Iyrll

Dirty Pot, Black Kettle Shhhh. I can hear you thinking. Hush. I can see you. Honestly, who are you? The stars are hidden by cloudy eyes, the moon is leaving and the ocean is in turmoil, waves swaying to and fro, with an intensity, of a woman scorned. White foam slapping the cliffs and beaches. Rioting. Rebelling. Humanity is bickering about the lies we've built ourselves to be. Squabbling like children over a toy, we argue about how life should be run. This country is a play house, where only 'special' people can join If I have enough money does that make me special? Happy, shiny politicians smiling wide with money ba

Write, beneath my feet, stories and myths that have lived longer than I. The cold mist travels chilling every part of me till my teeth chatter and my bones tremble in an empty garden, of plants long since dead. Every shadow a suspect, in the dim morning light, of feelings that are waiting to tumble out. A multitude of little voices battering around my brain pan. I am peachy. Birds sing for the new day, unaware of human matters Smiling, and my head tilted up, as the sun hits the fog spreading through what ever it encompasses warming what would be the death of me. Dew in the light of day reflects luscious diamonds. Which i

Eros, captured in glittering wine as laughter echos and speeches are belted from raucous drunken dreamers. Illuminated by flickering lighting, Plato, we speak of feelings that you feel we shouldn't show, It's a pity, you, bitter philosopher, humans are notorious for our emotions. Wanton. Hands meet at the palm then our fingertips, we lean in meeting, mouths showing what we can't tell. Hands fingers and a mouth. Affection, lust and love. At the navel where we were separated, Bitterness churns, a beast unsatisfied. The ghost of fingernails gently scraping, the nerves of my being. I'm sorry, boo these puzzle pieces don't always

Down the poorly lit streets of Boston donkeys in zoot suits yell for me, white foamy spittle flying from their putrid lips. Their voices follow after me, scathing and terrifying. I don't turn around, but let my feet take me away.                      Running, running, running. Away. I would joke that what I was best at was what I was doing.             Running, running, running. I laugh. My laughter trailing after my like dust on a road, irony trickling down my back as I turn a bl

Whiskey, a glass quarter full sits, glowing softly in the poor light. The glass is rolling in your hands tight, while my hand is held out for yours to fit. Sober, we settle to watch the leaves, we joke and laugh as minutes pass on by. In tandem we meet, eyes closed, hands shy. As we meet as two, now one, our chest heaves, I realize Boo, what it is we ha[ve]. It ends. Toppled over like your spillt glass. Yet, at this time I'm not sad to let it pass. In that time, what we had was a salve. I can't promise you a ring, Shugga, but for now lets tumble in the grass.

Repitition. tap, Tap, TAP, the essesnce of insanity is repeating oneself and expecting a diffrent results. . . right? RIGHT? Is love insanity? Is pain insanity? It must be, it fucking feels like it! loss is pain and i keep losing and Why for the love of god Why did I not think this wanst going to hurt? FUCK. I haven't lost him yet. but it's coming, like the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach I know I'm losing him. Second by Second Day by Day the days we shared and the memories we made are leaving him I'm losing who I once knew so well And I'm Angry, and I'm scared I want to scream and demand why he isn't fighting I know he's trying

The blue sky that never ends the dry grass that we tried to keep alive crackles under my feet all hints of my childhood are long gone the apple tree that i climbed the pear tree that broke one windy day denting the fence but leaving our humble house be nostalgia rises and this feeling in my chest tightens the tears pool to the side and i'm homesick i want to stay but i don't fit the mold any more i walk past the graves of those who meant the world to me when i was younger. those old wounds have scabbed over with time as its ointment red and pink flowers bloom of the wounds and painful memories growing and twisting and binding me

Blue about a girl I ache. scale my pain cry as she elaborates deep heaving some dead pieces lather bitter metaphors says a sculpture with an arm welded on who can whisper why we never ask than to know see an electric silhouette try at suffering abstract masterpiece they bare my messy life live life raw we must demand she is there boldly shimmering, a fiery, worldly woman.

My blood is pumping like a roar of a Harley and my heart races adrenaline addles my brain and I cant think straight were smiling and laughing talking about anythingandeverything
 and I'm wondering if you hear what you do to me I hope not.