To You;

It seems like the gross fog drops itself over us, giving death to the young hearts of ours

I feel your deep breath tickling my neck

this intrigues me slightly swaying my mind.

Moments like these are truly beautiful

Our heads resting on each others breast as the drumming feeds our ears

Certainly this perfection must end

As many minds alike agree

And that drags on me like shackles from the wrist and ankles.

Our lips tell the best story

Entwining and taking on the life of their own

Enchanting us gracefully.

Just to let you know,

This moment and many others will stay with me -

creating the basis of the rest of me life.

Looked Stoned Pt.2

Welcome to the House of Secrets, reigning ever so diligently as the mouth feels its daggers down upon the flesh. Nothing is wrong with you please try to hold your illusions, the box of life which confines us shall break free softly. Daintily treading upon this green we are nothing but what we are and what we are is the greatest question of all. Dance, breath it into your chest and allow it to vibrate through the blue tails. Shh, do not pay attention because as it pops we wait tick-tocking furiously. A Bad Man from New York is nothing but all, the rival is coming. Ressurection is for those who didn’t get it right the first time. Help us out here, quit it all and come back just one step. The past is always better than the uncertain future, imagine what it felt like in the past trying to get out. Imagine staying in the infinitely small now – because that is the only place where we exist. The ever constant now. Embrace it all and take it all for granted for it will not last forever.

Looked Stoned

I remember the stiff plane of the cold tiles beneath these monsters which I control. Slowly delving deeper into the room a blast of molded bread and hallucinagins hit me. This is in the oddest melody – home – where my family laughs and grows closer together. Teetering around in this empty space I go, up and down into musty halls. With every step of my foot stamps out bunnies of dust, floating around as if it had been centuries since they were alive. Alive, there was no way I could bring life to this dead home again, into windows shuttered but somehow this place still holds shackles to me. I can see through my misted grey eyes a hazy memory of what was. What was, will never be again for it has become the past. Simple thoughts of our deeply intellectual conversation pour into my head like water from a canteen. The present is when the future becomes the past. The past reaps us as if it is a dreadful chain that condemns our future. Yet, as I sit amongst the revived dust I think to myself that the past is something that determines our present, still not our future. The smell of the rotting walls suddenly hits me hard as I finally recall how much I yearn for the past and to be with my family again. I remember…