There's an acidic smell to roses
When they've fallen to the ground.
Like a dark wine spilt on the rug
for which the worst stain is renown.
Their thorns are thick and sharp
and hurt twice as much.
It seems to slip our minds
But thorns say,"Do not touch!"
Like a pesky weed
they choke the life out of others.
But one would not give crabgrass
as they would a rose to their mother.
Black as the fire pit, in which I'm charred to a crisp.
White as hot metal, smelted in a choking smoking whisp.
Black as night, where evil lurks within.
White as the day, where evil can hide as my friend.
Black as the asphalt, in which I am tread upon.
White as the sidewalk, with gum stuck on.
Black as decay, when immunity and all else fails.
White as a corpse, where my whole body ails.
Black as my youth, the world to experience.
White as my old age, struggling for penance.
Black as anger, and sorrow brought with betray.
White as the misleading faith we believe in today.
Hey there , little pretty flower.
Why do you grow alone?
You're obviously of a palace garden;
from royal seeds you're sown.
The sunshine is to keep you warm.
The rain falls when you thirst.
When breezes pass on through this field
they seem to greet you first.
Your nectar is as sweet as can be
for humming birds and busy bees.
But not too sweet, least you'll attract
ants and aphids horribly.
Your petal-color is only found
from rainbows of a certain few.
And like the rainbow you brighten the day
with your bright, fantastic hue.
You're a fragile thing, lovely flower
but I'm certain you have thorns.
So I'll not pick you, not today
and be subject to your scorn.
Shadows from the moonlight
playing over the speckled surface
of beauty that surpasses only
the incarnation of the word itself.
Details are not overlooked
nor exaggerated in any way
least such a disappointing mistake
is to miss an unnoticed flaw.
Each sculpted strand of hair
seems to have actually grown,
and tone-still muscles twitch
as if they coursed with life.
The minute creases of each lip
have an earthly chill to the touch,
yet they look real enough
to actually pulse wih blood.
Wide smooth eyes gaze at the moon
lacking pupils (by hand of the sculpter)
Yet the moons reflects
and twinkles admist the stars.
Father time has been kind to her
granting her eternal beauty
as well as blessing her with wisdom
with all that the years have left her.
Only she can be gorgously preserved
in each crack and stain from the ages.
While it caresses her clothes and podium,
her face is miraculouslyt left unmarred.
And though her epitaph is illegible,
I know she was very important
for why else would such a woman
be so expertly captured in this elegance?
Your arrows you have crafted
from lovely roses, so sweet.
Cut from them, every single thorn
so that they may fly perfect and fleet.
Your bow is cleverly strung
with the strings of a lyre.
Their notes striking a tune
that sets my soul afire.
But, if your aim is not true,
Your arrow can be torn out, I1ll heal.
Yet it seems, Cupid, once again
You have given me another raw deal.
I am certain, lovely dagger,
you are made of purest silver
tempered in whitest flame
of some magical endeavor.
Oaken handle bound with silk.
Iron hilt meticulously creafted
carved with winding vines and roses.
And a pommel cleaverly tassled.
This dagger rests in your palm.
Your gaze falls upon the blade.
Upon it you see your reflection
Of everything that you're made.
So if you deem me worthy,
worthy amongst the rest,
then raise the dagger high
and plunge it into my chest.
Aim for my heart of stone.
Thrust it through my sorrow and pain.
Strike deep into it's core
so that I may love once again.
I live under a rock,
a world of scum.
Sitting in the corner, a loner
next to an oil drum
contemplating about
my world of scum.
A thin layer of grime.
It coats everything I touch.
From engine parts to candy hearts.
And I ache so much.
My crappy life.
It coats everything I touch.
Treble from the speakers.
I feel the rattle in my teeth.
Rock and roll, new and old,
love or death, the air I breath.
But when I think of love,
I feel the rattle in my teeth.
I am nothing exceptional,
here in the gutter.
