Prolixarum

Appease the taste of deviant desire: A woven pillar of decadent denier. Seize the base with trodden temple,    At the foot of lustful pyre,        With fabricated skin upon skin,        Engulf the lovely whole, And as each begging stride begin,    Unearth the pliant soul. Astray eyes seek from base to summit: An eagerly veiled, cloth-clad appetite. Let sway one of sinful seven,    At the tail demanding covet,    With twill rolling thin upon thin,        Capture the craving gaze, And as each sweeping wave seep in,    Consume in silent craze. Between the summit and the base, Below the Heavens and above the Earth, Lie the windows of tw

I found for myself, a bright and shiny balloon It had faded paint, but it truly emitted a glimmer, So I filled it with hope, so it could fly the moon, And it flew away in the night, growing dimmer and dimmer. Soon I could no longer see it, or yell for it to return, To grab the string and float, to fly along is all I wanted But it flew so high up to stars, and left with a spurn, It snatched my hope and fled, leaving memories haunted. Sometimes I stare at the sky so long, and I see the balloon, Floating along. Without me.

Withered, strange, and volatile, It lands inside the flower pot. Life, and energy, a smile? Does what it must, not to rot. Lifeless it remains, Until a beam of light shines through: Releases what contains, With brilliance, it grows so true! It grows, and grows, to heights unknown, Until something halts its rise: With all this joy it grows alone, But alas, into inevitable demise. The sunlight leaves a pleasant trace, But a trace is all that is: The sun shines and shows its face, To many more than this. The more it grows, the more it dies, Because the sun is spread to thin, And the dedication in its rise, The sunlight will never reach akin.

Nobody could ever love me. Nobody would ever want me. Every day passes by as I sit in that shadow, Looming over me with its endless parade, Of popularity and words so shallow. "I love you." "I want you." Yet all I hear are whispers in the wind, Every sign drowning in the murky waters, And soon by darkness those words were dimmed. "There are those that love you." "There are those that want you." This shade that once haunted me could be my friend, Murk and gloom are a simple illusion of doubt, This barrier is broken, I can finally transcend. Stop. Wait. I love you. Stop. Hold on. I want you. My dark friend has made you its acquaintance, Its

Your intoxicating voice Rings of beautiful deceit: A genuine poison, Contaminating my thoughts. The mellifluous texter, And its viscous expression, Infects my being. The withdrawal is too much. Another fix of your sing-song fluidity. The venom flows so naturally from your lips. The realization is not there, Those that want it most get nothing, But I inhale the contagion freely. It's killing me, You're killing me, And I'm fine with that.

This world of ours contains such vivid grace, With the rays of day, shining, making blind, Those with their heads not forward, but behind. Those who see not beauty with open face, But rather scorn, and our earth, they disgrace. These souls, who have not seen the stars defined, Instead, view but worthless light, unrefined. I often think of them, with minds in haze, And wonder of those with their heads on straight. If there exists man, who in day looks forth, For whom the sun reveals a path and fate, Because in sight, is their shadow on Earth. And so, in night, the stars which lie in wait, Reveal to these star-chasers, the world’s worth.