
Can't you take a look at what you've already got?

You're bitter and you're unfair
Your face is the one I cannot bare
Please look away because its something we cannot see
Eyes bulged out like you've drank too many energy drinks
Pupils small like you know that reality cannot be seen
Denial is a lot stronger then it may seem

The only time I ever see you now
Is in my dreams fire burning, vivid screams
Spirits crawling up and down the walls seams
Oh, there you are behind the window screen
Ma, pa?
You're never going to believe what I've seen.

i have fallin in love with him again,
i have try to push him away,
i have tried not to think of him,
he has stollen my heart from someone else,
from some one that i loved dearly,
im fallin in love with him again,

he held me for a long time,
he tried to kiss me so i pulled away,
he wants me back again,
he thinks he wont hurt me again,
im fallin in love with him again,

i dont know what to do,
its complicated right now,
is it time to let this guy go?
i want some one who can ease my pain and be with me forever,
im fallin in love with him again,

Pale , washed out and faded.
Your once rose tinted lips that lingered at my body and colourless hands that grabbed my bruised hips , hungrily.
Our stollen kisses wasted on tequila and messed bed sheets.
It wasn't perfect but it was real.

Practiced pain and misery memorised
A shawl swirling round but nothing is covered
—nothing safe
Little woman—

Why do you roam so free on these greasy roads
People—
people are everywhere, don’t you see?
Do you not know how easy a shell is broken
—how swiftly the pearl is stollen
Little woman— little woman
Where do you hide your crystal wings—
Did you sell them for some loaves of breads?
Don’t assure.

Your eyes bear no tragic fruit and
I wish they did— Lord, how I wish so!
Anything but this casualty
Placidity—
Have they long forgotten
the sky-high castles they were robbed from?
All those moon-struck crowns—
Don’t, don’t assure!

Don’t spread out that hand
Don’t show me that tight stomach
I beg you don’t show them that
stomach—waiting to be filled—
Where in the hell do you sleep?
Don’t you have a door to lock?
Don’t assure—

You priceless, prince-less little woman
Why do you roam so free on these greasy roads
Why do you beg? Why do you—
I wonder why I ask— I with my flowers and bees
wonder what I even know—

I have a vision of hope
For all  souls that yearn and are never sated
Those led astray by the world's misgivings
In the prime of their lives
I have the panacea

For all that despair
Who've watched their conscience stollen from them,
Their minds programmed negatively
With sadistic teachings

Leaving them craving for wealth and power
And then they can shed all the blood
till they fulfill their desire
I have a formula

I have a dream for change
To start the  conversation
Write the poem that will break  barriers
Unify all humanity
And begin transformation

Remind a brother of his mate
Living in the gutter
Turn all daggers into kitchen knives
And security budget to relief budget

Come join me on my revelatory path
We can achieve equality for all
We can cease all wars
Morality is engraved in everyone

Every person has some light in him
They might be murderous
A nightwalker's nightmare
But there is hope

We can turn on the lightswitches in their hearts
With love
Everyone lets give it a whirl today...
Love is all

I'm not good with words on paper
Or on my tongue.
They get caught in my throat.
Or stuck in the tip of my pen.
Sentences never string together.
But are cut and pasted.
Words carefully chosen and stollen from others.

With leaves fireworking
their last defiant blaze
against grey skies and the mud,
once again I forget to remember

the muted tannoy announces silence
for customers and staff
and the surreal descends
among the tins of peas and carrots

where the absence of the normal clatter
suddenly roars, catches in my throat,
the plaintive, Sally Army bugler
scoring the sadness in these aisles,
these isles

with two minutes passed,
the cacophony of the tide
of plant based diets
and too early Stollen returns
to wash over, to forget

Alabaster hands
I paint like I know you
but I am afraid
I paint like I know
the hours of holy songs he sung
when chip by chip
he broke his David
out of stone

but I mumble with a brush
polluted a tomb
with thievery and doubt
if I return to you
I will do so stollen
rolled up in bay and --
my Florence! I couldn't see you
I was lost

I could not be him
he unleashed, I hold
and now you wear his hands
like a beloved scar
and then you haunt my sleep
with your eyes of old

