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RewindWhat is that nonsense?
Do you indulge in dreadful, dark feelings to know you are alive? Enjoy drifting and feeling meaningless and meagre? How easy it is to be small and helpless, hopeless, weak and timid and out of control. Reliance, dependence and desperation are delicious to you. It is out of your hands for the most part. If you cover your eyes it will go away and we can stop all this worry and nonsense.
One. Press the button. Two. Press another button. Three. Instructions end here. Stand on the edge and go no further. There is nothing beyond worth seeing.
PauseSearching for that tactile feeling in a world of distant separated conversation. Can’t find the words, the touch; the vibrations are not how I imagined them.
Lackadaisical, listless, lazy, meandering, less astray and lacking aspiration than to loop.
Ha ha ha. Losing. Life.
Misunderstood and without understanding of the consequences of inaction and inadequacy.
Fragile, frail, fractures are not a fear but an eventual certainty. What can you do about that?
That Rave feelingIn the dark.
In the cold still of the night:
The endless machinations
with seemingly no end in sight.
In the early morning hours when frost begins to bite...
There is a sound.
An ethereal, ephemeral sound,
Born in moments of pure energy and ecstasy,
Trained In the underground arts
and powered by sheer delight.
It is melodic
It will come within the moment
It will speak as if touching God
and understand your plight...
They call it music
(They call it hard trance)
I call it my love
(and it beckons me to dance)!
The musicThe music is you
The music is me
Don't think, don't predict
Let it flow through your veins
In rushes and cascades:
Pure vibrational energy -
A synergy of fury and passion.
Catch the beat
The music is who we are
And what we live for
Now drop the beat!
CornucopiaThere is nothing dark out here,
seemingly no place for it to hide
in this cornucopia of rolling hills and sunken valleys.
It was not the actions of a friend,
merely a reaction to this harsh and revealing landscape:
momentary longing for a hiding place -
something less than a total truth,
but more than a shaky lie based on a warped philosophy;
where were we really going?
What would we find when we got there?
The only certainty was
that all this nothingness gave one too much time to think.
Why not keep going? We'd just end up where we started anyway.
Time warpGaunt amorphous figures. Sway side to side up and down,
Their joints creaking and scraping in eerie unison
Bone against bone as skin stretches tight
beneath a barely extant second skin:
The sounds of the 80s
A rocky horror timewarp without the pleasantries of ghosts or transsexuals.
Asexual, metrosexual, androgynous.
Look the same, want the same, dance the same:
wheres your originality ?
It's time to go underground where the party's at.
AbominationA burning pillar strikes the moon,
the sun rays kill the cold.
The failure seldom leaves the room,
He is not as mature as he is old.
He is a burning pillar of rage;
a useless un-fecund sight.
Wisdom cannot not match his age
nor his failings be seen as slight.
He is the king of a falling world;
apathy his first knight.
For his sins, from Aegaleus, he is hurled
into unforgiving night!
Lie to youFailed synchronicity
I am below and she above.
False words are an atrocity
destroying worthless love.
I awake as she sleeps
mind awry with dismay.
He gives and she keeps
and burns our love away.
Veiled secrets thrive;
I sleep in my world of lies,
Truths cannot be alive
In a rage our love will die!
UnendingA lucent flower breaks the day -
wet with morning misery's tears.
All its brilliance on display
as a goddess to be revered.
It basks in the sun's hot fire,
swims in the warm sunshower,
struggles in the oppressive mire,
waiting dolefully for the evening hour.
The same flower slowly folds away
In the unsettled glory of dusk.
It will dress in the winter months
as an arctic seed of decay.
twitterlight oblivioni remember we had a picnic once,
on a melting summer day.
the roses spilled their fragrance,
the petals spiralling away.
we spent the morning in the sunlight,
and the evening under the moon.
the fireflies flew their drunken flight
while the lovebirds began to croon.
a glassful of spicy chai,
a pocketful of sky,
that day i picked a bouquet of happinesses,
just for you and I.
Forgive Me, My LoveForgive me, my love, for I had loved you too much
I always did know you could not give nothing back
I wish I had kept all the feelings in my heart,
And just accepted there is a lot that I lack.
Forgive me, my love, I hope you hold me no grudge;
I never did wish your affections be denied;
My longing for you must have exhausted your soul
Thus I never got the attention I desired.
