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Sons of light and darkness.
Twist. Reach for the new sun,
Clothed in night passions.
A flicker of existence entrances
Us all - confuses; brings joy and hurt
Till we become the Sons of Nothing.
Her eyes are two galaxies full of secrets,
But you know with time she will reveal her past,
Confess her hopes for the futures and her dreams for the present.
You wait.
Like a wild wolf, she approaches slowly, it takes time but all you have is time,
Time,
A lifetime as she approaches and you raise a hand and watch as she
Unravels.
Speaks with confidence and a hint of vulnerability.
Instantly, you want to shelter her from the hurt of the world,
Shelter her for the pain, the rejection, the heartbreaks,
But the only shelter you have is the strength of your
Words,
The quality of your
Arms
Wrapped around her.
You hope, you pray,
*Please, God, let this be enough.
Inspired by Danny O'Connor's art of the same title
http://docart.bigcartel.com
In a world filled with,
Boisterous lads,
Vivacious girls,
Who would see our lonesome wallflower?

In a world filled with,
Discrimination, anger and carnage,
And people who are so savage,
Who would see the kindness,
Who would see the sweetness,
Of our lonesome wallflower?

In a world filled with,
Superficiality, selfishness and disdain,
Where soon humanity shall not remain,
Who would see our lonesome wallflower?

People see what's outside,
To them, exterior is what matters;
Nobody can see the substance inside,
Of our lovely, lonesome wallflower!
I saw the world in bright colors,
A brilliant yellow and orange hue,
A hint of pink and a splash of red,
A sky blue full of hopes and dreams,
And bright green, the color of life

My laughing was the colour yellow,
My lips were the orange hue,
My smiles were pink with a splash of red,
My happiness was the color blue as it shone in my eyes,
And green was the color of my soul.

But my friends, they took advantage of my colors..
They stole them to paint their own canvas
They scraped the hues,
They took what color I had left
And kept it all to themselves.

Instead of helping me, they tore me down
Using my radiance as a tool for their success,
Killing me from the inside,
My colors running dry,
My smiles becoming less and less each day.

Now I don't know who I am anymore,
My colors are all in disarray,
They've tainted my mind with this colorless feeling,
A feeling of being dead inside,
Slowly decaying and falling into the void of non-existence.

I'm colorless... a heart of black and white,
My eyes a gray of darkest shade,
Colorless, Colorless...
My soul is now an ugly black,
The lines of life blurring to gray each day.

You stare in horror at the monster I've become..
Why don't you like your own creation?
I offered you my kindness, you twisted it and shifted,
This is who I am now,
Don't you like your own masterpiece you created?

My mind is going crazy, but is it really my fault?
Thoughts racing through my head,
I'm colorless now, a canvas of black and white,
Maybe I can try to find some color and save myself...
The color red now drips down my arms...
Colorless, Colorless... black and white splattered with blood...
In the end
we'll realize that
the revenges we took
wars we fought
battles we lost,
were only self-destructing.
"what is an addiction to you?" they asked, “well” you begin, “an addiction is having a cigarette, and just when you finish it, you feel like you need another one” but what you have yet to sink into are the depths of your imagination that you can’t care to to dwell on, because you’re too busy floating on the surface of your own soul.
You see,
An addiction is having your first taste of the igniting fumes as they dance on your tastebuds, manipulating the fact that no matter how good it may taste, that is what’s going to destroy you. its pushing the pessimism out of the inevitable because you’re fooled into being blind enough to think that this isn’t the thing thats going to **** you. It's the trick it plays when you think the smoke is beautiful as it caresses itself around your touch of naive passion, when the smoke is only the remains of the damage you’ve already faced.
It's a belonging you covetously latch onto in a desperate attempt to find any source of comfort, when you don’t even realise that it's only comforting because you’ve filled it up with everything you hate about yourself, every word you wish you never said, or thing you wish you never did. It's filled with every person you wish you never met and hurt you wish you never faced.
But maybe its the kind of addiction thats filled with everything you love about yourself, every word you wish you did say or thing you did do. Maybe its filled with every person you wish you spoke to, or hurt you wish you had to face. either way, you’ve locked that up so deep down inside of you that you’ve lost the possibility of an easy escape, you have to find something that destroys you to make it reappear, even if it's only a brief reminder. A delicate touch. A gentle wind of scent.  
You see, nothing is ever like your first addiction. You could be skimming pebbles before you realise to shoot stars, but no matter how much bigger or brighter that star may seem, it will never truly give you the same release that skimming that pebble did.
You let your addiction take over your senses because you believe thats the only thing that can give you a sense of comfort. You don't even begin to consider that this addiction is whats burning your withered soul into nothing but a pile of ashes, swept in the wind of humanity and reality. An addiction is living with the reality of rotting flesh and damaged bones; you can’t even stand alone because you’ve let your addiction glue itself with the fear of loneliness to your hand, so you think of nothing other than it being a part of you, an attachment, a parasite ******* the life out of you, whereas all you’ll ever believe is that its ******* the poison out of your pure blood.
An addiction is something you may not even realise you’re addicted to because you haven’t let yourself get hungry enough to lust for it. It's always there. It's destroying you. Even the smell of your addiction gives you a sense of relief that you’re not alone, when in fact the smell is there to remind you that you are trapped in a state of your own mind.
You have chosen to be oblivious to be the flaws it possesses, because at the time nothing can seem better than your first addiction, nothing in this world could beat the smell, the taste and the touch of your first addiction, and you have let that take over your senses to a stage where if that addiction was taken from you, it would hollow out your heart like a pin pricked egg.
No addiction is better for you than your first love.
Did you really think i was talking about the cigarette?
She then wears her special smile
an inamorata's conspiratorial
signalling her arousal, need to get me closer
right there in a room full of people
all of us in the midst of serious business.
I have deep yearning in my eyes
that in turn sets fire to her love central
we burn to be in each other's arms
lovers in exile, commandeer private moments
deflecting watchful eyes of jealousy
every time our secret rituals of amour
take unexpected arms and win wars.
My desk is never clean.
pipes and wads of paper
broken pencils and half full glasses of water
a mostly finished bottle of wine.
the cork is lying around here somewhere
my wax melter spilled little candles
and there is a thin layer of kief under my mat.
I do everything here
with a rolling chair I found
I'm not sure where anymore
draped coat arms dance when I spin around
in the chair, swinging up to say hello
to me, pen in hand,
a fresh glass of water to soon join the others
and a lamp that is too bright for my eyes
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