I am sessile, sterile - I doubt.
I cannot speak.
stone carved inadequate, for
I do not know hands
the venules and the etchings.
I could not learn

fiddling like a cricket
in the arms of leaf
I see him leap through ages
to come and observe
I am an artefact flaw
and him the sound perfectionist
he inspects fingers
as they stumble in paint
ever-looming, giant, bearded
with a broken nose

you, Florence! He steals
movement, instill it, gifts it
you wear it, then you watch me
with museum eyes
Good love,
I am no David
do not ask that of me, I may weep
stone in my hand
I sling stutter over my shoulder
and watch the forever tyrant grow

There is a plummeting within me
I reckon not unlike tumble ****
in a lone, stranded desert

That of violence
so long silenced
That of anger, and hail storms
upon freshly blossomed hyacinths

a smothered baby bird
or a tree towed down
Repressed,
the twigs and shrivelled seedlings
cry out
and dry gusts hear
One upon other lunges

And I, them weeds—
them weeds— and more,
a deafening brawl

Rolled, as wool, into an orb
That laughs an unkept,
dimming painting
Jumps over rocks
this wicked, rotten child,
And descends under still

Perhaps—
A brick that stumbles out the wall of my skull
and down my depths,
it begins to explore

The den
where an injured bird
snores bleeding
And ceramic bars that surround
Down still—

A churning, twisting furnace
Burning all menace to gold
And labyrinths
beneath
Restless as they warp
upon themselves—
Them groaning snakes

It plummets down still
past the stars
past the battered moon

On, on ’til the cracked rocks
Pull it under, under, under

and my steps feel heavy
A fat brick kiln burping within
And steam and smoke
strangely slither

Then one more brick breaks loose
then one more, then—

and there is a plummeting within me
Like that of beads from a broken necklace
They lurk
from flesh to flesh
Climb up my bare white trees
filled with mud

This faded landscape painting
claws down my spine
And ***** its stollen hues out
Like those

of battles
or slaughtered moths
Of old, crinkled terrors etched
with foolery
Hymns of fury undissolved
and those of naked, shivering sheep

a kitten’s skull
stuck down the drain

There’s a plummeting within me
terrifying, and disgusting; angry and
beautiful— all hyped up to scream
I fear the landslides will
carry me along
and I will let them.

Under the night—there’s a lake
beneath whose serene, silvery strands
blooms a city so filled with buzz
folks chock on it—
In the coal-coated sky, planes flutter;
billboards shine over gleaming malls
reeking of marbles and crystals and wealth
and little kings and queens prowl about—
ants dressed in facies—
and balloons breathe freedom
as children’s distracted fingers let them go;
blues and yellows—neons and pinks
and greys.

and overflowing pavements cuddle into the hysteric roads
winking cars, cursing vans—
honking and screeching and scratching
and laughing and—
Screaming? Shrieking!
Crying blood! Crunching metal!
A mother covers her toddler’s eyes
as pieces of flesh scatter around like confetti
A crowd gathers about what’s left of the—
human.

—ants before a rotten grape.
kings and queens with their buggies and guards
tiaras and lockets— arrows and darts
and the lights still smile, adds still run
and so does the blood—
and so does the dog with a missing limb
and so does the car that never stopped
Nothing remains of the flower, nothing of the bee
Statures jump out of ringing vans
men in suits— men too late.
They collect the pieces of steaks and the dog’s leg
and take them away.

and a slim lady cries, melting her smooth skin
A child, gawking, lets go his balloon,
A teen chocks on her wine—
footprints engrave in the clotting blood
Through the clouds, flies up the balloon
carrying the first scream, the first screech,
the panic of the driver who vanished,
the frenzy of city still as a corpse—
up, up into the breathing water —

another prince screams under his trembling crown
and in a wounded street far away,
whimper crawls out of a ravaged girl,
grubby boy weeps for his stollen rug
a woman curses, a girl trembles, a guy laughs,
a man sleeps, a lady paints herself, a cat dies, a trigger is pulled,
a cigarette is lit, a bottle breaks open a leg, a wolf howls,
a boy weeps in his bed
—a little whimper for each.

