Hurts to love you

◦ What did i put you through? Seemingly its always my fault… you slam the door when i tell you how i feel? I say sorry? You tell me, you don’t love me, panic soar’s. As the pigeon flies, it happens to disturb you…. as it flies above, youre firing shots into it’s paniced soul, furthering it’s fate. You call these cupids arrows. – But blood’s flowing internally, trying to drift from the heart, in escape, from the mad woman.



The heart needs to learn common sense.

acting illogical.

Acting stupid is not attractive.

and i’m about to be very stupid.

For some reason.. I need to be.


As the heart projects roses. she throws them angrily.

She reaches inside to grab the projector.

She grasps it, holds it, and bites the top, ripping the arteries like a grenade.

she throws it back to me, my smile lowers – i blow-up, fire circles me,

i go towards my knees. As the fire strengthens, i begin to wither under the fiery pressure.


In the night, i see, not what i want to,

But what society unravelled.

Black lamps; casting ghostly lights towards the black pavement – hauntingly miserable, strategic. Programmed bots driving to their artificial family, with the image of a horror film, surrounding in a futuristic setting, a jail of freedom. As the cage restiction is promised, the mind lessens, due to entrapment; the box becoming smaller and smaller, eventually blood pours from within the brain, and the brain stops thinking, it haults at a red light, asking to stay, and a light so they can beep towards their next purchase.

The candle, that frost grew onto

Seeing hurt in the eyes;

withering of the soul.

A once proud fire… The flame shinned within blackness. the wax poured,

melting onto the mothers grip.

The mother held it proudly.

the candle fizzled. The man’s once full candle of soulfulness. became frostbitten after the candle descended. Until the frost made the spirit crack, Walking with torn pieces of a soul, looking for hope, help, but only seeing death in the eyes, of those who i’ve grown to love.

Angelic wires

A golden heart pumps, the tears no-longer form on her face… a heart that functions like a prism; taking the negative energy, strengthening it, shooting a rainbow to everyone else. While the sun shines in her mind, the moon never present. Glowing for those around, As the knowledge stacks, angelic dust pipes from her ears. As the heart pumps, tiny angel’s surround, pulling the wiring, so that it shall function more effeciently. As the wires get pulled, as the angel’s are never tiresome, the gold retracts and expands, fluctuating, to the beat of uniqueness. The angel’s climb the staircase of the heart, shooting light’s from every portion, ontop, Street light’s. that go through her body. Furthering the well-being of anything….

Lovely woman

Sometimes the player, doesnt want to play. But roll over, and feel love. As the heart is given, please dont return it… sometimes, love is… something to be truthful rather than a mixture of words/feelings tied in a pink beaker of lies sitting below; as the lies, you and i, react on the surface theyre combining wrongly. the two chemicals that should react perfect – are you and i – without lies that stir, the chemical creation of one love, a joint substance, but the lies will seperate, the substance… it’ll become unstable, and flow, destruction will leave the glass.

The Rose that Knew no-limits.

As the rose tells me of the struggles it faced, yet succeeded.

The rain dripping, the wind challenging; as she blow’s in the wind,

Her root’s, her family of flowers. never cease development;

always amounting to success, strength. She appears the strongest,

Her root system, strengthens those from “beneath”. and the pedals one day, will reach the heavens.

As a well guided team, under the commandment of the “largest” head of the rose; within the traditional themed garden.

Bringing the less strong up, with nutrition. They’re bringing the ground with the team. Nothing gets left behind. As the ground lift’s,

It spirals with the rooting system attached. The angel’s shine the sun, to lift, the mass of soil.

The ground, shall never be without its beauty. They need one-another, the humbleness of the “grounding”

needs the beauty of the rose garden – they’re as a separate society, within the mass of society.

The Movie of the Beautiful Eyes

The diamond of the eye sparkles. The sparkles tell a story, of survival, hope…

i watch the show… only to discover, the projection of sparkles, are of a “red” light; transferring to white under-the-surface; The white lighting is of an illusion, what stands below are the fires of hell, lighting a false sense of hope.

As her mind manipulates the fiery lighting i’m in awe; of the angelic eyes i’m witnessing, within my mind, i know it can not continue, it mustn’t, but for now… i’m enjoying the film.