Does time heal ?
When wrong versus wrong.
When guilt subsides other guilt.
When lies cover other lies.
Does time heal ?
When forgiveness always has a less then pure rationale.
When reality hits.
And the edge of human emotion is tampered with.
When nothing and no one is real any more.
Does time heal ?
When the ego refuses.
When pride snatches back sanity.
When the want there is undermined by society.
Does time heal?
When your given an open easy option out.
When your split in two.
When you never forget.
Does time heal?
When you don't want it to.
When you can't save your self.
When you can't heal yourself.
When you can't forgive your self.
Tuesday, 17 April 2012
People are constantly searching for the truth but the real journey is when truth knocks at your door and says ' Here I am, Accept me or Deny me'.
The Lies will be dusted off. The truth will shine. And you will no longer be cheated of the clear life that you should have.
The Lies will be dusted off. The truth will shine. And you will no longer be cheated of the clear life that you should have.
I haven't lost much and you will see I have gained so much more then I ever expected.
Dueces
Dueces
April 12th 2012
Tuesday, 21 February 2012
A Pure White Rose.
My gardener
Your touch, unknown
Innocent meadow frolics was the under-tone.
The expressions all hidden with play;
As a child's youth wiped and lead astray.
Commanding whispers ,
now siren .
Angry warning chants from tree tops;
to a past me ,
A young me .
A bubbly insecure ,
A Lost me .
The early discovers of this not so intriguing world;
Astounded and bewildering .
The thoughts were
New and interesting,
Yet this disease is frosted over with
Bonds of trust .
Hangman-tied up with
Bonds of blood
Of loyalty.
Vanilla sugar coated with routine.
A life time later and the score is set.
The seeds of vile infestation have grown, bountiful in their new living form.
But no living being knows how this once pure white rose now sources;
From its roots only black poisonous sustenance it seeps .
From its smell the rose is presently temptuoes.
Its appearance, none can go past .
Its being, wanted by all.
It is cut and nothing.It is cut deeper.
And there bleeds black.
Black clotted blood,
That drips slow and sad.
All that is planted is planted pure.
The poisoning.
The touch.
Of that harvested seed,
Is what we have now.
Now everything makes sense
Years and years of suppression
Of denial
Of ignorance
Naivety.
'Bless you were only a sprout,
A child,' child'
All events and emotions for adults
To play, lose and win at
Were all things your should have not seen,
Should have not heard.
Should have not felt the touch of .
And now the sadness lies with the lost time
Of youth.
Lost years of confusion and dis-orientation.
The lost days of hating at all your species.
Lost hours of self justification.
Through the wrong means,
Yes that was wrong.
And that was wrong .
And that one.
And now this being
Child.
This Flower,
Is haunted by the lost minutes
Of flashbacks.
The lost seconds of hatefully understanding what was.
And what shouldn't of been
Now this white rose is enveloped in the pumping toxic blackening poison within.
This rose's evil filled thorns are waiting to be cut.
The stem to be racked off
Dismembered from the contaminated touch;
and cut from the grips of this suicidal source that life let's live on,
That is blended with the inner death of innocence
Bleed out the black.
The numbness.
The ivy being.
The touch.
To bleed out everything that stops this
Pure
White
Rose
Being
A
Pure
White
Rose.
Pictures from
http://www.etsy.com/listing/77682170/bleeding-white-rose-original-still-life andhttp://www.ikbis.com/shots/156229?locale=en
Torment.
When we walk in circles empty,
We walk dying.
When we drown in our actions and tears,
we submerge and float helpless.
When we knock,
repeatedly knock in to that glass sharded
barb-wired
hard wall.
Head forward.
Crashing at full momentum.
Whilst cold clammy palms lay bare
flat and inflicted on this wall.
Taking the repelled energy back to the same flesh ripping,
Skull shattering wall.
Blood dripping from forehead to nose and cheek.
Pieces of skin, clotted and lucid blood inhaled in with every deep breath when striking
and stricking injury.
Again and again.
Exhausted.
Lips trembling of pain.
Salty from tears and those Red
Red drips .
Condensation from the two.
Mouth breathing in gusts .