and little bubbles wade in her delicate waves,
the air pops those pomegranates open as
tongueless stories disperse around—
silent on her glossy lips.

and over her, the night sky yawns
as I crawl under her layers, and close my eyes,
listening to the sloshing waters, the owls far away—
begging for the bubbles to stop the screaming.

ich würde, vielmehr: schreiben
etwas deutsche:
graswurzel, das ja!
the ******* need more you
ponce of a mongrel saxon!
better deutscheland grammar?
we had our "solistice"
time-out... welcome tomorrow...
no point leaving
a workaholic out for no
apparent reason: best bet?
"look busy"... ******* furlong's
worth of "short"...

jump that! y'ah ******* dwarf
bridge-gap brigade!
der hobbitenvolk ar kommen!
der hobbitenvolk ar kommen!
nicht die kirschemäntel... aber!
noch die "unerwartet":
zeppelinpumpernickelhoppla!
- why am i bound to the scotch
nationalists? oh... i lived among them
for over three years...
the celtic remants...
perhaps edinburgh would be
the new dublin...

christmas... it's such a german "ting"
like... that irish celtic tad woz
zee timez... C'U... C'U... no...
no L8ER...

but i managed! everything i served on
the plate and placed on a table...
the oven-cooked tatties...
the parsley snippets...
the carrots... the garlic...
the peppers... the red onions...

what the **** am i celebrating,
now? i'm pretty sure, that,
whatever it was... will fizzle out
come post-christmas hangover of a tomorrow...

and a buckling-load-of-****-of-europe...
the same islander "english" mentality...
euro-trash continent...
this... belly-button of the world
english mentality...
you wouldn't suspect it among
the welsh, the irish, the scotch...

perhaps the united kingdom can become...
the next yugoslavia under charles the III...
does he keep his name?
does he? London is long gone...
just as Danzig was long gone...
when Venice wrote the blueprints...
an ancient folklore of a city state...

******* just interrupted something...
no... it wasn't the Royal Ascot...
the horses, ran, ran and buckled...
broke some legs and not being able
to fall asleep standing: were put down...
the greengrocers of betting had their harvest...

we'll still have the top hats,
the champagne "socialism"... the CLASS...
oh you have to remember the CLASS / CASTE
pseudo-hindu "oops"...
england will still be...
what scotland and wales could be...
the less timid bits and pieces of...
what could probably hang in the air
as the new yugoslavia...

"problem" being... it's an island...
it's unlike iceland...
and it's quiet unlike new zealand or...
or... japan...
it's... when...
alt vati pommerschen...
flüsterte in der kinderwagen
auf sachsen, und sagte...

the ******* think you're going?
******* yew-tree quasi-nomad
of germania? you're an imitation
hebrew... or you're...
you're not a: bayerischverwandtschaft?

as yes, christmas only makes sense
now... drinking from the amber spring
of the baltic...
some scotch runes in: mash-up...
easy, easy...

i can use this, acquired, language...
but i know the ******* will have their Ascot...
die sächsischweg...
ants-in-their-pants...
and now "they" think they're settled...
post-colonial imperialism bound
to a nationalist revival...
so much for having no nostalgia...
akin to...

the battle of Tannenberg 1410 -
the date 680 by St. Wilfrid...
such a date... a northern crusade against
the last pagans of europe:
the lithuanians... **** me, i don't need
to paint... the lithuanians and the other
baltic folk... whatever the hell became of
the prussians: who weren't exactly treated
as germans by the teutonic collective...

oh i'll sing the carol songs...
i'll sing the crusader songs... hey! pronto!
i'll sing that... baby jesus doesn't really do it for me...
i'll go and visit Catalonia where
the name Jesus is diffused...
ends up a hey-zeus construct...
a H'ezeus etc.... and the party is over...

but i could celebrate christmas...
if it was in german...
i don't know why... perhaps it's riddling
a masochism remains with teasing
the whole: "wunderbar"?

