From this angle, she see’s the universe,
the infinite promise of light in dark
and ponders if believing is perverse
Like the damned wishing on eternal stars.
likely soon he’ll skin the flesh from her soul
bleed her dry till she’s tender on the tongue
shelling the carcass upon an old knoll
ripping at rotten scars where life had stung.
And she’ll tumble, doe legged into headlights
the scattered remnants of one’s own soldier
fettered to the darkest skies of twilight
falling nude at the hands of her poacher
Perhaps we pander to the passing planes
Thinking them stars, just spectators of shame.
This isn’t my pen, someone stole my pencil, My thoughts are caged in empty milk cartons ready to post “wanted” pictures made from trace. Tattered and torn half arsed ink stains I write in vain. The butler stole my tea, gave me toast buttered both sides then dropped me from the greatest height My ego has a pain My heart refuses now to beat My soul, deciding it’s a game, gave up trying to be brave. Reality is a blast bound in kinky, curly leather straps, molecules for the black light and rancid eyes watching, waiting, praying… This isn’t my pen sticky fingers and licking tongues toxify my ink with fugu juice injecting the heart vain, hooked up to the needle dulling, nullifying, I’ve sent her into excile Coventry for lovers abandoned my muse to the dungeons for her crimes but the prissy little bitch, took all my fucking lines… Now my ink is going limp erectile dystunction without the blue pill I’m just another writer stuck between the trees with nothing to say just words to up and kill….
The body, when perfectly whole Without cut, scar or gaping hole Is a vessel of beautiful perfection Radiating aura without detection of cast of entities from darker sense…
Each cut, scar, hole leaves open essence protection fails as they seep in heavy thoughts they always bring feeding on energy, power drives on reality is rewritten, they become strong.
To cleanse, to hide, to meditate is never quite enough to fight for holes in auras outer shield are the reason for the magnetic field They deceive, come in many guise
Such power they feed from mine so wise, S’not you s’not me, they choose just feed are blind in choice beyond holes of sieve Such holes they must be healed To regain your protective field.
Even in distance across time and space healing occurs from source trace, All is needed, permission granted intent is thought a decision planted Allow me, and I will remain silent till thoughts quenched end of violence.
… And as the pale sun burned fiercely through wandering thoughts she tucked away the delicacies of her soul, ran her fingers through blush pink silken threads, muted green satin bows, gently stroked rich purple velvet and pressed delicate feathers to her lips. She closed Pandora’s chest, not turning the key. Her secret? Beyond titanium lays the intricate threads of a candy floss soul. Rays of sun upon deep breaths tickling her tongue, she knew, with trust must come vulnerability… And as the pale sun burned fiercely through wandering thoughts she left the chest open, knowing it was time…
On silent whispers of Jack’s nimble fingers she feels the frost clawing at her innocence. Blind eyes and deaf ears, the street dancers set eyes on prey, and move and swing, in ancient ways. As Jack’s nails etch and sketch permanent scars upon the souls delicate skin, this veil, oh so thin. Oh so thin, as darkness frosts and etches…