Skirt up ******* down, he doesn't love her, she doesn't care!
***** redbulls, many she's had and now she wants him deep inside.
It's a weekend night in any town, alcohol driven no morals around.
Hedonistic in every way, precautions none its "mad Friday"!
******* up and off she trots, a drink to finish at the bar
A few drinks more she's being sick, oh Cinders is a mess again.
Tomorrow morning when she wakes she won't remember anything.

Skirt up ******* down, in the car park, behind the Grand
Seven drinks and she wants her fill, I hope she's on the mini pill!
Harder harder now she cries! His kness are bent she's 5 feet 5
He always thought she was a looker, he never expected he would f@@k her.
Less than five minutes its all over, he's once again deflowered a daughter.
She pulls him in for a kiss, he doesn't want to touch her lips.
******* up she walks away, he goes to tell his mates.
A few pints more he wants a kebab, who won the footy? I'll ave sauce on that!
Tomorrow morning will he remember? The night she chose you for surrender

Speak out loud !
Don't keep it in is what people say
It's cathartic to clear the air
Vent you inner thoughts
Though sometimes you are like a magicians hat
Never knowing what comes out of that
Its easier to keep things in a dwell upon them
Make yourself a bitter soul
No one wants to know

Broad filling the doorway he stood,
A statement. Defining intent,  and with absolute restraint. To her it was all. To him she believed nothing. The candle lit only at one end. Her end. Her imagination.
He walked to her and as with all Mondays placed the mail on her desk and asked for a signature. Her heart skipped a beat. "IT WAS GONE!" The wedding ring gone. She held herself together as though her very life dependent upon it. She said thank you. She would wait till Monday to verify her intelligence. Before she staked her claim.

I killed myself again tonight
Another perfectly planned ending
Meticulous to the last breath
Painless as always, but this time it was to look like ****** not misadventure
Questions would be asked, not conclusions drawn
I have now I believe played every possible scenario out whilst I battle insomnia
Like Holmes with an entangled case that tears at the synapses I wrestle
Each night the black dog sits and watches as I plot
For it doesn't know I plot its death
The vanquish of my Moriarty, my peace
Soon I will have the solution
For as Holmes himself said
Inspector "Is there any point to which you would wish to draw my attention?'

'To the curious incident of the dog in the night-time.' Holmes

Inspector "The dog did nothing in the night-time.'

'That was the curious incident,' remarked Sherlock Holmes.'"
The dog just watched torturous its stare.
That truth? The black dog is my nemesis, my Moriarty, my end.
No Watson to save me
For when you have eliminated all which is impossible, then whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.'
For as Holmes says " There is nothing new under the sun, its all been done before"

Caffine, sugar and doughnuts you ******! Fresh cream and profiteroles and chocolate sauce over it all. All we want all the time, beer shots and wine. More and more of all the stuff thay slowly kills all of us. Best intentions, yeah my ****! Mines a pint and kiss my ****.

He watches her. First contact like adrenaline to the mind, a muse in some ways. Her smile so wide and eyes so bright like a beacons. Her arms outstretched swept back "This is me!!!!" "Me ******* it all of me!! My soul bared before you! Can't you see I'm drowning" Time has passed since that day and the cry from the soul masked by that smile. He wonders: Did they notice? Care?  Or miss her plea. That was then. I was not there to respond to the cry, the hazed clouds in the photo, etheric, symbolic, real, yet imaginary. This is now, not the snapshot in time passed but the aftermath of it. I see her!!!!!!, her words cry out to me hauntingly yet painting a live landscape each day. Daily I step in and out of it its realm each time glimpsing a little more detail. Each time a little more revealled, or not for she never lets her feelings be known. They are tucked away safely healing from past marauders. She is hidden beneath layers of armour, some visible to the observer and some spiritual like magnetic fields surrounding mother earth. Protective letting light in but keeping the harmful forces away. Others drift in and out of her world, each picture shows a different emotion. Friendship, compassion, respect, yet tempered, restrained. So all the observer sees is a projection. For she has many faces and much armour beneath her cocked hat one eye exposed. The question is. What will she write today? Where will she take me? Or will she simply go on her own journey.....