Kiss and tell.

watch me watch those lips open and close and open and close, and i hear naught. yet they glisten a dark amaranth in the dimmed lights from the candles as they dance to the song that can be overheard entwined with the air that lingers into the midnight. watch me watch those lips as i lick them with my traveling eyes where imagination is almost redundant.

watch me.

watch me watch the pools of ebony that make up your eyes, illuminated in a glow every time your curvy eyelashes reveal them to me. their vision set on me urging me, leading me, enticing me, promising me more than the light in them that teases me. i have only seen red roses my love, but tease me not with two black and white ones.

tease me.

watch me watch the luscious hair that seem to caress you, teaching me the right way as you tilt your head slightly to sip golden champagne. flowing down one side of your face hiding cheeks that turn rosy red when they catch my eyes. silken hair just touching your shoulders fall back and reveal to me where my hands should be, stroking your chocolate skin to the back of your neck.

move me.

and then she steps out of her table.
graceful steps one and two.
she's been asked to dance.
she's been asked to move.

she would rather be in my hands. overlooking her shoulder at each opportunity, to see if my eyes have not betrayed her. the red dress flicking at her beautiful shoes. beautiful red prada shoes. i know. i chose them so carefully, to fit this persona. this entity of grace and elegance. this woman. her. she. mine.

won't you come to me?

i stand and move. one steps two. i stop at a pillar and lean against, to watch. watch me watch you, woman. watch me watch you, envying the sides of the silken thread that make up your dress, privileged to dance along with those hips. she looks at me and is careful to hide her eyes from pleading. watch me watch you get frustrated.

gently now.

frustrated by more patience, she loosens her grip on the shoulder and one step two. grabs my black vest by its side and pulls me toward her chest. she glares at me, and rips off her long red gloves and flicks her wrists for me to see it float down to my feet. to feel. to feel my neck. to feel my heat for her. she smells my neck and sighs as fingers entwine and one step two, she leads.

kiss me.

breathless. ever so lightly she licks my neck and nibbles it. look at me. look at my eyes. look at my pulsating chest. kiss me. kiss me you fool, she glimpses. i smile. i know what you want. you know what you want. i want you. and i want you. you fool she says. you don't need me.

you have me.

step. step step. step.

this you i always think of, can be distracting sometimes.
most times.
all times.


step. step step. step.

yes my love, in the red chiffon dress.
my hands sway with the movement of your hips.
nibble my cheek, and squeeze your grip on my vest.
the lure emanating from your luscious lips.

perfore el corazón.

caressing the tip of your nose on mine
lick my neck with your prurient eyes
your fingers arousing the shivers in my spine
your heartbeat tells no lies

béseme.

turn and turn and make me yearn
fall and fall and make me call
smile and smile and make me sigh
kiss and kiss and make me miss

you, when you leave me, hand trailing behind into mine.

Hate is hate. Don't hate it.

i want to quit.

but sooner or later, i will fall into my own abyss. the one i created. and yet i will return to it for its comforts are far beyond material desires.

i am different now. i don't like me now. i like me before. the one who stayed motionless in the realms of my mind and surveyed people with no real intention.

i can hate. i can be evil. i can be more.
why do i need conscience and kindness. why do i so deliberately want to think about you, when in the end, no matter what the situation, i am the one at fault.

and yet at the brink of change i falter. i shiver to take the next step.

should i just trample on emotions as and when i feel so, because they are in my way? should i look out for myself first, then others?

this hesitance, has now given birth to a mirrored version of myself.

a being who hates everyone, and whose arrogance is starting to overflow limits to which control is no more a question. whose proposed intelligence is the catalyst for such behaviour. whose strength is utilised for forcing supression to the heart's messages.

and then, there are leftovers.

tattered remains of myself before the reasons for my diseased ridden pride and soul to split itself in annoyance and reflex to save my mind from turning onto itself.

if you would have me now, or before, you can never have me whole anymore.

i cannot be only yours. because now i am mine too.

and i am liking it.

Glass walls.