Maybe a sewer rat, maybe that
wouldn't mind listening to me sputter
because we are brothers
here in the gutter.
Upon snowy white land,
lush-greenest trees you can invision.
In a woodcutter's hand,
a small chest which I am imprisoned.
I wish to satisfy your thirst
as a companion to confide in.
For i am bottled up with emotion first
only to pour out skeptical wine.
Trust an unlabled container?
Smiling faces show no traces of the evil inside.
However I would do anything you ask
Because i have nothing to hide.
It's nighttime, the moon is out
The trees cast dark blue shadows about
Holding hands in the woods with the one I care
I want to kiss you there
A wave crashes on the shore just out of reach
Something romantic about the beach
The ocean is vastly beautiful, but can't compare
I want to kiss you there
Ontop of the world, a mountain so tall
You stand on a cliff, I make sure you don't fall
A panoramic view, I'd like to share
I want to kiss you there
A candlelit dinner, I make a toast
The best things in life to you I love most
A quaint little restaurant, doesn't matter where
I want to kiss you there
All the places in the world would eventually tire
There's only one place of eternal fire
It's your open heart I want you to bare
I want to kiss you there
Across the country
In a rickety old train car,
watching the tracks
through a rusty old scar
in the corner
pocked right through the floor.
It's really neat
but i dont go there anymore.
Sometimes,
with reckless abandon,
I'll throw myself
right out the door and land in
a grassy field
bleached yellow from the sun.
I am living.
Having so much fun.
I go to the tracks
and feel it's so warm.
It has a heartbeat,
the pulse of america I could've sworn.
Lay it to my ear
A train is on it's way.
Can't move.
It's here I wanna stay.
Butterflies.
Hot summers afternoon.
Fly away.
Train will be here soon.
When you begin to love some one
you love them heart an soul.
You begin to discover their emotions
as easily as you do your own.
You do not try to hide
what's plain for me to see.
You do not even deny
whats obviouse to me.
Because i know you love me
more than you can beleive
youre only lying to yourself
and the feeling isnt gonna leave
you think of me so often
ive scratched my ear sore
this fight you will not win
cause you dont want to anymore
when you see me on the street
you want to rush to my arms and hold me tight
even though our lips no longer meet
I keep them warm through the night
and im no more innocent
then you are in this affair
my thought are just as constant
but i dont really care
the thing about love is it does not weaken
it either dies quick or grows ever stronger
and unless you stab it dead and end it now
it will soon be special and it will be forever
our love is not a fairy tale
cause nothing else could be so real
more like that of a miracle
some divine blessing is what we feel
stronger than you stronger than me
stronger than we would care to admit
and the only way for our love to live pain-free
is to throw off the chains and embrace it
Where is my little vampyre
She who invades my dreams?
She burns my heart with hellfire
yet I wake up cold it seems.
Her hair is black as midnight
eclipsed by a solar flare.
I bask within her moonlight
yet I burn myself unaware.
A gothic piece, this damzel.
Her gaze will turn you to stone,
but I dare to watch her still
and I don't watch her alone.
Mezmerised by the crimson shade
that plays along each lip,
Reality is starting to fade
My sanity is starting to slip.
Compared to any other woman
there is none that could ever match.
I knew before, reminded again,
her heart, I never will catch.
At first I prayed to Aphrodite
To make her mine forever.
But after the second bite,
I pray that I never had met her.
I entwine thee
Coiled within my vines
Drwaing you closer
To the topmost fruit
Secured by the sharpest thorns
Piercing your heart
So that we may drink
Of our blood-red vintage
As eternal as all romance.
Your hands can be clammy
Sweating plams, peeling skin
chewed finger nails, marks from your pen
oily, scarred or wrinkled
hairy, or freckle sprinkled
If you touch me cause you love me
I dont mind, because I am blessed
Your hands are lovely
fragile, yet powerful within
fingers long, dainty, and slim
Gentle with grace intended
a natural perfume scented
But thats not the way you touch me
I still dont mind, thus I am cursed