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I Am Not a PoetI Am Not a Poet
No I am not a poet
I write the feelings I cannot express
In far too harsh and blunt a manner
Sugar coated with pretty words some say is powerful
What ramblings perplex my mind at the midnight hour
When sleepless atrocity creeps over me
After pots of coffee and ingesting far too much alcohol
To forget demons I pretend to have slain
Of my obsessions, desires, questions, faults, dreams
It’s a purpose…. to discover purpose
That is pointless
A stepping stone under the feet of giants
What of the critics?
I care not, I am not a poet
They can trample my work with shit on their boot heels
Now and after I am dead
Should anyone care to read it after I am gone
However in all this bumbling mishap of life
I will continue to write
Even though I am not a poet
Dreams Of A Bad KindI had a dream and I believe it went like this:
I awoke in on the floor of the middle isle of a church, endless rows of pews on either side me, from the front of the church, stopping a few foot from the giant porcelain Jesus that lay his giant cross, all the way to the back of the church, where a wide set of double doors made of smooth wood lay shut, as if telling anyone who wanted to come in that they would have to wait. Or someone who wanted to leave that this was not possible.
In each of row of pews, filling up the soft red cushions that made up the seats, rows of lit candles stood upright, providing the only source of light in the church, because there was not a single window on either side of the room, nor a single electrical light inside the arched ceiling. As I lifted myself to my feet I noticed a figure standing directly in front of the enormous porcelain Jesus. The light of the candles did not reach that far and thus he was not illuminated enough for me to se
and throws her head back hard into the pillow
(the goose down feathers spike her,
fierce into her scalp, but she thrashes again).
and bites her neck with a gurgle
(transferring an 'I love you'
from the tips of his teeth, to her veins).
her nails scratching a line into his back
(he crosses it, she crosses herself and prays,
she prays for nought - he exclaims; "Oh God").
He cries out
as her muscles contract in spasm
(he spills his guts to her, overjoyed
by her assumed compliance.)
as her body tries to force the intrusion out.
(and the muscle of her heart flutters once more
and, overwrought, shatters. Again.)
A Letter To My BodyDear my body,
Here I bestow an official apology for all the things I put you through.
The spirits, substances and so-called foods that you are forced to consume and digest against your will.
For every last hormone-changing pill.
For every time I slide a razor across your tender skin to cut back hair again and again.
For every time I deprive you of sleep when you are already so deprived of energy. And then the days when I refuse to get out of bed and so you miss the sunlight.
I apologise for wanting to hurt you when I'm in need of emotional rehabilitation.
For biting the skin on your fingers when I'm nervous.
For previously feeding you the carcasses of once living beings even when deep down I felt it was wrong to do so.
I'm sorry for putting you in such danger of hearing damage - through all the times I listen to my iPod with the music blaring loudly through my earphones, and the times I spend at the front rows of concerts, the speakers so powerful I can feel the vibrations running thro
Star Child in WinterCarefully, I step on the white dusted grass.
The frozen evening dew moistens me.
It is cold – I do not feel it.
Only the silence of the night is all around me.
My hair becomes entangled in an icy wind.
So that I fear to be blown away.
I reach out for the branch of a tree
To seek help and protection.
In front of me I can see the forest in awesome loftiness.
The trees welcome me.
Finally I arrive at the spot I am heading to –
The clearing – a spiritual place.
I stop in the middle of this circle –
Symbol of eternity, image of perfection.
I wait and only my breath can be heard.
Time seems to stand still.
Then, at last – the clouds flee
And unveil the radiating face of the moon.
Its illumination seems to cover everything
With liquid silver.
Shimmering gold is mingling among the
Silvery glittering night-blue sky.
Unnumbered stars are strewn into the night.
High up I lift my face.
My eyes catch the light of the moon and the stars.
I know that the time has come.