When we forget to feel,
that feeling of heart,
Of keeping whole.
And wanting pure and true.
We become.
Only the accustomed pain we revel in
We enjoy,
we relishes the high
The sting,
the burn of euphoria .
When we slaughter ourselves
The same way,
Everyday,
We begin not feel that pain
The injury,
of the next approaching stab;
the shardes of glass and brick and wire that becomes apart of us.
That become us.
When we walk in cycles empty
We walk dying.
When we drown in our actions and tears,
We submerge and float helpless.
When pain becomes us
And we become pain
Life becomes torment.
We walk dying.
When we drown in our actions and tears,
we submerge and float helpless.
When we knock,
repeatedly knock in to that glass sharded
barb-wired
hard wall.
Head forward.
Crashing at full momentum.
Whilst cold clammy palms lay bare
flat and inflicted on this wall.
Taking the repelled energy back to the same flesh ripping,
Skull shattering wall.
Blood dripping from forehead to nose and cheek.
Pieces of skin, clotted and lucid blood inhaled in with every deep breath when striking
and stricking injury.
Again and again.
Exhausted.
Lips trembling of pain.
Salty from tears and those Red
Red drips .
Condensation from the two.
Mouth breathing in gusts .
When we forget to feel,
that feeling of heart,
Of keeping whole.
And wanting pure and true.
We become.
Only the accustomed pain we revel in
We enjoy,
we relishes the high
The sting,
the burn of euphoria .
When we slaughter ourselves
The same way,
Everyday,
We begin not feel that pain
The injury,
of the next approaching stab;
the shardes of glass and brick and wire that becomes apart of us.
That become us.
When we walk in cycles empty
We walk dying.
When we drown in our actions and tears,
We submerge and float helpless.
When pain becomes us
And we become pain
Life becomes torment.
Monday, 9 January 2012
Random#
I thought life would be boring and
less interesting without you seems the opposite.
Kudo's to new friends new breaths of life
and cheers to letting go.!
less interesting without you seems the opposite.
Kudo's to new friends new breaths of life
and cheers to letting go.!
Sunday, 8 January 2012
The one that got away.
Should I have let you go. . .
In the palm of my hand.
Darn, all for just the
Sense and sensibility of the situation.
Why so rational and logical . . .
At such an irrational and illogical age,
That was before .
The lust,
I should have trust
Yet morals were made in haste.
Previously calming but now puzzling.
Should I have let go . . .
In something that came to me.
That was mine.
For a small fraction of time. .
Or for however long I could have wanted it.
Reminising over something that hardly started,
That was hardly there
But was my choice to ignite the hardly there flame .
And potentially start and stop
With a gentle blow through
these
innocent
lips,
And a simple shrug of my hips.
Innocent actions
All for the greater good.
All for future purpose.
All for bettering both.
And what's to show for all that,
Could have been missed,
Chosen not to be missed?
Should I have let u go. .
In the palm of my hand
Darn,
Should. I have let go
In something that came to me
That was mine.
Now all there is this
Parting was such sweet intimate sorrow
Reminisce.
Bliss .
In the palm of my hand. Darn, all for just the
Sense and sensibility of the situation.
Why so rational and logical . . .
At such an irrational and illogical age,
That was before .
The lust,
I should have trust
Yet morals were made in haste.
Previously calming but now puzzling.
Should I have let go . . .
In something that came to me.
That was mine.
For a small fraction of time. .
Or for however long I could have wanted it.
Reminising over something that hardly started,
That was hardly there
But was my choice to ignite the hardly there flame .
And potentially start and stop
With a gentle blow through
these
innocent
lips,
And a simple shrug of my hips.
Innocent actions
All for the greater good.
All for future purpose.
All for bettering both.
And what's to show for all that,
Could have been missed,
Chosen not to be missed?
Should I have let u go. .
In the palm of my hand
Darn,
Should. I have let go
In something that came to me
That was mine.
Now all there is this
Parting was such sweet intimate sorrow
Reminisce.
Bliss .
Picture byAmanda Kitswell : http://th04.deviantart.net/fs70/300W/i/2011/223/3/e/reaching_by_amandakitswell-d4688i3.jpg
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