Brute

Sweet unwholesome beast. 

Dost though cower to anything? 

Would thine life matter, mine? 

Your eyes are holed teeth, 

Ravenous like the death of day. 

Hollowed out and shelled, the spirit of Gaia, has been replaced by other foreseen nothing's. 

Light evades you, and lost is the only way your veins grow.  You are jolted,  and will it do good to tame you, creature? 

Beast, so brute and beautiful? 

 

My tongue parts, soothing you, yet somehow I sense, it is wooing for flesh. 

Food there, and you're ready to tare. 

I will never forget you, 

When they take you away. 

When they take me. 

I think I loved you. 

I think I know. 

And it has been beyond you, beast..

But it had never stopped me..

  From doing so. 

I will spend a life time understanding it, 

And not. 

And since you are the brute, you think me weak, I think. 

But I know

I think, 

I think 

Not. 

I am honored to love you, Creature. 

Beautiful Beast. 

Even as ever, it may remain beyond you. 

Love, beyond no man. 

And in love, perhaps you will be made whole. 

This day, or lifetime, 

         Ahead. 

The Driftwood Tao

As the first opening at dawn, eyelids drawn, 

I awake once more, in one many more, 

Of so many more days to come..

Until they simply

Won't. 

As breath, and whatever this silly notion is they call our heart, 

You are there, 

Looking in on me; and the both of us blind. 

In a skylit grey glow of bright haze, 

The birds chirp, as ever, and I still arise one more day with the thoughts of you, that seem now to have become a part of me.  

Sometimes I relish and sometimes I lay abed the sullen sunken draft of what had been done. 

Cowardice is Nuclear, and yet still, 

Here are I am 

     Loving 

            You, 

Angelic 

As 

       Ever, 

  But never far from the fall. 

I miss you everyday, as though someone akin had died and passed. 

Fighting most days not anymore with HOW I could love you, 

But just that 

It had broken before we could see it. 

And just that, 

You were well versed in cutting a rabbits skin. 

No, instead now,

Most days have happened as to configure that death, was the same thing as love. 

And love at a distance. 

And betrayal, like your own battalion, throwing you into enemy hands.  

You saved me. 

Since your desire was only to poison  the bird. 

Instead, 

You let me free. 

Breath. 

  Breathe. 

  The morning again. 

A morning long without you. 

A blessed, 

And strange fate. 

  Waiting. And living. 

Free, from our cage. 

Free. 

Free to love you still. 

 Free to forgive.  

Free to quit questioning why. 

 

And so...

Just free. 

Unshackled. Unbound. 

    Grateful. 

The Doorway

My world is a window, and doorway; 

Cat urine staining what I'd arise to in the morning, with a surprisingly synced harmony between violin soundtracks and birds arising to the sun in song. 

Torrential cries, and heard beside, 

My door, in the doorway closed. 

On the otherside, is a pacing, tormented soul. Heaves, as a Siamese does, 

The cries are almost unbearable, screeching things, 

As is to wake me from a peaceful walking dream. 

Perhaps that is what my life would be like, if so much nasty hasn't starved to thrive in this world. 

Differently now though, 

Like a gesture of gratitude, 

I find a stripped animosity, and a vested worship, for...

I would know no peace, 

If not for the bared extremes of so much 

Nasty, 

In this world. 

And almost all has silenced now. 

The birds rest, as the violin does not play, 

And the cat besides my door only paces. 

A helicopter shakes the sky in a close enough distance, I am used to catching it at now. The birds bolster back up slowly, in chirps and squirmeshes...

As life goes on

And I find the gift God gave me, 

As energy from every last thing endured. 

I have found sanctuary in but one simple philosophy, taking each day, 

Simply one

At a time. 

Bad days roll over, as do great memories, people, and time in our lives. 

They come. Then gone. 

And they mean everything; 

But so does 

Letting them go. 

That, 

Is the harder lesson. 

The one that hurts, that faces loneliness, and underprivilege. It is the lesson of Humility rather than Grandure; and the face of curiosity over certainty. 

The lesson is to love hard, not hardly. 

The reason is to stand, but to come by knowledge to do so rightly. 

And then. Not to judge. 

But to love. 

And to find peace through the empathy of others. 

 

I walk. 

What seems like a dirty road; it is. 

