Bordering the ear of Dyonisius, in the latomia stone cuts of paradise, they stopped at Syracuse. A certain flash of limestone reflected Wonthelimar's court; Marielle Quentinnais, wandering before him on calypso calcareous stones. Her superior powers made her eclipse her from an underground world, to mount towards carbonated stones that made egregious tilts to revive her in her arms. The end of a century became part of her heart with the premiere of the female species that led her to the Shemesh of Syracuse. The excessive temper strengthened it in everything, making it a revived stone from the Miocene with the Avignon characters, colluding through the Rhone until hitting this neat gold stone brought from the arms of Ezpaktul, transplanted with precision and gold typologies, with great Malleable morphologies that carried him across the surface where Wonthelimar was looking at her, his heart almost pounding when he saw her! the waters spoke of hydric morphologies that conferred of her on waters and springs that were inferiorized in disheartened lower levels when he lost her in the forests of Valdaine. Her brackish tears did not stop imputing a micro space with distinguished Psilocybin mushrooms, for an Ambrosia Mercurial compote that Wonthelimar chewed and that had been immolated from the remnants of Eleusis, helping to revive it from the lost space die of the Mausoleum of the Quentinnais. The mantles froze the cold and warm air masses in Syracuse, carried several meters above sea level, with eager extra surpasses by coexisting in the cave blocks, where she would rest with Vernarth in her arms. For the subjugation of the journey that would make him perhaps mortal, retreating towards a three-dimensionality that would raise him above the Pleiades, as Aurion would do behind with his club, but rather leaving behind the cavities that would put his quantum at the mercy of the tiny rosaries that she did, while he was getting ready to approach on the surfaces of the hypogeal speleothemes, like the Profitis of the Mediterranean who spoke to him of music, and of flood episodes with his spectrum in front of her, losing her in a melancholic fervor, being plunged into the hypogeum of Chauvet. The level of her vicious intrigues led him to follow her like an unattainable cousin, but with backwaters that compelled him to think of her master Vernarth, linked to micro images that warned him when he tried to get too close. The floating instants weighed more than a slight depth through accumulations of his retro memory, making him flee from her, and now she was fleeing from him, with large sprays of dew that filtered into her arid aquifer memory, superior to the kart that is established by correspondence when someone supposedly disappears, because their free will is entombed with their stone specter. Due to regimes suffered, there was only one monarch that rose in icy and polar vadose conditions, towards an earthly level where the feet melt the calcaneus as if it were a weak relative ascent towards a couple of beings who loved each other imprecise, and contexts when vivifying their hiding place. in the caverns of Chauvet. He can hardly recall it a shallow light, almost falling without mass towards the front of the stalactites, creating concretions of solid love under the deepest prodigality.

Wonthelimar, had had a vision on the vadose threshold when he came out to the surface with Vlad and Vernarth, being able to realize that the cloying environment made him subordinate himself in the altimetry of his maniacal impossible love, putting at risk the mission of overcoming the fluctuations of his visions, placing precepts in the sighting courses in Syracuse that had him dazzled, and very close to the entrance pit of the Ear of Dionisius. The puffs of caliginous air mass climbed before the beastly decibel of Vlad's chiropterans, falling through the marshes that were found from freshwater by several estuaries, and with decimeters when they tried to adjust their addiction. Solvents in the glaciers looked immutable when they were taken by underwater stimuli and models, still remaining after an extraordinary performance of vague probity, reviewing the details of actualism on the interfaces that led them, causing the water to flee from their bodies and inclinations. Only a few deposits favored the band mechanism to protect Vernarth's burning, which crystallized in excesses of the Sun, precisely when the fluctuations seemed bulky, by coordinating the foreign fattening in its arms, with which it would open the floodgates before entering the Grotto of Dyonisius, with greater rigors of concretion and emotion that flourished towards a maximum extension, which progressively gave rise to the devotional areas that received them at adjoining angles of forty-five degrees from its main arch, where frequencies stood out and the light with the mass of the Sun, distributed in small stars, which leaving campaniles that adhere to the normal area of distribution of the frequencies of the cave, on bands that reflected moved bodies on the mirror of rain that was shown on themselves, such as once striated towards a more tempting rib of the Coralloidal Speleothems. In Catania, they settled in the polis of Artemis's prosapia, on sieges where he led Marielle to past vigils with the Archons of Athens, not being able to subject her to arbitrary vexation.

