What can I say I'm cheap,
I couldn't afford a 69 so I went
for the cheaper 59, 10% off.
      
                      Ye off the end result.


She was like tongue me deeper,
                    and she blew me.

Not like a vacuum hose,
more like blowing a birthday
                        candle out.

I'm moaning, she's coming.
Then a gust of wind in my face.

What can I say, she called me cheap!
And you get what you paid for,
I don't know why but my ***** are singed.....

To realistic for my liking that *******.

Candle, candle, where you breathe,                                  
may this light of yours succeed.
Candle, candle, bright and pure,                                      
from the flames of hell return.
Candle, candle, where you breathe,                                  
may this flame of yours succeed,
Candle, candle, wise and strong,                                    
bring forth your heavenly perfumes,
cease the wars, cease the injustice,
vanish at once the filth of sinners.
Candle, candle, where you are,                                        
bring forth your light, let it increase.
Candle, candle, bright and strong,                                  
from the depths of hell return,
place the jewels of Heaven on the mouths of all sinners.
Candle, candle, deep allure,                                                  
may the flames of hell adorn,                                            
with the light of Heaven glows,                                        
with the piercing brightness flow.

Inorder for someone to live
Someone needs to die
For life it can achieve
It needs to sacrifice
But even though gradually
They both fade away
Slow as it takes
This life of a candle

I will wait up for the happiness that once belonged to me. I will kiss the robins in the early morning and the fall leaves right outside my window. The books waiting to be read, I will read them, to pass the time, some a better read than others, but I will read them anyway. The darkness will go away soon as long as I light the candle each night. I will hug the flames, feeling the fire enter my body. I will glow like never before. I will be the light until the happiness that once belonged to me returns.

I used to have an obsession with candles.
Their soft yellow glow shimmering in the air,
Their heat melting the surrounding wax,
Their wicks, a lengthy fuse waiting to be terminated;
Their glow shining upon the surrounding area.

They comforted me, like a distressed mother
Holding tight to her kin during a hostile tempest.

They flicker so,
In the still air moving to and fro.

He sits by the window
Talks to the stars
He is a dreamer
Who waits for his dreams to be reality
He lights a candle hoping someone would see him
But the candle was just a notch in the city of lights
He wanted to shine like a north start
But he was just another dot in the middle of thousands.
He sits by the window hoping for the stars to talk to him.
But the room was quite like a windless ocean

He opened the window,
Shouted as loud as he ever could do
But the wind took his words and left him speechless
Despite his loud head the room was silent yet again
He looked up, hoping for the stars to talk to him.

don't you dare smile
in the face of the
day.  don't think for
a second that
you are in control
of your feelings.  
see that person ahead?
don't acknowledge them.
head down, eyes forward,
mouth shut, heart
closed.
...good, now you're
getting the hang of
it.  now, accept everyone
else's authority but
your own, amass financial
debt, relieve yourself
with the proper drugs,
find someone under
the same
enchantment as you
and call it love.  
have kids because it's
the next step.  raise them
in your image.
then,

watch them repeat the
same cycles
and as you're dying, have
a flash-thought-
  "did I even notice who I was?  what I wanted for this life?"
and as the thresh
ceases to be held you
light a candle of hope-
your love the spark,
your children the fed flame.
you say,  
     "they will sever the momentum I couldn't, they will
          see it."
-after all they are made
to be better than you,
not simply blind copies.
yet as the kaleidoscopic walls
usher you on you wonder,
     "how many of my ancestors have lit this same vela del lecho
         de muerte?  how many were hoping it was their daughter or
            son?"

the security of tradition and
the risk-reward of novelty
played out across
lineages.  both correct
and incorrect in their
own ways...

which one reaches through
the ages and hums
in
your spine?