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		Sibyl The Rape Ache Leftovers Huntington Beach Slaughtered Mess I suffer--Tale of a bloddy heart Fly Only a distant dream.. Sibyl Sibyl, Within her the madness brews, Spewing vials of meshed wounds, Wallowing in fields of daisy oats. Wearing furs and elephant coats. Her world a violently painted canvas Only upon her is there visions of madness. Top of Page The Rape The grip of paralysis, suspended there, awake in this nightmare. He grips the pink flesh below and jabs himself in, making his way through. Desecrating the privacy that was to be honored. She shrieks, and a slam is endured. Forced on the floor, withering beneath him, sobbing in terror as women do. Pinned under a weight of fear and flesh she cries out, pain seeps around those tender muscles and the tears glide down that porcelain face. He smashes into her, bringing that wave of lust barreling to the surface, stuck in a tide of anger and passion, he holds her there, enclosed between floor and flesh. He forgets her sobbing, her fear, and concentrates on that ultimate point, the release. Time slows for her; something rises in her, a string of courage. She lashes out, but fearful she hesitates. He barely notices but takes defense and bashes her head in with the weight of his fist. He continues to pump in his fluids, approaching that point, drenching himself in his newly made wet pocket. She fights back again, and with that final thump of the fist, his release is sudden. He sways in a drunken swoon. She is rendered unconscious and lays still, bleeding under the weight of his newly dampened flesh, seeded with that of a humanly monster. He recoils himself and stammers away, leaving that beauty to rest, bleeding on the cold stone floor. She feels the blackness around her, blanketing her in this silence. A light opens from above and she is lifted into the great beyond, left hovering above the remains of her defiled body. He walks freely away, hunting the streets for the next victim. Top of Page Ache crushing rib aches like a tight corset, blinded movement, hurtful ensnared motives bubble, swaying to the music of chattering voices and tingling gossip, meaningful noise means nothing, solumn words whisperd on icy breath, cold hearts flush with burgs of chilled water, finally the volcano erups, explodes and drizzles, stinging hate burns to touch, sizzling under the whisping breeze, a new feeling turns itself over, it yawns and naps, then pokes at the raw insides of my stomach, cramping more then menstral moons Top of Page Leftovers salty brasen sea lips encrusted memories drenched with loss englufed molten lava steamy hot nights faded away like a dream lost in another reality far from touch alas, the heart goes numb distant and detached floating along unknowing uncaring a lifeless example worthless alone in the dark pushed away forgotten tattered times waisted lies grasping for what could not be found spewed mess in a bucket you clean it up. Top of Page Huntington Beach The inconcievable maddness that lingers in a beach dwelling. The crowds gather resembling grazing cows, but as dangerous as wild hyenahs in heat. Ravenous ex-hippies and snarling punks gather for daily communion. Picking certain areas for thier mechievious rompings. The scragly old men who have puffy beards and wrinkled faces play melodous strangeness from a lost aspect of thier evaporated era. Blond cheese. Short skirts and a terrible smell of perfumed flowers. The plasticness of this generation emmenates apathy and lack of concerns for all things moral and right in the world. Why are these people here? What spurred them to be at this place and time? Chaotic madness in all directions. Constant flittering. Lost sense of self. Diminished reality. No infinate direction. No sense at all. Top of Page Slaughtered Mess grip of paralysis stung and frozen fear stuck beneath in swirling tides oceans of shadow haunting the night winds of life taunted spite wounds still spilling cutting lies gaping flesh breaking ties a slaughtered mess Top of Page I suffer-- tale of a bloody heart Sometimes the summer winds come strong, And only spurts of happiness bloom, Only ache still lies full, Ache for the one I want, Ache for the one I loved, Ache for everything I miss, And that ache for everything I despise, If only time could stand still, And those memories grasped tightly, Weaved into reality that cannot ever be, The tears roll, My pain splices into many droplets, The memory of a love lost, Now that is true slicing pain, True demise, The fear spills into my soul, Suspended I plummet, The heart of ones soul, Lost in the wake of dreaming sensation, I shall yet plummet to my death, Unknowing if love will ever swim my way again, I push away, I scorch and burn those who close in, No plea for acceptance, Slaves of their own desire, I emerge, Half hearted and tired, Lonely and lost, Yet again, I suffer. Top of Page Fly Dragonfly Elusive dragonfly Spiraling Floating Alone Graceful dance Poised vitality I envy you I adore you Open sky Soar free Be alive Top of Page Only a distant dream... Pasty flesh pearl heart glittering gracefully in the wind, the chime hangs above delicious lollypopish candy groves in widening earthy meadows filled with buttercups and daisies. softly blowing bells molding to the spiraling vibe of the wispy willow trees, ripening toffee wheat shreds dancing melodlessly as the chime begins to ring, "ding" "ding" "ding" the dinner bell erupts, floating fairy children rise to the call, swiftly galloping over the meadow to their hungry tummy's galore. All gather round dozens of plates littered with ever kind of sweet morsel food that makes the stomach growl for affection. Their dirty faces smile and say a quick prayer to the Goddess and the God and then dig in. Mindless chitter-chatter burps at the table and giggles spew like misty fog. Feast for kings they would later recall looking back on those sweet memories of their wild child days. When it was okay to be free, and no one judged you for what you did and who you were, you had your own language of babble, and everyone could perfectly understand why you did what you did. Once the skin grows older, the mind becomes less precious. The pearl it once was has broken in to shards. The shards carrying only soft glimpses of their wonderful past. Free flowing like birds, wind through your hair on a hot summer night while watching the fireflies flitter about by the lake. Catch those frogs and name each one uniquely. Admire adolescence because in a flash it withers away into a dusty dream... Top of Page