Marielle was screened behind the Erithrina Coralloides of the Speleothemes, when this deciduous tree changed the color of its foliage in emerald colors, its spines served to deposit the Vernarth clone on its leaflets. After the libation of the alkaloid by Wothelimar, helping him to materialize the elusive effigy of her Marielle, making insertions in her disintegrated seeds allowing him to remove from her back some elytra, like those of Daedalus when she fled to Sicily escaping from King Minos. A snowy thread emanated from the similar ether that was picking through the noses of Wonthelmar and Vlad Strigoi, making it necessary to put wings on both of them to go to the cave of Dyonisius, toning the resins and aldehyde they carried to keep the Vernarth clone alive. Both rose over Marielle who was left with the custody of the clone, as well as their backs released red resins as consumed fuel, which was circularly reconsumed to rise up and enter the cave, resisting the arid aridities of the toxic fuel that was expelled on the Edens of Sicily.

i write about you
but you do not exist
or maybe you do;
maybe you do and i'm just talking to myself

maybe you're just another part of me that i hate so much
i have to talk to you,
i have to
punish you
because i know i shouldn't like the way it feels-
and i don't; but i keep coming back for more anyway

i amend: i know i shouldn't be addicted to this hatred
you tear me open and pull at my frayed edges
so that i split apart and lose my functionality - and i let you
then i let you thread me back together once more

you build my body with thicker wool each time, hoping that
one day
i'll be warmer, and harder to unravel
and you sew my edges with fragile promises of a better future
as breakable as the metal pin that bends between your crafty fingers

the materials started off so colourful at first, like rainbows
maybe that's why i'm so queer
though over time you started toning down my personality.
as my depression embroidered me, my sexuality dulled
purple and black and white and grey

you manipulate my patterns.
some nights i sleep through, others i don't sleep at all
and some nights my strings are stretched so taut across the nightmares
that one small pull will undo me

i am ripped apart then made into patchwork;
there are white seams over my arms
you call me a work in progress, damaged goods
to be fixed, to be mended:
you can't afford replacements

that doesn't stop you from looking
wishing you could upgrade me into something more,
something better
and every time i fall apart again
i'm left itching with apologies

but never to you; i never say sorry for hurting you
my only regrets are to those who become collateral damage.
i do not apologise to you
because you are me, and i am you
you are a part of me
and i hate you as much as i hate myself.

My mind is a muscle....
A muscle that  needs to be exercised, quite often.

Daily Intense Workouts Shall Strengthen this muscle.

Enlarging it....
Making it quite Powerful.......

Never allowing this important muscle to fall to the
Shrunken  Condition of "Weak and pitiful."

"jogging" down  the streets which are  the "books, of life's Experiences"
"pumping the irons" of the "Weight" that  "Problems Needing to Be Solved"
Push on the limits which this muscle can "pump"  and "endure"

I always "keep this muscle well toned"  Running quickly, holding tightly, and
Stretching Its limits of what my "muscle" can "hold."

I hold a smile on my facee As I  excercise my "mind"  to a stronger Future.

rickety  minutes twitch in wood stained cabinets;
mittens in a bin .  birch tones postpone in mauve
twilight... an unfinished diorama.
clandestine. a small glitch in a good rain... cabbages
smitten in mist.  a thirst groaning; long bones caw
fully reclined...  as timeless Brahmans.

old beams of light stack like gold bricks in a humidor;
mittens in a bin.  black  birds comb rogue stones then.... [ pause ]
triffids... blemish barnacles.
crystalline. a ball of lint in a storm drain... vanishes -
bitten out of sight.  at first, toning old gongs... wind
chimes... earth's most wanted.

A place like this would be perfect
   Somewhere bright and warm
With a tint of a crisp cool breeze
A background not too colourful not too dull
     Where the sun kisses the horizon
Toning a pink sky with little stars soon to shine
And the moon waking up to let the sun breathe
Sounds of swaying leaves and dancing branches
    Rich earthy smell of a mid-spring evening
       Birds chirping lakes rushing in a steady pace
      Some place where you and i can laugh away
A scenery where i can look at you in pure
   Admiration under the sunset
Where you can see my imperfections
       And good qualities at once
A place we can transform into our own utopia
    We can just stay still and hold each other
  And appreciate all that surrounds us
          Never wanting to leave or walk away
    Some place like this is perfect
Where we're always going to be young
      And lost and unaware
     And absolutely
   Tremendously
Infatuated

*-djs

Hey Cindy
what’s new
Sorry I haven’t text.

What has happened?
Did you leave me
for the next?

I decided,
To write you
this letter.

I’m doing ok,
Hope you're
doin better.

How’s the ****,
You still going to the gym.

Are you toning those abs
Are you getting really thin.

One thing
I do know,
Your beauty
will never die.

Just writting
this letter,
And Wanted
to say HI!!!