better still... when europe is cited...
there's that black-hole europe...
there's that... cindarella of europe...
that "missing link"...
between what the balkans served up
in the 1990s... the collapse of the soviety union...
how the 2008 economic crash didn't really
affect this region...
von unter die eisenvorhang...

island people: shire folk...
hobbits... you know the sort...
very idiosyncratic...
one minute a russophobe...
next minute... exotica of the siberian ooh!
aah! i have lived on these isles for...
it's not worth stating:
a better part of my life...
but i have lived... among...
the scots, the irish...
i teased the welsh...
and in London? the tower of babel came...
come to think of it...
the english have sort of reacted like
vermin... you rarely see them...
perhaps in oxford...
of ****... pakistani **** gang there too...

my bet is... elizabeth is "dying":
no she's not... seen that ***** on roller-skates?
seen her pre-house-of-windsor
Saxe-Coburg and Gotha teeth,
chin... and... what the hell and other have
they almost made... insufferable
in it being: signatured? the teeth,
the chin... the eyes!

saxons... jews of the germans...
nomads of the north...
it's not like they ever moved with
a hope for adventure...
when a saxon moves...
he moves with a sense of investment...
he brings his reproductive tools with him...
no wonder there was a feud between
the germans and the "germans": the saxons...
this is... what could not possibly be...
the basic interpretation of england...
past the "chernobyl" of the norman invasion...
how celtic became saxon became
french... became... a ******* cocktail
cosmopolitan...
but the welsh still retained their:
Cymru...
there you go...
white cross on a black canvas...
pirates!
Wales and Cornwall...
dip into a ditto-esque whatever...

the remains of the saxons when the global
cocktail decided to send a postcard from
'ere minding the cockney shlang as:
the proper way to speak... Estonian...
eh?!

bewildered germans speaking...
i don't even know what i am speaking:
it's not much of an achievement if you're
speaking english...
you're bound to suffer from a variant of
flu or fluke or slang...
it's not exactly regarded as:
high esteem latin... or hebrew...

pauper Poland: "where i'm from"...
thank god it's omitted...
never in discussions...
by western "proletariats"...
cheap beer in Prague while... Warsaw?
sowwy... not enough bi-lingual
tour-guides and trout ******* mothers
from the caravan of Zappa...

and we will beg to differ...
i don't come from a people who would
celebrate being conquered by ancient rome
had to matter...
yet somehow i write in Latin encoding...
imagine if... Latin encoding was lost
akin to cuneiform...
but it wasn't...
i did, i truly did...
miss the glagolitic transition via
greek into cyrilic...

invader kin: these slavs these indo-europeans...
it ***** up the narrative of the origin seekers...
these modern, "protestant":
afro-europeans of the YEST...
i say: part of the gesticulation of jesting...

among the saxons who disavow their germanic
heritage... thinking they could somehow
replicate the polish-lithuanian commonwealth...
last time i heard...
just because the scotch speak english...
but keep their: wee part of the equation...
the welsh still speak their welsh...
pen dal i fyny uchel draig...

what's the difference betwen...
the medieval Lithuanian...
and the modern Welsh?
what doesn't allow this "union" to sink
into a second Yugoslavia?
h'american influences?
the... "commonwealth"?
at what point sharing a tongue is a plus...
when anyone can start reciting a Bruce Lee
film: kung fu action packed:
chop sui?

augusta III sasa and
marii józefy habsburżanki...
the house of ßaß...
saxons... again: the hebrew of the germanic people...
the nomads of the confederation...
they always... need... to... move!
and if you find them not moving...
they settle for pyramids...
and i mean: pyramids without Giza
reliefs of archeological "findings"...

but there's a massive gap...
between europe... that "bit" in the middle...
and russia...
russophobia is quiet funny...
i'd still prefer to speak german when
celebrating christmas...
after all... i did make a fickenumbringen
when it came to that alcoholic cake...
nein nein...
nicht ein königskuchen noch ein
stollen! keks... kegs...
a rumtopf!

oh i don't mind the natives...
who are the natives?
where the **** is alice?
parasites leeches... sächsischumgangssprache:
wo / wann sesshaft...
are the natives the welsh with their
retainer tongue kept intact like...
the scotch? the ire hell and fire 'reesh!
who does it take...
to speak to the natives of these isles?