The mind. The birth of understanding and the dread that follows after.

everyday i step into this room broken down. yet faking worldy pleasures in my head to everyone else, letting my sheer arrogance rule me. and in my own eyes i greet you from the other side of the shadows. with strangers meddling with my mind, don't get too close. my material skin, disintegrates like the surface of the still river when a leaf floats onto it. don't hurt me please.

for i only exist because you say i do.

yes. yes yes yes. i am not dead and have yet to die, but i am living in my self as an entity within an entity hoping my outer side does not fall into thorned bushes that might poison the already decaying flesh that needs no more damage. my mind the candle within four glassed walls. and i, looking from the outside, wondering what miracle is sustaining the dancing flame for so long now.

it was gradual.

the way it slipped from my grasp and my conscience. they way it dissipated whenever i looked at my forlorn reflection in the broken shards. the way it mellowed to a whisper whenever i took calculated steps towards a realm in time and space to disappear. secretly i longed for the day which is unbecoming of my smile. constantly thinking of nothing. and how i wished i was nothing. the entity that is me, a waste of space existant in a place that will eventually crumble. so i finally know, and its at its end.

i have lost the desire, to desire.

it is when the city sleeps, that my peace is disturbed and my mind is at ease. viewing the world differently, but assuredly, everytime my pupils seem to lose their capabilities. at the cost of my ignorance, my mind struggles urging me.

pleading to me to step out
crawl out
shivering at the implosion
of the madness

move up dear one.
move my love.
don't just leave yet.

you have yet to seek or see me. you have yet to feel my presence and with that, you have yet to transcend this assumed impenetrable barrier you have created in place of, whicle searching for me. why do you force submission so easily. don't give up on me my love. i have not given up on you. why do you choose to exist seperately from me when the answers you seek so vehemently, i have only for you. accept me like i will you, and see with your eyes my experience. i guarantee you answers, and more chaos. since by yourself you have long left the state of ignorance the moment you were affected by the true nature of being enlightenend, you have already chosen this path. i only promise you a deeper understanding, not seclusion or serenity.

for that, you have you.

Ad infinitum.

why does the street lamp glow a dimmer shade, each time i stroll past an old memory lurking in the depths of the abyss that commands my every move. the swirling mystery that inhabits my innermost desires that punctuate endless speeches and infinitely vacates space for ubiquitous pictures that mockingly flash before my glistening eyes. the nonchalant gazing through the cold steel grills of the window seem to numb me more than it did, now that i am far more lost in my precociousness; far too blinded by sweet smelling roses every thursday night. the dried petals a reminder of what used to be; luscious silken skin underneath my sense of touch forcing smile after smile; simultaneously, taking my thoughts far from beguile.

why do dry rose petals retain their colour?

it does not really matter. for i am happy they have colour at all, clinging onto dried hopes and decaying memoirs of magnanimity and mellow moaning while my fingers do more than just feed my incessant needs for attention. intent on following subtle shivers to the point of sentient feelings that set of seemingly limitless amounts of sensual salaciousness and amorous aphrodisia, willingly partaken in of course. giving basic thought very little room to administer rational behaviour while i indulge in fondling with concupiscence knowingly as it brings about your hunger for me.

yes i am self-indulgent.

but what does that say about you my lustful lover? vision less only when your needs are being stroked to ecstasy, ruing the sight of me once your voracious libido is satisfied and sleeping. pretentiously holding my hand throughout my ordeal as though purposefully feeding my desire to feed you. the lifelessness of me is only my reflection in your eyes when the look of disgust spreads from your lips to the back of your head as i watch you caress the wind as you walk away from my line of sight.

but those petals do not lose their colour still.

Melancholic mornings, and mournings.

primrose dawns and unwelcome visitors.
window sills and floating silences.
music filled ears and teary eyed images.
distant lights and amaranth skies.

melancholic mornings, and mournings.

so tell me you. you who is mocking me by hiding behind stacks of papers. why do you test me as you walk away from me, leaving questions and more questions while i sit here and shiver in the backseat of a car that has a driver who takes my money. but you keep walking to where the white flowers bloom and stand there awhile, as if to force me to contemplate what i would do if you were sitting right beside me with that flower in your hand.


i should not get personal. unfortunately there is you, whose insecurity moulds you into me as you look past my dark brown eyes and see something when there is really nothing. "misfit!" i cry. "maverick," you swoon.

i squint and look around your room filled with images on the wall, worked into an elaborate collage towards an impression of expressions. but hides cigarettes from me in the cupboard beside the bed because those dreadful things i cannot endure. who keeps red coloured dildos because i wear a lot of reds just because the colour accentuates how i must feel inside. bollocks woman. but writes voraciously and vivaciously, and eats words ferociously and fervently. but timidly lets her eyes run about my being and pretentiously fantasises about my skin. "rebel?" i say sarcastically. "revolutionary," she says smoothly.

i cannot stand alone. i lie back and think abou... "don't think about the things you fear. just be glad to be here," she says thoughtfully, studying me.

do not do that you. why read my thoughts. why spoil my mystery. have you not taken enough away from me. why do you like me. why do you know me. do not read me, and then say that i am silent all the time. i found you did i not? why am in your room? because i am silent and you know me just perfectly. it is enough. the enemy of my enemy, is still my enemy. but you, i do not know who you are. do not talk you. but please, look at me more. those eyes, and legs, are my temptations you.. you.. woman.

clenched teeth, and sitting upright on the bed away from you... how dare you reduce me to something whice envies you and crawls after you? how dare you? how dare you... put your hand on my thighs and rest your head upon my skin and kiss the side of my thigh and..

primrose dawns and unwelcome visitors..
window sills and floating silences..
music filled ears and teary eyed images..
distant lights and amaranth skies..

melancholic mornings, and mournings...

