The words we read:
conjured up figures,
concepts, new ideas  
we want an closure:
a nice happy ending:
another question,
a cliche, a solution
hope to fight
off this condition.
  

That inner voice,
tells us what we
should do.
The critic,
the karma
the inner spirit
gliding through storms:
trudging across murky waters
but can we all
squeeze in that
same boat.

Words are pain
they are there to educate:
devour us with pleasure:
smoother dreams with color.
Nothing is ever black or
white its more grey all over.
  
Words are the
most potent
force that we can muster.
They are always free to change:
and are unpredictable
as the weather.
  
You can never buy words
they are immortal
unbreakable and
are challenging to decipher.
One minute they make you feel
a million times better.
The next they leave you on the sidewalk
with nothing but naked pride.
You can never really measure
the costs at the horror
of words that turn a sane man
insane.

Twisted butterfly wings  
silence your tongue
bruises and marks
conceal your flesh
with black and white
splodges.
shadows blow you
a kiss that twists
your ballerina feet
into a dance
Your eyes half shut,
half open hearing
whispers of verse
that turn into song.

The cliffs that point up:
are faded grey dissembled
finger hung by the thorns
Rats scurry gnaw at the flesh
the poisonous injection
of snakes seeping
danger lurking
in each crevice.  

Shadows leaping forward:
circling gown of fire:
swords made of ice
impaling the heart
the air whispers:
the shadowy feet
are never far apart
of horses that scurry
through the night.

You were an hot swirling vortex
raining down fire sprouting
out the sky the floating sunset
shining light across the murky
water. You lit up gardens
with red splodges of paint.
Summer rises up the streets:
warming up the air,
flowers are sprouting:
birds sing
flutes are playing
the seeds are about to sow

Can never pinpoint what's
making me down:
feel I want to deep down explode:
Some thing holds me back
she slaps me in the face,
snapping incoherent mutterings
to my face.
I feel this frightened baby,
when I see this cynical old lady.    

My mind moves quickly
to avoid her glazed stare.
She's always looking back
at the disappointment
than moving forward.  
She can never rest.

I wish I could really just smile
again.
Would it just be another  lie?


Just another way
to build up
unstable barriers.
I want the pain
to cease.  

Wearing another mask
to conceal what
I deep down feel.

Bottling up
the pain,
just to appear
happy and sane.

Forgetting the horrible flashbacks,
when you watched
first hand the bad things
that people have done to you:
looking in another direction
pretending it never happened.
when they were the ones that
made you feel that way.
The smashing up, fighting,    
sexist culture of pigs
who manipulate weaker minds
with constant flashbacks of  abuse,  
torture, black mail and mind games
sugarcoated with even more lies.

Sometimes wish my mind
would turn off and forget
and start a fresh
but it won’t do that.
its something in me which
keeps replaying over and over
very nasty scenes in the past
and making it worst
until your mind can’t take and
won't give no more good
to anyone else.
It turns you out and there is
just nothing left
and it ends with you
seeing more of death.

The dark clouds
fade  through
the crystal stream.

Air floating up
into flames.

A bird rises
above the ashes
glides through the
trees:

smoking up the heavens.

Every direction I can
see white lights, red eyes
and and set of teeth
grinding into my flesh,

An old woman
appears with a note and a
bunch of flowers
reading the words
"for dead must fall"

I can remember that first encounter. He was a man in his early thirties, bright eyes but with a dark grin and was smoking your cigars wearing a black hat and he was also carrying a guitar. He was here to show me how to strum an few chords.

I remember him distinctively saying...

"Guitar playing I am about to teach you is really the same as love making you know?"

I  laughed and blankly said
"but how so?"

" Well... (grinning)
Each string has to be carefully plucked, and contains a different  sensation and vibe if you mishandle the strings that final note will sound awful.

He was showing me how to re-tune and play a few chords which were C, D and G then pass me over the guitar back to me.
"Its your turn dear, and be really gentle"

While doing this and playing the first few chords of the guitar which was D I could feel him rub my shoulders and chest gently.
"Don't worry you can trust me, I was just loosening you up we can't have you feeling tense"
"Now, show me a G"

I begin to play the chord G while doing that he then grasped firmly on my other hand : I can feel a surge of heat from his hands firing up my fingers. This heat was making its way to my chest. He now caressed and circled around the chest and then higher up to my *****. I can feel his breath and his tongue swirling and stretching out to **** on my *******.

"Okay ... final note play me a C"

I crouch down to the floor and begin to strum that final chord and can then feel him stretch his hands beneath my skirt I could feel the sensations further of his fingers strumming my ***** in the same rhythmic motions of his guitar previously.

"See what I said? music playing really is the same as love making"
"I nodded and said yeah I suppose"

A bit shaken and uncertain how to respond but he kept whispering into my ear and repeating that same line: while kissing me on my cheeks, stroking me up and down in circular motions in which I could feel a tense feeling of release and then silence again

Was that the final note?