How are the babies?
Are They doin ok?

I miss our conversations,
I really must say.

Well hope all is well,
And you are Doing just fine.

I’ll leave you with that,
Not to waste to much time.

Here a solemn fast we keep,
While all beauty lies asleep;
Hushed be all things, no noise here,
But the toning of a tear,
Or the sigh of such as bring
Cowslips for her covering.

I want to experience what it feels like to wholeheartedly love who I've become. To realize that one day the only person I need to keep sane is myself. Independence isn't about doing things on your own as compared to realizing what can be accomplished by yourself. If as if you are surprising and surpassing your own high expectations. And if what they say is true, that we ourselves are our own worst critics, then so be it. But when I wake up in the morning I want to feel proud that I  made it through an eventful dream, unlike the nightmares that still scare me even when I'm awake. Or the gloom that hangs over my mirror every morning while I cake on powders and gloops of color toning make up in order to be suitably eye catching. My push up bras don't even push up my lack of chest fat but in turn let my self confidence sag. I'm not always short enough for the boy I like to be a picture perfect couple. Nor am I tall enough to enjoy how the skyline kisses the horizon. My **** doesn't sway the way my steps take me further and further down judgmental halls with eyes that can shatter someone's assurance of themselves. My skin isn't naturally glowing due to the dull lighting guiding me way through this dim settled life I have set up for myself. The natural hair on top of my head isn't constantly in place; and alike the baby hairs, I myself am flowing wildly by which ever the wind blows. And I wish I can say I will someday appreciate the small things that I believe are physically wrong with me. Like the way my freckles become more noticeable in the summer. Or how my hair becomes darker in the winter. Or how my birthmark on my leg reminds me of South Carolina. Or how my fingers are allowed to touch everything beautiful.
*That's the way I want to be. That's the way I will be.

Laura required for each discovered protein species
the glory of heaven received in the yellow Sun lover's
Developers play Speaker Nancy Zero;
harmless administrative darkness leads to the pain
of a senior high degree stripper, Tom soon has a dog
tortured in the presence of Glover,   a toning, weight
Equipment spur of the moment born lady she gave
birth to talk about the glory of God is in the city, ||||||||
a group of Grip 155, into the basin of communication,
because the angels were watching a mirror from
its solid gold acid bacteria and to feel a sense of
the history of poodles gold,   the kinds of the blood
of the transfusion of the blood of the guilt of
bloodshed on the ability of the blood of Apodemus
a young woman to the nose, rather shows that
the opposite of your conversation as his right,
[n.G] noble ladies at the nose rather show the
opposite behavior that led to the right of the law
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during the night in parts if the black pepper
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is required for each discovered a protein species
in the glory of the heavens being married blonde
sun lover's Developers Menu play talks to Vicki,
failing to be a harmless administrator of the dark
leading consumer's to older, higher levels of strippers,
Tom, quickly Canis,              |  a genus of the Canidae
containing multiple extant species,
such as wolves, coyotes, jackals, dingoes,     and dogs.
Species of this genus are distinguished by their
moderate to large size, their massive,
well-developed
skulls and dentition, long legs,       and comparatively
short ears and tails. torture present Glover,
toning the body armor;   Spurring ladies to noble talk
of glory in the state group Grip 155 in a basin
of communication that angels keep a glass of dry
gold acid bacteria and feel a sense of history
poodles the gold that was by the samples
of the blood of the transfusion of the blood
of the guilt of bloodshed on the ability of the blood
of Apodemus and the ******, that is to the nose,
rather shows, that the opposite of ways to the right ||
of the law, then he took him by the experiment
of the garden of God for the work of the offering
given, in the evening, the observance of a needle,
the Savior of the monster, gem of the evening
and the hair of the head, blond hair, which perishes
even caelu and in their death, I want to be more beautiful,
the transfer of blood is the blood
of the enemy of the nose is out of the conversation
is in the blood of many a ******, Apodemus
||
Laura is required for any protein discovered
in the glory of the sky received Yellow Lord
of Love's Adonis developers playing Nancy,
Nancy's loud dark executive voice leads to the pain
of a senior high-class stripper, Tom soon has a current
Glowering tortured dog, Gwen, the weight of a lady
born the moment she was born to talk about |
The honor of God is in the city, a group of foothold 155,
into the media basin, because the angels
looked at the mirror from its solid gold acid acids
and to feel a sense of the history of gold poodles, |
the blood types of transfusion of blood
and guilt of bloodshed on the ability of the blood
of an Epodemus A young woman nose, but shows
that the opposite of your conversation as the right,
night's noble back; On the nose instead of showing ||||
the opposite behavior that led to the right
of the law is proof of the garden
and the evening forest keeping the needle
in the evening and the golden hair that our monster
G sky and the former dead beginnings at F center
completely Lẹllww אש fire during the night
in parts if pper black 500 na , And Apodemus' blood;
blood required for all discovered *** proteins
in the glory of the sky to be married to the blonde
sun's love menu developers to play calls Vicki
failed harmful administrative leads of the older
consumers of the highest level strippers;
Tom's canis torture was present in Glover,
toning body armor spurs ladies from the nobility
to speak for glory in the state group grasping
155 in the communication basin that angels
keep a glass dry; bacteria of gold acids and feel
a sense of history of the golden poodles
which was by the blood samples of infusion
of blood and guilt of bloodshed
on the ability of the blood of Epodimus and the ******,
i.e. the nose,
but shows that the opposite of the ways on the right side
of the law, it took him by the experiment of God's Garden
on the work of the given issue, in the evening,
the grace of the needle, the savior of the monster,
the pearl of the evening and the hair of the head,
blond hair, which even die caelu and their death,
I want to be more beautiful, The enemy of the nose is out
of the conversation in the blood of many of the ****** Epodimus.

