I wish I could say...
  that I don't believe in love
  that I don't believe in truth
  that I don't believe in you

Life would seem less futile somehow
   but also...less beautiful

blood stains her canvas
   congealed crusts, fresh streaks
frayed corners and edges
   the tattered toll of pain, loss

how best to depict my love on her
   overlay her with beauty
to develop a patina of care over time
   reduce her suffering to pentimento

her landscape shifts constantly
   with the quality of her light
I must blend to the shade of her mood
   her want...her need

work from the palette of my heart
   in the spectrum of my love
paint her in courted color
   every tone of every hue

brush her being with my caress
   creatively styled to her moment
pastel tenderness...primary strength
   bold strokes of passion...bright splashes of spontaneity

to portray for her a frameless existence
   of unlimited intimacy and peace
but she does not rest on my easel
   and I am merely dreaming of the art of love

A black and white world doesn't suit me
  I have a visceral response to generalizations
  that serve to minimize, demonize, marginalize

Neither can I accept an existence sheltered in grey
  restrictively deliberating in the narrow space
  between cautious optimism and healthy skepticism

The spectrum of possibility is infinite
  when seen with an open mind and giving heart
  at the risk of discovering beauty

Silence said so much, a roaring din, a cacophony of nothing. It's point deliverd with expert precision. Fire in a void, snow in sunshine all improbable none impossible, all imposition. Yet predisposed in every aspect. Then came sound. Quiet at first, then loud hollow and empty. Emotionless and final.

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.