Forgive me, my love, it was my heart that was weak;
It often did fall for ones who could not catch it;
It would be ready to rise and climb up again,
Only when it had found someone else to break it.
Forgive me, my love, it was my mind that was meek;
It seldom did speak but when it did it saved me;
It was mute when I felt like I did not need it,
Hence making me helpless as I could ever be.
Forgive me, my love, we both know it was my fault;
I only did stop loving when it tore all our seams;
I had always been told that it would hurt us both,
And that you would not spare me any of your dreams.
Forgive me, my love, if
There might be usYou might take take a walk with him by the river.
Yeah, he might just take you for a walk.
And you might admire blooming cherry slivers.
And he might take your hand and even sweet talk.
You might go to movies with him, once in a while.
Yeah, he might just take you to movies sometimes.
He might make you laugh, you might make him smile.
And he might even kiss you when the hall dimes.
You might sit and talk to him for hours.
Yeah, he might just listen to you talk.
You might bake him cookies, he might buy you flowers.
You might even feel safe when he kisses you goodnight.
You might share a week with him; or a month, or two.
Yeah, he might just let you stay around.
You might even think you can make him love you.
He might even let you believe you are right.
To give him your whole world, you might even dare.
Yeah, he might just say 'I love you' a couple of times.
For some time, he might even pretend he cares.
For some time, you might even believe he does.
Cinnamon Skin The scent of cinnamon strong,
tickling my nostrils,
playful and dangerous.
and a water,
a sanctuary to a certain few.
The perfume that heats my cheeks,
and brightens my days.
Glorious in its tan,
and sweet in its flavor.
Your cinnamon skin,
With each kiss,
your flavor sticks on my tongue,
and the sun shines brighter.
Better ForgottenYou keep asking me questions
But you're holding my breath
All I want is a rescue
But I'm drowning in death
All the flowers are wilting
As the dark grows around
Thought the ice might be melting
But it just fell to the ground
Had your own misconceptions
Of what this might be like
With so many directions
How could we both find the light
All the sweetness has rotten
And it's bitter and tough
It's all better forgotten
Than forced on for this love
thief of wordsyour piercing silence stabs my head
the eyes that I loved are closed forever
now our moments are flowing in the paper
but my literature needs more words
so I write yours like if they were mine
to fill the blank parts of my soul
that is the destiny of the broken poets
A letter to KaosuEveryday and every night I think of you...
Everyday I always ask myself will I see you again...?
But at least I know he loves me...
No matter what I'm doing or where I am I always this of you...
You, my love...
Even if I'm not alone I still think of you...
Even when I'm in a birthday party I always tell myself "if only you were here..."
I never felt for someone this way before~
Love and DeathIf you compare me to the summer’s eve
I shall sit here wondering. What is wrong?
You look into my eyes, full of passion,
Yet I sit here singing my lonely song.
The rain outside my window brings me life,
The moon sitting in its perch sings to me.
Your love smothers me gently though the night.
I wish that you would simply let me breath.
Though every person wishes for true love,
There may be time when it is merely lust.
You lusted after my heart through out time
You squeeze it too hard, and now it is dust.
Now, please, leave me here alone in my bed
As I relive the memories in my head
An eternityIt is the ugly stain on the wall
the scar which breaks her cheek
the murdered childrens call
evils tyranny of the weak.
It is the light burning the eyes,
the moons sad soft face,
the truth of a piteous demise,
bleeding arms restrained by lace.
It is a single strand of hair
floating gaily in the breeze
It is lusts infernal stare;
Love is a lovers disease.
A Turning Point in the Clockwork WarA war of attrition
depends on supply and drawdown,
how much you have and how much you use up.
With personnel, the balance concerns
the influx of recruitment versus
the outflow of casualties, deserters, invalids.
There is only so much loss
that a fighting force can sustain
and still fight.
Pilot Claude Archer was the first
to challenge his invalid discharge.
"I don't need legs to fly," he said,
patting the healed stumps of his thighs.
"My Osprey runs on elbow grease."
The members of the discharge board
paused and looked at each other.
What he said was true.
The Osprey-class fighter jets
relied on hand controls,
and a sharp eye and iron nerve.
Fingers flicked through the stack
of discharge papers -- so many, many pages.
So many soldiers lost, never to fight again.
They could not afford to let slip even one
who might be retained, somehow,
to face the front line once more.
Far less could the war effort spare
one of its best pilots.
So they put Pilot Archer back on the roster,
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