When the fog lifted, i watched the forest sway where the rain began.

It was as though a static born, when the thunder turned to storm, and formed puddles under the street lights that would dim, as i walked beneath them.

On the path I had, a cliff side view, of the wrath in waves, as they ravaged rocks, in watery quests to carve the caves, for the tide to drink, of sinking thoughts, that patiently passed in my peripheral.

Spiraling vacantly, receding back to sea, in hollow moans, toning to another side of me.

Traversing tranquility, in the sanctity of spacious seas, seemingly of me, the emptiness of swallowed shores, drifting unto shallow swells, of surrendered swamps, to flooded lands, my emptied head, unto empty hands, to grasp the darkened clouds, of shrouded amens.

As time slowed, the thunder closed, on the lightning, as it lit the trees, summoning silhouettes over the shaking streets, that dance before me, smearing the tears, and the burning defeats, until withered away, as the sun breaks, in spectral hues, that washed away, the dirt.

Potential hides
As competition grinds,
Indecisive times,
Jealousy's here to blind.

Redundant doubts
Pollute my brain
They flash on display,
Persisting everyday.

Prove your worth,
Earn your keep.
I know it's there,
obscured and weak.

Consistency's,
just out of reach
New circumstances ignoring
Past experiences toning

This life is an asylum where we are patients unwell, possessed by the need to move and escape. Some believe that they are heroes, some believe they are nothing but most of us here are fools who have maybe thrown this life away, we surround ourselves with material objects by which we feel will bring to us less grief and pain, and when asked what it is you love, you lie saying that there is no one nor anything to.
"What of your father, mother, brother, sister? What of them?"

This was the only truth where you would not reply for they truly do not exist.
Your father died the death of a drunk, a fool. Your mother a *****, a poor one a that. Your brother was weak and had no will so he chose to end whatever was left of his life. Your sister.. your sister was young, beautiful but she was thrown as a stray where she was left for dead with her last breathe.
You were however not left then, visited continuously by them “the doctors” they came asking you the same question day after day.

"who or what do you love?"

They followed on with money? Beauty? And words which all meant nothing to you and you replied with the same arrogance of the fool that you once were. Shouting, screaming and yelling at them.

"I despise everything, the same way you fools despise your god with every tiny, petty ounce of faithless worship."

Soon with time, so too did they leave you as you are… as you always were, alone. However they did not understand that it was time alone that you needed, time alone to collect your thoughts and calm yourself down, only they did not realize that, and so you were left aside…

Years passed and you were left with only the care for your daily needs. Food, washing's, sleep and medicine. Years passed when finally you were visited by an astonishingly young stranger, a girl, one who was around the age of your younger sister at the time.
She was filled with youth, beautiful, almost as if she were a goddess from heaven, one that you never thought you would meet in this life… she walked up to you in a slow pace with her feet hitting the marbled laced floor with a rhythm of *** and tat, and when she finally arrived before you she asked.

"Who or what is it that you love?"

And you replied, whole-heartedly with a never ending single or so tear running down the side of your cheek.

"I love the incomparable chaste blue of the sky, the mimicking and ever so toning white of the clouds, the marvelous clouds, in all its beauteous visage. I love everything in all its beauty."

And you said so with a smile that ran along the sides of your cheeks, with a tear that soon stopped, in a room resembling reverie, in which a stagnant and almost as if never ending atmosphere of negativity just vanished… leading your idol soul bathed in regret and anguish away to a better place under a new moon of voluptuous dreams.