Only i know.

i remain stoic through the atmosphere you emit, when only i know the seemingly infinite thoughts that revolve and evolve in my head are triggered by that sultry pose you give unknowingly as i can only watch you this way, almost voyeuristic in its manner, because one person cannot hold the amount of pent up emotions i conjure when i am with you, so i start pretending to be calm when only i know that the war i am waging within knows no bounds when i continually try to fight a frown, so i turn away to look at the precious lava lamp that you bought for me to distract my attention and although i thought i was looking at it nonchalantly, i realise i am concentrating quite hard on this inanimate object watching as the the lava that floats ever so smoothly caressing one another as they pass, only reminds me of the times when only i know the smell of your nail polish when you touch my lips to feel me exhale my desperation to confess, but i feel this lamp has been put there only to frustrate me more as even an object, forces my thoughts on you and your sly and sultry ways because even deep breaths cannot undo the knot in my chest and i turn away into the opposite direction of where you are, hoping you will not see this moment when it is increasingly becoming more obvious that i am disturbed by you even when you hardly have said a word to me but i do no want to admit defeat so i open a book and see the words do not make sense to me, i turn it right side up and had a second attempt; and even i do not realise i am staring into the blank space ahead of me which make up the wall of cool blue colour but i know very well that i wanted red but the wall became blue and then i remember the time when we went to get paint to change the outlook of this sanctuary and my mind was already made up; but i bought this cool blue because she looked at this colour smiling at it with her eyes, while gazing upon it faking nonchalance and i know it is fake but you stood there a moment too long and you never fail to amaze me because i am always watching you and the salesperson was tapping my shoulder incessantly and i do not know what he is saying because i think the language is a barrier because he keeps saying that red is an excellent choice and i am carrying the red and she turns to me and she gives me a slight smile from the right corner of her mouth and i want to go outside and scream at the next guy i see that he has it difficult and he thinks that i am crazy but only i know why i want to scream so i close my eyes and i open them to see the cool blue remain and then i lift my left eyebrow to prevent myself from revealing anything else that resides in my mind so i get up and go sit on the lounge chair and i am in her vision but i cannot see her i think and i loll my head and look at the space where a television set should have been and i purse my lips and think about why the space is empty and all i see are many colours coalesced together looking like they had been limited by four black rims at the ends where the clours are abruptly halted but a painting in the middle of the room? i do not understand why it is so colourful and why it is so big and why it is right in front of me and then i see the colour purple and then i realise we were walking down the pavement of a place and i see the words gallery and i am being enclosed by so many paintings and i am standing in the middle of this seemingly infinite space and i only see her standing parallel to a wall and her hair is flowing down the back of her shoulders all wavy and sexy and she tilts her head a little to the right and runs a finger around the upper curve of her right ear and bites her lower lip and i feel like hours have passed and i start trembling in the finger tips and i feel tears down my cheeks and i bury my face into her hair and back and then i am still standing there and she walks over and slides her fingers in between mine and i realise i am trembling and only i know that i wished that moment when she stood there lasted a very long time and i am drilling a screw into the wall and i hang the painting up on the wall but my vision shakes and i am sitting in the lounge chair looking at light refractions and i notice my eyes are wet and i am overwhelmed by many things and i feel so hard at my chest and i want to feel nothing but then i realise that hiding myself from her is useless as i chose to be surrounded by her and i walk over to her and i sit with her and i bury my face into her neck and i hold her hand and i just lay there like that and i always want to lay here like this and i know she smiles because she wipes a tear from my eye with her finger and i don't feel embarrassed at all that i am crying because i would have cried anyway to have her caress my eyelids.

only i know.

