time-warrior

Am I real Do you see me Demoralized, lost In the dark--secrets            Insanity cast its self            On stones shaped of false hope Cold                      Not real ...  broken             Shame no longer holds me                 ~psC~     

color falls from my world drinking into the poisoned canvas melting blood red a single note like blackboard music raking my mind down down screaming like nails ~Lilith~ ... And the Wind City floated along above the land, on towards what lay ahead. (a.k.a. psC , TW)

never so clean the break, that hooks fail to remind ....    how much there was. could of beens ... lost, shattered in the never had the chance. ~psC~ (TW )

               blood-sucking insects           fields on fire and chicken litter                   I morn for Winter

There is Love Here...(the fight) Pathetic dreamer! Wake-up, live in the "real world". I am dismissed. Words between us stop. Eclipsed by pain, betrayed, I'm afraid to breathe. I hear the darkness. Your voice! I hate words. Words... threaten this… muddle that. Words tell... lies. Words kill. Shut-up! no... Passion whispers, don’t be a fool. Live…feel it, mean it! Control the words, own them, use the heat, the fire. Words intensely mine burn white-hot my soul lives Dreamer, yes I am! alive in the "real" world... there is Love here... bitterness goes to ash and is caught away.

*Use this picture (or make your own ) to glue on the front of an envelope, this will serve as the “seed packet” (fill with approx. 10 dollars worth of quarters). I suggest an invitation size envelope: 43/8” x 53/4”. You will, also need a small flower pot large enough to fit the “seed packet” and letter into. Ta-da---your gag gift is ready to hand deliver to whomever you desire.  Enjoy. Now for the Letter: Dear fellow Gardener, The question has been asked in recent days “Who wants to be a millionaire?”. Well, quite frankly, I ask. . . who doesn’t? With that said, I have a rare discovery to sh

Snow... icy drops wet my cheek snowflakes stopping to visit fall my lashes flutter joy.

Him... looking at him my heart swells, still. I can't remember the me without him, sighs. I worry as I watch him he seems so tired, yet laughing. he taunts my frown "I Am Iron Man...." I laugh too and am comforted but only just.

i want you to call me some sort of semi-sweet baked good and hold me while you confess that sometimes i cause more pain than i am worth but you are willing to wait till it evens out. let me give you a back massage but please dont tell me if i squeeze too hard because i dont think i can handle hurting you anymore when im really just trying to help i know you can take it anyway. dont mention it when i give each one of your body parts and joints a separate color because i want to be able to decipher them with my eyes closed when we are so tangled i cant tell which limb is really mine or actually yours. i would adore it if you

I don’t want (anything) calm,    easy,        unruffled. I crave wildfires,    thunderstorms,        hurricanes (anything) to destroy the monotony of white picket fences, burn them down,    wash them away,       carry them out to sea. I hunger for chaos (anything) to jerk me awake,   shake me through,      force me to shine like coals that burn brighter when the wind blows cold.

Jerked awake by dreams, I lie in the dark and listen to the long, deep wail of a passing train, its mourning disappearing into tomorrow. I turn back into my blankets and wonder where it’s going, rushing through the cold, black night, its voice so frantic and needful. Its call echoes through the silence and beckons me to chase it as I realize the frantic need         is mine.

Look, baby, if you're looking for someone to fix you, I can't help. I need too much work myself. But if you want someone to limp along with you to the end, I'm your girl.

people don’t die    of broken hearts, but when they    never live again, they might as well

I'm not sure which side I'm playing in this lovely game of chess, but someone just shouted check!

forgive me I never meant to     complicate your life I couldn’t know,     didn’t realize, that when your eyes     settled on mine I should     have looked            away

This is not poetry; it is biography. This is not art; it is record. At least, so you would have it. I won't. If you want biography, assign an essay. Prose is the appropriate medium. Poetry must be plural. Poetry is nobler than this, but prose has no dignity, and it would gladly tell you more than you have a right to know. If you want record, give me a stone and a chisel, give me a computer, ten miles of copper cable, three tons of coal, and a turbine. If you want art, then please, give me a pen.

i want a man i can love ravenously a man to love me back with ferocity to take me until we both ache a scorching palpitation, the type of love that, even should we flame out like shooting stars, will blaze to the very    end