Wow. That's like a punch in the face from someone knowing the truth to the one wanting to deny it witty!
Wow... This may be short, but is really beautiful!
A little less than ComplicatedThe hour,
and benign affection.
stand a shadow
of this place
close to midnight,
but never is too late.
to wither in decay.
monotone from my
and absent the
now torn away
like nothingness, it grated.
Never said I love myself
when I stand my ground and its more than a little
Never said I hate myself
when I drag me down and its more than a little
Never said I lost myself
when I can't be found and its more than a little
Never said I held myself
as I hit the ground and its more than a little
They Yearn for an Old Glory
Her story, her emblem razed
and former to glory's prone.
outstretched by the arm and lambent glow.
She once led by the sluice of their
famishing hordes as if a river surged
then abrade of an ocean-
a gait that so impressed
was their endless attain
when they burned with freedom,
left coursed to
light still, the way
for each promise staked but did ever stay
its hue, as to destiny still looming
and over the lasting yarn,
all but a sheltered, gray;
all but this tattered few.
It was now a dre
Faith around her FingerThe hollow, perfect circle.
A ladies perception
influence to sphere
my will and consolidate
madness won't remember.
I sank into my chest
to still my heart
I cast wearily,
as to kiss without
like a tongue, hollow,
and her cruelest feature
for the fool
but no palate for his desire.
The Winter Balladclaiming the
of many clouds
Love is a Memory
I am the callus over
your feme sole,
where once we bed
nostalgic is our clash
onto its knees
Edacious as to wroth, once roared.
sully and inspired
as any candid ear
to draw like
when so gently,
Sunlight and Torpid Bliss.Carless nature. Pessimistic of
tinctured into azures gradation and penumbra façades.
Thoughtless as wings to strum
the vocal air,
nor whim of its limbs.
I care not about darkness aged onto the grass;
Not for all the quiet hours
of a grey
and thoughtless, memory.
The Pole of Two ExtremitiesI am all
left in me
Ours. The sea. Shoal from its deep.
I am where
you left me
shore unwanted of its memories
as promises are meant to be.
We could have had it all
from that shit
you called a heart
like fathomless and dark
Lest have the oceans
Lest drift like endless, past
Lest drown in shallow
love of lies
where once, I follow
deep and endless fathoms.
meant to be
ventured deep and held on tightly.
like dark in the abyss,
that shone too brightly.
Breathe through me
as to exhale,
a final breath
of what we had
my lungs do not expel.
Lest the air,
late like memory
in retrospect, can't tell.
teen sitcomshe's a carousel of lovers; bow before homecoming queen
built from holy Roman marble and a pound of Maybeline
a hundred cameras catching teeth; unconscious girl out the door
friendship bracelets slipping off and melodrama turns to gore
cherries popped beneath high-heels; pulses slow down to a crawl
no more teacups, dolls are gone- big girls play with alcohol
ShadesI'll lay you down upon this bed,
Eyes blinded with a strip of black cloth.
I'll take my time to circle around you.
Enjoying the light aroma of fear and sweat;
Mixed with just a hint of excitement.
I'll see your legs pushed together,
Perhaps in anticipation.
Or would it be the butterflies;
That dance a shade of scarlet upon your cheeks.
I'll take my time to run these fingers
Along your soft milky white skin.
And even before you part your lips to confirm it,
I'll already know that you belong to me.
And in this dark harvest of season
My life has completely lost reason,
For which or against to decide.
All lost in a savage and endless, bleak tide
In sadness and in kindness
In light and in darkness.
In a boat made of hope
I shall sail to tomorrow,
In a winding hurricane
Made of treachery and sorrow.
There's a spear, endless, and colossal spear...
Piercing, slashing though my head.
Starting somewhere in heaven,
Ending somewhere in hell.
Fighting, burning, crying, crashing.
Are the armies within.
In my head they are all thrashing.
On the heaven's and hell's whim.
To be light or to be darkness.
A perpetual array.
It's not merely my choice,
But the choice of the way.
It's an option of the voice,
It's a thin line of gray.
Is it a choice forced by fate,
Is it a pre-set time and date?
Or a choice to which I myself sway?
But here's our story anyway .
"Nothing that I do will matter.
As all things will merely shatter!"
All my hopes thus darkness scatter,
As it shoves me a decree.