Never easy, always making adult decisions. Making terrible decisions no one should have to face. 

But I have. 

I do. 

Finding not the fault I once did, in surviving, or legality...

I have watched the world fail to Tame me; 

Wildly Free to Love, 

And to Love insanely. 

Passion, on behalf of these people, like my own, and this World, as a vestige I am enthroned to protect...

I am insanely, wildly, passionate about my people. 

It is the peace, the duality, the reality, of the fight. A spiritual principle of such duality Darkness is atrocious at magnitudes God creates Miracles everyday.  They are realms endeavored upon, but lost to our comprehension.

They are the doorways upon which we are forged, and the the graves upon which we arise from, 

   Changed forever. 

And forever changed. 

   I am guided, by failing limbs.  

'Til death do us apart. 

God and I. 

And the Prophets doorway- 

A human Hell, a warrior's terrain. 

A place....

     Where all is stripped from us. 

There may be rings on my fingers, but my  soul is naked and drenched, my skin fair, and bound by nothing but my body. 

To it, I am a slave. 

   God, the Master of my Heart. 

 

It is the Doorway. 

And I am ever in between. 

At deathbeds

No, it might be, that I'm not supposed to

Love you, 

Because we know love is a silly thing 

Wreaking havoc. 

My love for you is almost havoc; 

Save for the peace of soul you have shoved me into. 

Loving you, has been a genuine resurrection into loving myself, 

And learning man again, 

(If you could call it that). 

It is raining outside, just the way I like: awake and at night- 

And I think of you as I often do, 

And wish for some reason that I still had your number... 

( and respect). 

Love is truly a lotus. Rare but not terribly 

uncommon; using wasted nutrients and abundant mud mass to become a awe-ful beauty. 

Rare indeed. 

It is I who have won. 

And you. 

I will love you forever, regardless. 

How guard-less.

How sabotaged, you'd dared me. 

How relished I became, lapping it up. 

Seeing now, 

What you'd meant. 

And laughing; 

And horrified. 

Because I lost. 

And you lost. 

Until we bet another hand. 

And the luck comes in Aces, or timing, or fate. 

I love 

 you

Always.  

And it is your win. 

And my loss. 

Until we're dealt another hand. 

Who will win, 

At deathbeds? 

Unhinged

Paint me docile, ( you son of a bitch!) ehem, 

While I correct my smartphone's auto correct mistakes, 

And stumble over the joke itself! 

Paint me Fuckin Docile!!!! Ha! 

Try. 

Words are formed, 

Everywhere, from everybody, 

As if they are relevant and superior to others' formations of. 

I calculate, and forget, and scramble 

All too often- paradoxical traits all abided by me. 

My mind's madhouse is an Einstein's desk of calculated storehouses from different sources. References and files I abed away, to return and flip through. 

The Smelting Address

Garnered. 

Shaped. 

I lay my head on the white railing, peeled and coming out of the cement. 

Dreams, far off, while life is a snapping finger, for me to "hurry; hurry up!"

My experience is stale- yet I have never become more alive...

I tremble, heart to heart...watching love so inevitably die. And grow. And live. 

Nothing is basic, so I stare at the would-be world, and watch them. Watch them all. Even when I pretend not to notice. 

Screening reactions, sometimes it feels so good to just let it out. 

But she does cry often. 

Comparing the broken against the broken, I have become rubbled bits... 

Loving others, even less whole- trying to forgive it all, that this is my lot in life. 

Words echo, and I must remember to put mirrors to their faces, and reminders to their heir. I am wandering no more, lost woman. Losing myself, I may be. 

Doubts creep up like roots and join with my heart- snare or connection? I love like leaked mass all over white clouds, because simply, God gave me spectacular eyes to see with. 

And while they Drench their women in deceit, I see still the small essence of love underneathe, and forgive even the most cowardly. Forgetting that to do so, tip-toe's my brave.  

It is a pointless dip, in a mighty pool, to love, the way I do. Fallen. So wretchedly in love, with beauty the way I do. Forsaken, for bimbo's and mean things.  As I tread so not to be, and fall short; 

Raised by wolves and growing with snakes, I must learn the charm of all things; moon and men.  

They will never know how I have loved the each of them. Watching them pass it all by. For something so small sometimes. 

So small.  