just wondering...
because the saxons that remained...
and the saxons that left...
have a ******* in las vegas...
glory be to man to be the man
on the moon...
and all that...

i spent this christmas and...
i didn't buy anyone anything...
i just undermined myself...
when in england...
feel at home, during christmas...
talk some german,
some german outside of a saxon
influence of being the jew-german...
moving from place to place...
****: ja ja... ich "versammeln"...
nomadin / se-my'tine... deutsche "mischling"...

please excuse the saxons...
they are a... frivolous bunch of...
hobbit seeking elven folk...
the chinese crusade and medicinal ivory powder...
apparently: those ****-*****-base-*******-stinkers
will grow! they have size 11 feet and are...
5ft6 tall... walking on chicken nuggets then...
or stilts... or... that chinese harem of:
tied feet and toe "heels"...

oh i'm very much in england...
i can just soak myself in wild...
belligerent humour...
i've dropped any sense of irony...
it's ridicule on steroids...
but as long as there's an element of being
self-deprecating?

poland is the cindarella of europe:
hungary is worthwhile the better return of
being an: examplar reminder...
of how to deviate from socio-political norms...

black hole piece of europe...
then again: in between russia and the west...
there's some variation of an "interlude"...
which is neither west, nor east, nor central...

ensure you keep a **** in the orchestra...
so foul that it would make
a cat jump running...
giggling... turning on nazareth's
hair of a dog... being reminded:
there's a cow bell in it being towed...
and what choir spectacular didn't ever use
a castrato?

- because if i wanted to retain...
rhyme and a formality of this tongue...
how would i ever feel comfortable...
nothing of the spectacular...
the everyday myopia magic:
how umbrellas became mushrooms
in the fog grey forest of the urban
amnesia...
because i too tend to forget a Mozart...
when i find myself...
falling asleep to the sound of falling
rain on a tin roof...
violin begone! cello begone!
give me rain on a tin roof!

i'll be your Muhammad counting
the number of bones in a body...
truly and vividly so...
i can forget Mozart...
when i fall asleep...
while it's raining and...
the monotone gives me bliss...
the same note: on repeat...
on repeat.. on repeat...
nonetheless: it's still to be regarded
as a polyphony!

dear mom
for the times i hurt you and lied to your face. for the times i told you i hate you. i watched you die and you took me with you . those drugs that took your life have stollen something presious. a poets pain deep inside my heart, i wish i could see you one more time, hear you laugh one more time a wish indeed it is to have you here . i miss the words i love you, i miss your beautiful voice, my heart breaks to hear the screams all over again. you said you would never leave me. you left me and i went with you

broken to shreds ,lost all hope ,for the pills you took are my nightmares and ,watching your heart stop was enough
to think i would of done something more than call my dad
i could of saved your life but instead i just watched '
im sorry i couldnt stop you i couldnt save your life

Ships lost at sea
Sea spray vandalized the decks
Her hair will fan her face like a main
The women has no breath twas stollen by the sea
Floats like a ghost
Pale she is indeed
Spices sink into the blue
Swallowed by the depth
Sails are torn, sails are failing
Along with stories not spoken
The graveyard is the sea

He’s dead, the *******
Last I saw him up the Bombax tree
Stealing wool out the clouds
Rolling it into ***** and
hanging them by the boughs

I cracked its hollow bones
He helped cut the rest—
Together, I tied them firm
And covered with leaves
covered with dreams
with paints

Houses, and red bushes,
and green birds I made
All, beneath them bruised skies, I placed
I gifted them all to him,
He hung them by the cotton *****
— by the fiery blooms
of that flushed tree
We carved songs out the dirt
Carved for the withered,
and the birds

He’s dead, the *******—
Chopped down the Bombax tree
and buried our flowers
— buried them breathing
My paintings, he nailed to the sky
Pieces of clouds lie bare in the mud
Where he planted a poem
and spilled his soul to
water the seed
that would never sprout