As it si
RainShe was bloated, swollen in her
Own melancholy moisture
Threadbare at her contours
Unravelled into gray woolen
Strings, too loose for her skin
And they drained off her shoulders
To pool in a waxy heap by her
She was rounded by opaque
Moons, liquid apricity. The life
In her womb churned, awakening
From quiescence. Her being
Shuddered from the maelstrom within
And in a great wailing cry of woe
Her waters burst in a ferocious
She roiled under each contraction
As unearthly poetry thundered from her
Throat, emblazoned with lightning. Her
Child is birthed, swaddled in her failing
Body, decrescendo heartbeat.
And as the babe breathed, the wind
Abandoned her shallow lungs,
The Night VisitShe arrives on time each night,
With a flurry of quick footsteps,
Followed by a timid knock at my door.
The reply I give her is often curt,
'Enter,' I'll say
And she does.
I spend a moment taking stock of her appearance:
Noticing bare skin beneath a heavy brown coat.
A few droplets of sweat run down her neck,
And she swallows nervously as she awaits my instruction.
I approach her slowly;
Enjoying this moment where the distance closes.
My eyes take their time to pull her into focus,
And like a bolt of awareness she becomes vivid;
Her lips a sparkling red and utterly lush for a kiss...
Her eyes are doe-eyed and completely tame;
Her makeup is perfect, as I've always liked.
But I can tell, beneath that flawless surface,
That it was rushed under a dim streetlight.
At this point our lips are separated by a bare inch,
I like to leave this distance as I stare into her eyes.
I enjoy the way her breath quickens as I ask her the question,
The question that beg
The Death that is Left BehindI.
the layers laid,
alone is a man who scrapes
outward. He is
like the child fallen
down a deep well, who
sees the way is up and yet
scratches stone walls
instead--the flesh of
fingers giving way, symbolizing
a waning vivacity sealed
in the center of his diamond-hard
Sound is a physic; music, a friction--
white hot motion to motionless
souls. It is pain and heat, terrible
and beautiful, healing, and the death
that is left behind.
progress reportthe astronauts never returned and neither did the news
in my hands i fold a megalithic pigeon
the take-home message is: the cosmos is a cold dead bitch
as you sleep under magazines, waiting for nothing.
in the shackles of a sterilized den, there's an actual
mastodon heart, pale and glassy pink, icy film
tightened like a fist; - and the scientists despair:
it's the morning of the opening,
then the few slashes of paralyzing waves.
like a sign we'd make when we were younger, a way to disarm
a bandit, or a preacher
or the oncoming horde of space invaders.
but the drawings you sent to venus never returned,
and now the crack,
and the scientists at a loss before the angered public.
they release a report that states that the floodgates opened
by themselves, that the valves erode
like the chalky sand that will swirl and hiss
Not My Kind of Fairy TaleDon't give me the Knight
Whose armor shines so bright.
Give me the Knight,
Whose armor is dull and broken.
Whose horse is weary,
Whose heart is heavy.
Give me the Knight who looks at the dragon with pity,
For that dragon has done nothing,
And is just as imprisoned as the princess he guards.
Don't give me a princess who only wishes to be saved,
By that Knight whose armor shines so bright.
Give me the princess who wishes to escape yes,
But wants to free the dragon,
Who does not wish to marry her savior--
Nay, give me the princess who wants to explore,
Who wants to live and to learn.
For the years of imprisonment only made her yearn,
Not for the Knight whose armor shines bright,
But to see the world and live in the light.
Do not give me the evil dragon,
Whose soul purpose is to give that bright Knight something to fight.
No, give me the dragon who is weary,
Who longs for the freedom of the sky,
Whose leg is burdened with chains,
And whose heart aches for the princess he must guard,
AnimeAs soon as i saw Anime on Tv I was happy to see it played,
I Like inuyasha, FMA, Naruto and many others but why?
At 34 years old loving anime, isn't this strange?
Loving Anime is loving someone
You cherish it forever
Until You die but Anime is Amazing what they can do today..
Its in 2-D, 3-D and CG's But no matter what,
Anime to me will always cherish me into my heart and soul
When i was younger Anime never existed,Why?
Anime will stay into the younger kids today,
Anime will rule the world maybe someday?
What can you do not without a pencil today?
You Can draw Anime,
You Can always give you're best shot to draw even if you're not good enough,
True isn't it?
You can put Anime on Tv, on a website about everything,Anime Kick Butt.