It is fascinatingly probable
God balanced, protected, recompensed
how I feel misplaced in the confinements
to the vessel, in a biological
femininity even more being said,
by shaping that body as a speech
in my structure and palette embedded
of nature’s casts, messages‘
endearing faced:

I am put in a sunflower’s shift
when bearing a heat with caramel toning,
in the skin,
swift golden towel ‘round the
form naked,
shoulders
and all other petite
through that standing strong
like a sword’s leather hilt,
and eyes with hair of tenderly
made browns with lights and darks,
as freckles shining scattered,
with their origin from Gold arriving,
or at last the very nutrient
dark centre by seeds posed.

When sodden, it is a mangrove then,
the caramel whole now slick
yet strongly dense as its roots,
like when I get myself firmly stuck
on feet like double arrow
spread limbs
and like mahogany shade
stand reading images.

Or there’s at last and at wind
the cherry blossom:
my thoughts and sensing presence
are so beloving that they
emanate pink in passing,
just as it’s flowers with no fruit,
my top, a crown,
swaying branches,
irregular protruding.
I bloom so dearly with my shading,
I could almost kiss like leaves,
like they do with me.

Wish you could see me, this,
such loving dear sight to be.
Like slick, promising, calm own river.
Alas, an eerie beige coat that flutters
with child dreams

The long evening with its strident call
harries me
the night became a bed in which to carry me
as I become the setting of a settling sun
stripping down
toning up
I drink a cup of kindness
for auld lang

When the doorbell rang I was almost asleep,
eighty seven sheep at the last count.
I answered dreamily as the candle flame wavered
wearily towards its end

Friend or foe?

You never know
who calls at the mid of night.

The morning slept as late as I
and so I rose with the rising of
a red faced sun.

Who knows
why
the crimson in the sky that makes the
day blush
makes me rush

guilty conscience?

My whole life I've been told to speak less or softer, that if I just tried "toning it down" maybe people wouldn't find me as overbearing, more approachable, even more feminine. Years of trying shrink myself into other peoples idea of acceptable has only led to self doubt, anxiety and self destructive behavior. I refuse to spend another second tearing myself apart to fit into boxes other people created for me. I am loud, opinionated, messy and much more . If thats "to much" for you, then so be it. I will no longer apologize for the space I occupy in this world.

with the release
my fingers relax
my back stays straight
my mind rests
energy increase.

with the release
the heart can see clear
practicing things to prepare
for the days to come.
when I release with my heart
open, prepared for the days to come.

these days skim the crest
of my creations. my high mind
decisions of my details.
how I see what is required, to release.
to be free, ultimately.

my girl told me…
be secure in your safety.
you can do no harm.
trimming the fat, toning the arms,
the core, the heart.
its a cold world,
love alone warms.

exposed to receive
and instantly, gracefully, creation
just keeps on…….moving forward
creating again and again.
the beauty is not to be missed
it is to be seen, and released
and seen...

The Trump administration continues
To sing the dour voter fraud song.
Hoping to weaken voting rights,
Many Republicans sing along.

Multiple-state registration:
One case in point, they state.
Let's see what kind of evidence
They'll be able to create.

Tiffany Trump, Jared Kushner,
Bannon and Spicer, it's vital to note,
Were registered in multiple states--
Yes, registered to vote!

White House adviser Stephen Miller
Speaks in defense of the president's claims
By raising more foundationless doubts--
By building a fire and fanning the flames.

"The president's authority
Will NOT be questioned," Miller declares.
When our leaders talk like that,
It's a sorry state of affairs.

Toning down such dictatorial
Language is going to be a must
If the current administration
Expects to be credible and wants our trust.

- by Bob B (2-16-17)

My mind is restless, you are blamed for this
infesting logic with the bluest eyes
and tearing scepters with your flawless kiss
from stems that lift mind's wealth unto your guise.

So feeble me, who gives all thoughts to you
with even those that'll have me leap and run
they stay with you, and leave behind the rue,
that portion starves and you in me have won.

Ah! Now your toning calms the waves of doubt
to think of you is as to sail the day
to think of love, cannot have thought without,
it's you, and all that mastered mine to sway.

So know my love that thoughts have bred this truth
you have in me, so conquered all untruth.

In school they showed me once upon a time wasn't real time it was made up like make-up on a real girl with insecurities or the perfect Bonitá, so when I look at you I think of you as make up to me but I'm a guy if I was a transgender there would be a way to live in a time as yours but I know it's fake and here I am watching the mirror toning my eyebrows to be accepted buy the mirror once upon a time I was pretty once upon a time I loved this feeling ..my lonely years