I suppose it is the means that would justify the end, to these...."types", I hiss...

For they may find happiness in luxury and idol things. 

While most simply, I can not, 

When there is a lulling by the drenched under sea, that has been my life through birth. 

The eyes, I see through, rapturing.  

I pour my smelt tears, and ash, and blood all over this fire, 

For loving has been my every 

Way 

In. 

Initiation. 

I can not tell, if to stay, is like waiting for the lava to stop at my feet or Bury me. 

I love hollow things. Seeing their vast in ways, perhaps they ponder on. 

And ineffably in ways, they will never fathom. 

I loved man. 

Time and time, 

  And time again. 

Breathing myself to sleep, 

Breathing you out. 

Every night. 

With every breath. 

Because you refuse to love as I have loved thee. 

And this to most man. 

And this to every. 

Dark Magick

I will refrain, like the witch in the night. 

I will obey the will, as not to manifest it, by Ego's Oligarchy. 

I have had so much time to perch, on the bonsai of my own mind; 

To dance, and flee, and bombard, and travel, and run.  

I have had time on the banks of two moons, and seen so many a thing, my skin tingles with memories unknown to me. 

I ask Eywa. I ask Eywa. Gaia. Mother Earth, and the hissing in my ears like high buzzing is no unexpectation. It is deciphering, that takes the time, so I 

Close my eyes. 

I am breathing him lately. And he is everywhere, when I close my eyes or think. I know it is love, 

But has love cursed me? 

Before I could ask God's forgiveness, for being so weak... Spoken back to me, was "not to"-"There is simply nothing to forgive here; not even yourself. You have glimpsed being done with this already. It is time now, to grasp your power".

I want to love him... But it almost seems that he makes me weak? But it is perhaps just illusion I chase, I can not tell. 

Too much is untouched. And the cat in me pokes curiously with the crow and the fox, Deer Medicine guiding me. He...is a Wolf. 

Two moons. 

Long ago.  

Tingling. 

Calling. I close my eyes and feel you calling. Dis-coursing me, you do. As you have always done.  'Tis what I love about the Earth. The dark magick of Love- the only natural dark magick there is. Neutral, but so so jaded by man. 

I am merely a woman, trying to love you, and not. Hear you calling so how can I ever let go? The only way I say, is to force you out, perhaps as you have done me. By remembering every reason you gave; one enough to despise you a lifetime. 

Why then, Old Owl, have I loved you so unjustly? Unfairly? Unconditionally? With so much forgiveness? 

You, are a dark magick, my Long Love... 

And I am once again becoming all too aware, of what is here, really...

Between us.  

The chords call. I feel you. Miss you. Hate you. Love you. In Darkness. As in Light. Neutral, Bitter, and Wise. Growing still. Leaving you, with me, and behind. Loving you into Eternity, no matter what you've done, forgiven you already. You may have smeared my name sideways and painted my face in red; but it never changed the girl you tied up, and left for dead, dear Love. You may have never seen me, but that didn't stop me from loving you, and loving you now, above all else. Really just because, something said. Call it Dark Magick. Call it Love. Or Sickness. Or Kindness. Or Compassion. Make me a fool, for loving you, and I will seek to resign that pain.  For Loving you, child, has never made me weak. You...have kept me on my knees.  

This is why...I will always be walking away...and towards you.  

The moons beckon. I am a heathen as well..to rage, and inhalation, and you.  I am a heathen too. Still, a shadow is cast where once I had my wings my love. Hell bent. We are both, just so hell bent. sometimes. I swear, I was sent here to love you.  You, never leave me.  But I leave you everyday.  And everyday, I have said goodbye.  That has been the nature we have created between us.  

I am remembering now. 

Remembering things I'd shut out. Remembering things long ago. 

Remembering. 

I love you. 

I can remember and know that at the same time. 

I can see how I felt then, so strong, and understands now, what of that has not gone away. 

I know you today better, love you better...forgive you...even if I am afraid to. 

My compassion has always put me at your feet. And on my knees. Looking up at you...in your dreams. In ours. Linked in death and sickness, and fantasy, and foresight.  Linked in pleasure and pain, and a killing game. Bound. Like a curse. But a Natural One.  

Love. 

Love...

Love's Hollow Grip

Dear Man, 

I am a simply girl; simply complex. 