Determined I lower my head,
So You Know She's AliveShe's gorgeous, pure mind, embodiment
Her future, paved in the cement
She laughs, so beautiful
A shaky breath, so wonderful
That was what she was,
But all that's turned to dust
On the outside, she doesn't seem bent
Still the same case, but what's become of it's contents?
Don't be fooled by what you see
On the inside, she may be ugly
Nothing left but the will to breathe
Sweet smiles, valentines
Heart cracks, with the stroke of time
Nothing left, her home is a lie
Wounded hopes, a dream that has died
Only a breath, so you know she's alive
Drifter GirlThe stims bite hard, cold sharp needles sticking to the back of my neck. There’s this moment where the cold floods my veins, and it’s sheer fucking agony like liquid nitrogen eating at me from the inside, but then it’s gone, and all that’s left is the rush. Colors are sharper now, lights shine like burning flares, and that empty feeling in my gut is gone. Some fucker walks past the alley. He’s got gang-tats, glowing Red Dragon symbols cutting up his neck. The bastard has a girl on each arm, all short skirts and big tits, and all three stink of beer and money, and he spits on me, the piece of shit. Spits and laughs and keeps on walking, the whores tittering and giggling cuz they’ve scored themselves a powerful guy who’s gonna pay ‘em well tonight.
“Oh April, why you gotta be so mean to the poor bitch?”
I’ve got an old las-blade tucked in the waistband of my shorts, and I could shiv this April punk and both his whores from
The window of an early afternoonThe light beyond the hills was burning
As my weary eyes were turning
Towards the ending of a soothing June
That has left me all too soon.
And those golden rays of summer fade
(Much too soon to be portrayed)
Into skies that hide the view
Of those hills I wish I knew.
But within these walls my vision
Cannot reach them with precision;
Soon my window shows but only
A reflection that is lonely.
Once again the light is fading,
All these wishes come invading
And the skies that once burned bright,
Fade in the engulfing night.
Once they fade away from sight,
In the cover of the night,
I can hear the midnight’s calls -
Still confined within these walls.
The light beyond the hills was burning
And I always wait here yearning
For a chance to see the view
From those hills I wish I knew.
Learning to Live
Humility for me was never a virtue, nor one of my strengths
In vanity I lived, in vanity would have been my end
Reprobate is a lifestyle, usurped into the minds of man
How could we value others, when selfishness is our best friend
The same tired cycle day after day
Blinded in ignorance we can't see how we're enslaved
We've idolized the creation and the Creator we've put away
As if the creation was the source from whence we came
But glory to God a plan is always in place
That brings us back to the design that He originally made
Living to love Him and others is the lifestyle to strive for each day
Though impossible on our own to achieve, He made a way
Living for others, all my needs have been supplied
Through Him I've learned the real values in this life
That there's much more to life than what meets the eye
And the simple art of blessing those whom pass me by
I've learned to value what comes next
Once this body has been laid to rest
That though we mourn those who have left
There will co
Leaving Southampton She was in the kitchen when he stumbled in noisily, tripping as he went past the shelves and catching the edge of the table to keep himself from falling.
Pretending not to hear the stream of curses that followed, she kept her eyes fixed on the dishes, letting her hand trail in the soapy water. There was a loud scraping of wood against grimy concrete as he drew a chair and collapsed into it. At this she looked up, and after a moment's hesitation, she said, unnecessarily, "You've been drinking."
He clutched his head and said nothing. He hadn't shaved in weeks and stank of sweat and alcohol; he looked much older than his eighteen years.
They sat in silence for a while. Then he announced, loudly, "Fuck."
She didn't bother to tell him off. She just waited. And jumped when he suddenly brought his fist down, hard, onto the table.
"Our lives here are s
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^Nyx-Valentine arrived in our community and started whipping everyone into a frenzy with her relentless desire to bring the Artistic Nude and Fetish galleries to the fore. 9 years later, and it's safe to say that Nyx is not only a leader as a photographer in these galleries, but she has also established herself as a much saught after model. ^... Read More