Sometimes, you may find an enticing being that shatters all attempts at resistance. They lure, they trap and in the end, you are left with that void, that hollowness, the intense loss of all delusions you hold for yourselves. I think every human deserves this, lest they fall in love with the world.
Ribby snake Show me your skin That shade so blue With a little darker hue Under those shining lights Of a warm morning, or a twilight
Ribby snake Show me your eyes A piercing stare With that evading slant Languid eyelids And the pupil, yet bland
Ribby snake Drink deep On this altar of mine With a flickering tongue Commit this crime While we are still young
Ribby snake Lemme ride This spiny wave This twisting night I'll bend Break me, o lover mine
Ribby snake With your silent disregard With your closed eyes And that fading blue light A bobbing head Another denied delight
It's like something heavy, resting atop. You can calmly let it lie, let it seep in. With heavy laden arms, shallow breaths, you can feel it, calmly brushing your airways. Breath in, and hold still. It's surreal. An iron grip on your throat, as your face embraces that blue hue. With a few fading murmurs escaping. Are you ready to give in? So close, almost within that sickly grasp. Alas! the grip breaks and a sick reflex forces you to breath in lungful of air. One can see then, in those eyes, that plea. Pleading that you show no mercy, pleading for you to dig deep in the neck, pleading for that orgasmic trance, pleading; So that you let go, with your godly grasp.
I leaned on the wooden frame of the door, carved blocks bearing the weight. I like the stillness that summer afternoons impose. Even the few beings that straddle by, appreciate and caress the quite.
I miss that bead of sweat rolling down the temple of my head, the cold that ensued with the gust of searing wind licking at that bead and the smile that was donned, the visage lying bare, for I was back at home.
I miss staring at the fleet of clouds, the young rushing quickly, eager for some distant encounter while the wise and old drifting, constantly reshaped by torrents of air.
I miss the touch of cold water, on a parched throat. Into the gullet, the fluid but flowed. And the delicacies, fuming an aroma to enshroud, dripping a mirage to drown.
A tear wells up, somewhere in my eye. When I recall, that quite night in daylight. For I was born, in a desert with an abundance of will and a thirsty appetite. My heart clenches a bit, from a hopeless dream, where I could relive a past, where I'm lonely, yet free.
Let me tell you a story about fire. Fire is often depicted as a bright blaze or a glorious furnace. It's oft described as a hungry beast ravaging landscapes. That much is true about it, but fire's like a pet. It's art in hues of red and orange and yellow, and sometimes it's dressed in blue and white too. Fire licks, like some slobbering old dog that's hungry and all but toothless. There are souls in the fires, well, not exactly. Not in the fire I am talking about. It is more like there are voices in it. Sparks screaming out their lungs in a bright but short flash. Infernos wailing and raving, mad at everything in the world. I prefer the flickers— they don't scream, they sing to me, quiet mournful songs about how yellow girls dance with the orange lads until the winds come and they die. There's rhythm in their songs, a beat that thrums and hums its silent way into my mind. There are tales of glory in those flames, of power and love and everything passionate about the world. There's a song in the flames and I call it the arson's lullaby. I dance to it every time I sit by a flame or light a match.
Fire is insatiable when unleashed, spits ever so often at anything it picks and leaves dry slobber over everything it catches, like some barbaric predator with no soul, but it does have a soul. It drifts, from place to place, searching for something it cannot find, the very thing it destroys with its roaming scorch path. Fire tastes like smoke and charred paper, like fuming madness and scalding fury. My brother likes the fire, he plays with it every chance he gets, but I have tasted the fire and know of its revolting content. So I leave him to play and perhaps burn himself once or twice before I put the lights out. He should never have to be haunted by the harrowing songs the fire sings.
Fire burns brighter in the dark. You could never appreciate its beauty until it's the only thing alive in the darkness, well, the only thing alive and friendly in the darkness. It casts the darkest shadows to the depths and ofttimes, the brightest fires create the darkest shadows. Fire is light, and I never liked the light. I was born in the cold arms of the darkness and the light torments my eyes.
You should see fire burn a man. It makes them smell like roast pork, well it roasts then to the point it mimics alchemy and creates a delusion of edible danger, driving your senses to the point of no return. I have seen fires gulp children and adults alike and watched them yell for help and beg for mercy as it devours them with relish. Maybe those screams I hear in the fires are those of the people who died instead of me.
You would never believe if I told you that, the probability of actually finding your love increases exponentially after you've finally decided you've found the one But its true, and I can prove you that
But... What if you can't even find a decision? Where are the ones who match your taste? Well then, churn poetries in your isolation while your youth goes to a tragic waste
So!? You've found the decision and you throw him those subtle hints He gallops home for mommy's permission And got grounded, your silly prince Duhh!
Okay, maybe Just hook up with the decision And purr like a salicious pussycat So long as you're in submission You can be his favourite doormat Eh!
And if you date the decision and manage to catch him by his tail you'd now notice you've handpicked cable television while Alexa just went on sale Good Lord!
Okay, so you withhold the decision and ignore his velvety text A left swiped rescission Poof! and you've lost him to the next - I told you so!
And hah, in case you marry the decision the real bummer prince on the white horse will NOW bump into you everywhere And you'd trip first on his long legs that stick out like a clumsy chair Next on your guilt coughing out love like it's Delhi air
I have to agree confusing are these boys whether to settle on one or just have fun endless is the choice A first world predicament such is the millenial life So, please tuck your legs in gentlemen for I'm somebody's old school wife