L'Enfant Terrible.

visualizing the incarceration of thyself.

so i have become one of the above. materialising like the other rats that creep under the light that sneaked in through the crevice. treading upon murky water and revelling in the beauty that lies without. the beauty which remains far fetched and unreachabale. watching feet shuffling and like rain they beat down on the asphalt with intent and with no end in sight. whispers of voices in the echos that bounce of the walls of the sewer that i was flsuhed down in the inkling of a thought.

and now i sit here carving inscripstion into my own arms.

is it a fault of mine that to this life i was born? is it a fault of mine that i was not equipped for this mindless violence that was inflicted upon me? i have become. and i have not. as nature dies i die too. as nature replenishes itself, i remain dead. so then, i sit here still, hoping for someone to flush down their excretions so i can prolong for another week, feeding of the contempt off the lives of many.

the yellow eyes glow in he dark. and he is looking at me.

from being an infant, i have become the enfant terrible. biting into the flesh of the rest who were unfortunate like me. but unlike me, they have not evolved. these horns i have grown give me strength in abundance when against the walking dead. you will see and i will no more bleed. and i will work my way to you and then you will be like the reward i endured the vermillion sufferings for. and they will watch me crush you between my shiv like teeth and then i will be rejuvenated; for the life you led me to, i will introduce you to.

don't be afraid.

i have built a very special sarcophagus for you.

Pages are dry, for now.

you treat me with such hate that now i cannot see beyond my blodshot eyes. so now i realise that flirting with disease was not a mistake; but a means of escape from you as you always take everything from my inside and spend it thoughtlessly.

now i am empty.

and you dare speak of loyalty and love and everything that is imminent with such speak? leave me to myself for the death of you is what i seek because of the vile and tainted being that you are has become inevitable and crystal and it makes my reflection look better than it was before.

die a lonely death, you that is vile, vicious and villainous.

Have we lost to our memories?

each days passes with more fervor than the last. each night lingers with more intent than the last. in pursuit of vagaries we reach out to in vain, letting ourselves drown in the depths that have cast in stone our doubts for tomorrow. is it really pointless to persist on analyzing that which is gone? the incessant drones of voices in ear drums as they persevere to let it be known that being lost is never by mistake, but by complacency. yet they have always been met by nonchalance, when faking confidence.

have we lost to our memories?

each calculated step performed to the joy of a perfectionist. each step she dances, delicate and full of grace. yet her face is sullen and her eyes are closed. but she does not falter. this routine she has taken again and again when laden with the misery she inflicts upon herself. she remembers perfectly, what comes after the other, almost with swagger. she knows i sit and stare in awe as her pink pointe puts to shame a midsummers night's dream.

flooding lights, blind my sight.

she stands in the middle of the stage motionless letting the light cast shadows under her eyes to hide her shame from me. she stretches her hand out and whispers my name, begging for my awakening. pleading for my influence as she feeds off it to stay sane. she touches my fingers and drags me in between everywhere and good bye, knowing i need an end to my heading nowhere.

but she is deceitful.

like a drop that had sent ripples through still water, i blink. causing a tremor in my state of vision shaking my sense of self awake; finding myself sitting amongst silence and the vibrations of strings attached to piano keys. only to see the stage empty, proving my bliss montage fake. the pink pointe in my hand, tattered and aged depicting my state of mind.

i have lost, to perdurance.

Pass me by. Leave me to die.

do not spend some time to analyse the disparate layers of meaning embedded in me. do not take the time to lavish upon the complexity that is me, your shallow emotions conditioned by society. do not pay attention to all the minute details that fill the shell that has become of me. do not touch the tears that are off a different colour, that roll down my colourless cheeks. do not attempt to sew the wounds that have riddled my neck. do not pick me up off of the icy floor that welcomes me.

you. do not.

you sit in the corner and pretend that you are overwhelmed in hurt. you bury your face in your quivering hands and deceive me with your tears after you push me down the steps that lead to the gutter. you sob softly and flinch when you gaze upon the deep gash in my chest and fake that you are to blame. you slump against the wall dazed and weak and convince yourself that this is worse than death, after i am dead.

stop pretending.

i know you have eaten your fill and leave me to the vultures. i know you are relieved because the moment i decided i had enough, i forced submission. i know your elation now that my decision to leave has left you with no choice to make. i know you feel freedom the moment i had turned my back and you impaled me with a sly smile that took form of a shiv that tore through my flesh and left a spine that splintered. i know.

in the perfect world, i would not have known you.

and that would be perfect.

put the gun to my head and squeeze as much as you desire.

i am already numb.

do you see epiphany?
you have cut me down to size.

Caress.