And when you put your hands on me, I melt like I have not been fed. 

It is simply penetrating, leaving images and impressions for later, 

Of your hands around me, 

And the way, they made my body shudder. 

What is simple for you, is like breath to me- a reason to breathe.  Your touches edge, reeling me in, when I know my intentions are ill now. 

I can not want this, something that is not mine to want, but you press it, and I let that seal impress upon me. 

Your fingers, on my body, is something I need, craving always and hungry, 

As a stray to this worldly place. 

Covet not I remind myself, as I watch old molds unfold. 

You love her, yet reach for me; tease, and say things, she would never want to see, as you put your bare hands around my neck, and warrant a trespass I could be too akin to. 

Your touch is a hollow love, I feel. I'm supposing it is hollow, because you are man, trespassing, and luring in. 

I am a simple girl. Needing love. In a pin full of wolves, and clucking. 

Your touch has been enough to fulfill my days and bring warm-ness back into my heart. I am alive again. Smiling. Baring. 

And now needing, what I shalln't. Your intentions, unknown. But I imagine they can neither be warm nor deep. 

Yet you reach for me, your grip upon my neck and I melt. You give me craving for something unknown. You. 

And I believe that it must simply be wrong. Though everything in me wants to cave. For I am a simple girl. And touch is love to me. Before it breaks into hollow ruins. 

Yet there is love there, is there not? 

I am a simple girl. 

But no Bafoon. 

 

I wonder how much love is for my kind. Mostly because it falls to ruins, as these battles are fought. 

Weary, and old at heart, my youth forsakes me, much like your hands.  

All I need in the world, right there...

Just not available.  

A simple girl. 

A simple story. 

Re-run, as devastatingly tragic. 

She never gets the girl. Never gets the guy. And this world, was never meant to bare her here. 

Peace...

                    a far-off dream. 

The Swallowing

The world continue's to flutter, 

Like film reel, constantly in motion. 

I am the one who stops often, looking around; to look around. 

I must have been a part of a great swallowing at birth; for I am the walking memory of a living laceration, that breathes beneath my flesh, like the blood that keeps my body in motion 

With the film ever running. 

Melting away, has been the singularity of who I am, as I bleed in motion, and look around watching others just the same- they become a part of me; each time, I lose what I was, and become something more, AND scorned. 

A red cape on a high bank, signaling...Erie, as the wind resembles materialized being. 

She is an idea. A revolution. A riot. A reason. But an illusion. 

I am the red cape, not the imaginary girl, of wind you think whom is wearing it. 

The words escape me; for years. 

I have become lost in the long winding within; journeys, like holograms, and thirst as real as sight.

Sometimes, I can no longer see a separation between our eyes. Strangers know my tinge intimately, though not me. And I know their cut chords, their censored worship, their hidden dance, and their gagged voice. I know these motions, better than I know myself, in all my boundaries, and with all my imaginary walls, stacked towards heaven. 

Stick

The feelings want to sabotage; 

Nothing sticks, except for the synapses of these re-occurring emotions, like triggers, waiting to bust. 

Because nothing sticks. 

What comes first, love or the fuck? 

And while I know, nothing sticks, 

Not love, so certainly not THAT fuck..

And I am beaten and worn down from nothing sticking, and getting stuck 

Constantly. 

The fuck. Life, is a game, is a cunt, bitch, dick. 

Cuz nothing sticks, 

But I'm always getting stuck. 

The Dangling Vines

I leave my life dangling. 

She knows the dew drops of dawn, as morning tears and sweat. 

She is the devil that rides in cloaked flesh, and given the chance for redemption. 

We intertwine, dangling some more, as flowers become the blossom of our love on two branches. I make anew, where love was, 

As love will ever be, 

And as I will let it fly from me, and fly away, into another life once more. 

A Nail in the Coffin

That was not what he was...

But what life has been. 

The Think

No Dear, 

    I do not work linearly. 

My mind, she is a vast deep, dark whole. 

 Answers to no one, there are claws that screech as my abyss. 

Detrimental and wrapped in paper planes, and the light they fly on. 

  Dreams cost nothing..

And everything, 

All at the same point of time. Point in. Time. 

Perceptions are like masks, but the eyes, we will always see through. 

In a language we may not understand, I simply observe half the time, a mere child- 

     That is all I can do.