She lay there.

Wanting. 

Bareskinned glorious.

Pallid skin luminescent with the moonglow. 

Eyes fixed on quiet desperation.

Finger pressed to ripened lips.

Then she whispered....

"I want to taste your cruel intentions." 

And so offered a glimpse of her womanhood in all it's dewy magnificence. 

I turned the key and left. 

Footfalls.

Im beginning to think...

That lucid is overrated.

I'm beginning to think...

That her smile isn't meant for me.

I'm beginning to think...

That the song is never-ending.

I'm beginning to think...

About beginning to think.

And try to ignore the voices.

And try to squelch the frantic searchings for truth.

And try to love the fiend inside.

And try to burn the sun.

I'm beginning to think....

About beginning to think.

Soiled and Broken.

I want to leave you.

Countenance of dread. Reeking of fear.

Swallow me. 

Whole. 

I 

Want 

your

 Soul.

And so I wretched. 

And so I made pure.

And so I soiled mother's gentle hand.

And so I friended calamity.

And gave it a name 

The source in engendered silence.

And so. 

We linger on 

And so. 

In my own heart, I'm the champion of everything that wails with redemption.

I start all over again.

Every day.

Wrenching the benevolent.

Writhing, wriggling and screaming.

Fathoms of excess.

Exhaustion

All I need is sleep. 

And the saga begins.

Again.

Her supple, naked flesh dimpled by clawlike fingers, she writhed in ecstasy, her every breath burning with white hot desire. 

See? anyone can write this shit. 

50 Shades of Grey my ass.

Woe to you.

Wretched patriots of summers past. 

In vain the lightness of your being and shouldered burdens 

Rain cleanses and clarifies the blood of the protagonist

Wash it all away. 

And the wind whispers change. 

The scent is electrifying 

The scent is damnifying

Surrounds us. 

Completes us.

And swallows us whole. 

A rush of warmth that spreads when the madness creeps in. 

Ear-splitting reticence cleaving ardor with purpose and rabid zeal. 

Remains.

Watching. 

Learning. 

                                                                                                                      Ever-present and prophetic in one belabored

breath.

Race your novelties to the brink of starvation.

Masses conglomerate to rousing ovation.

World stage. 

Let them in.

Let them all in.

I'm fine watching through the peephole. 

For the peephole, by the peephole. 

We hold these truths to be self evident. 

Read again.

Don't act as if I have a choice in the matter.

Fact is, these demented ramblings are my lullabies. 

Run roughshod over your truths.

Purity doth conquer.

Seek.