I dreamt you in last night, sleeping outside my door. I could smell your scent, hear your accent, feel your eyes, kiss your breath. I saw the light caress your body as you strolled by so casually, so comfortable among your things. I pushed through and was steadily riding through your imagination.

you pierce my reality and you drag me down and out holding my hand and make me lie beside you. i hold you tight but you don't. i lay a kiss near your lower lip but you don't turn away. i want to look at you but you shut your eyes. i want to whisper into your ear but you cover your ears. i close my eyes now.

it is the sweet smell that you emit from your exterior. the smell of your exasperation when you strain under pressure from your predominant desires. it the smell of the pain you feel when engulfed in self question of your perceived morals that seem to blur during our deluge of thoughts. only i can see it for you are saturating my mind with every subtle movement of the pools of midnight that are your eyes.

it is the touch of your flowing hair when it grazes my eyes and forces them to close in preparation for your hands that caress me. dainty fingers that follow the bruises down to my chest that my heart speeds up its rhythm and you listen to it, intently. the touch of the tip of your nose at my neck and the soft caressing of your eyelashes when you gaze upon my slight smile that i smile when i know you are looking at me.

now that you are soothed and reassured, you sing for me. the gentle and soft voice of tiny moments when fingers entwine. the song we have the last waltz as two lonely people together.

i submit.

do as you wish with me.

Ominous.

i stand alone engulfed in phyrric victories, and drowned in hearsay. while she relentlessly reminds me that i rest on her bosom,

And while no one plans to sleep out in the gutter, sometimes it just is the most comfortable place.

it is true, when you find you open your eyes to the ominous milieu, you taste the asphalt that had been forced upon your face. the impression the gravel left on your skin no touch of tolerance. inhaling the fumes left by the hatred and death dealings of many a cadaver. the rotting of the clear air and no rays of sunlight to replenish the flora that had already withered reflecting the feelings that have stung my insides for decades. and decades to come. but all of this found only inside the skull of a troubled mind and the gutter is laid out as planned to become home. as sanctuary for the nights that a blanket might protect from the icy wind, but would prove ineffectual; as the bones were sore and the material flesh numb from the pain. screaming inside my mind for an escape.

You're an echo vibrating off the tiled walls.

and like it i am empty and hollow. but the echoes have been quick in return as the walls have been boxing me in. closing in on my lifeless carapace when i slumber lost in whirlwinds of thought that derail me from my sanity. do you really wish to sit there so calmly and watch me twitch in my sleep? do you really wish to see me shiver and drench myself in cold sweat? do you really wish to hold my hand through this ordeal i have willed myself into surviving? and then she whispers into my ear,

I know the stillness of your emotions will shine through and the faithlessness in your eyes will glow under the stage lights and you do not belong in the spew of predetermined lines.

yes she pierces my unconsciousness and i hear her ever so clearly. her confidence in my non-existent courage has seen me overcome countless hurdles. yet i am confused as to the reason why. why do you bruise yourself and forcefully blind your sight when you feel the roughness of my palms and you know of my past misconceptions? and you adamantly pardon my naiveté? why?

Everything you do is a self-portrait. There are times it might look like St. George and the Dragon or The Rape of the Sabine Women but the words you use, they are all you.

i do not doubt thee, but your judgment.

and yet i only seek the exchange of thy love's faithful vow for mine.

Watch me fade away.

Where are your eyes in your reflection?

from everything you have done for yourself; now you neglect the self, doing everything for you. or her. stains of metaphors form rivers of nakedness. cold and awful it must seem to the sender. but the receiver cowers behind walls of hurt that form new barriers that supposedly prevent more decadence and damage. recall those who shower merciless rage upon you and it will be easy. pick yourself up and dust off the webs of confusion. clarity is not a myth, but it remains a place of half-truths. hurt yourself and even friends with wings will not grace your presence. concrete in your veins did not form for no reason, you bastard. it is time death seeks you for the whore that you have become. do not speak of fairness and penance. you deserve none and you have paid enough. just leave,

your absence is needed. or is it?

when you explicitly express lies that i submit to. when every letter and word replicate hailstones upon glass windows of my weakly built domain. this stoic persona will always remain, but the interior walls have been cracked and the repairs that have been painted over are decaying with every straying thought. pressure is what it is. the underlying meaning of every time you hurled verbal abuse at the mirror trying to force an answer out of the reflection. the depression was minimal, now form a crater of a magnitude to house the built up tension.

i am always alone in this misery you shower upon me.

watch me fade away. every moment away from you i had spent sitting in that corner toying with the sickness that surrounds me. i insist on wallowing in the vagaries that i have purposefully chosen. naively obfuscating afraid to reach the expiration that has become of your carapace. so long i have depended on your affluence that now i waste away, ungracefully.

yes, i am guilty of dalliance.

fucking kill me. please.