For the dead, we wrote,
—for the winged
They at my colours laugh
and I listen, and I listen, and I laugh
A dreamer that he was,
a dreamer he made of me
He lives there now, the traitor—
plucked the sleep out my nights
One by two by three by ten

Bombax tree, we joked, ******
red out the stilled
now we do not joke, now we’re still—
Red flowers stilled—
He’s dead, the *******
Chopped down our home
Left me with those empty boards
Red, his very own paint
Blue, stollen from the dawn

A thief that he was
a thief he made of me—
I, too, borrow yellow out the daisies
and trick these frogs into spitting green
But what do I paint?
He’s deaf, the *******.
Dumb, even—
What do I paint, huh?
The whole **** world’s
a painting gone wrong
What do I birth out these tired hues?
Last I did, he sold them to the wind
The *******—
beautiful, dead *******
Traitor—

Ruffled hair, love, ruffled hair
I tear open the ground above
you push out the wooden door
this room is but ever unchanged
your skin— a stollen shore

Breathe in, love, breathe out
waves upon come tip toeing—
scared then off by a nasty storm
dust feasts all over our flesh
I give in on you, our desolate norm

Sleep on, love, sleep on
I grab what here is left of you
one swift jump; away I flow
this starry night is— if unlit
your shy life: an empty, ebbing show

stay serene, love, stay serene
unmoving cloud, you dance like dusk
mirroring, above— I lovingly sway
I see a light beneath your shine
you this withered water shan’t take away

your skin— a stollen shore
this room is but ever changed
you pull in the wooden door
we lie along with ground above
ruffled bones, love, ruffled bones

—Night, night at last

i don't know what i want
but i do know
i am going to need
somebody who is
willing to be
patient
my heart has been broken
my voice has been stollen
i am no longer naive
to heartbreak
and i am afraid to
tell you what i need
because i am not asking
you to wait
but i hope that you
will stay

Him: I am sorry ma'am
For u have dropped this
I apologize you are a miss
For I am sorry I called u a ma'am
   (I thought to my self, look at her *******)
Her: She said this isn't mine, is this some kind of spam
Him: No it is not miss
for I have seen u drop this
Her: This is certainly not mine, she said,
Leave me to be, now u can dismiss
Him: Excuse me miss
for I do not work here
Her: U are excused, so now get out of here
Him: What have I done but only tried to be kind
Is there a problem with that, do u even mind
I thought I was helping u by giving u something u would have looked hard to find
But yet somehow u repay me by cruelness, u a person I do not know
And by that I don't care about u so
Leave it there on the floor if u wish
Someone else will probably find it
And then let's see if u mind it
HAS ANYONE SEEN A BLUE VELVIT SCARF
FOR IT HAS BEEN STOLLEN
FROM ME BY AN AWFUL DWARF
Him: I see the scarf there on the floor, out loud i said
Her: Then she looked at me and hit her head
Like of disappointment and unacceptancy
A tall giant man then came to me
Grabbed me by the collar and scolded me
As if it was me he was blaming
for his anger and it's flaming
And for the taken scarf he was claiming
I had stopped him at once
And told him I am not foolish and do not do stunts
For I know no female to give this scarf to
Or even would have dared to mess with u
For I have seen the escaping female
I have seen every detail
I could describe her for u if u like
But only if u promised me,  she u won't strike
I said, I think that she got on a bike
HAVE U REALLY SEEN THAT OR R U A PYSCH
No I said I am certainly sure
       Im ashamed indeed for that snitchneds I have done, as it was her I wanted to allure
But then again I was grabbed by the collar
But this time it was a person smaller
Him: I said, I have done it because it was u I wanted to find
I felt, with u by my side ,sighted not blind
Her: I apologize
For I have once said lies
As it was truly me
Who has taken it and didn't fast enough flee
Because I bumped into u
What I am saying now is true
Him: And what u have heard before was true
I really don't have someone to take the scarf to
But Will u be her?
For if I could afford it, I'd by u fur
Her: She said, I don't know what I might prefer
To be with u thief, or that Rich man standing there
But with him life would most certainly be a blur
So I would definitely choose u wherever nd whom even u were