One Wing of an extreme exhaust burp!

Leftover Love

I oathed never to share that space,
Either because I pretended to hate it.
Or
But,
All the while,
secretly reserved it for you.

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Songbird Hermit
Synecdoche'

#swings   #cheesy  

I would like to be a radio-woman

My radio Woman

I decided that, I would like to be a radio woman,
With the accelerator on my foot,
The right,
And mike on my left. 
Blaring aloud,
A beetle bug motor-bee,
To sway and jingle over the traffic 
Of the whole world
In a Tea’s Daze;
Blaring it aloud, to the supposed society,
The majority,
To it,
To the Together,
Aloud,
With a resurrected rebellion,
Howl all my cramps off,
Sans the punctuality, morality 
And ethics.
And, free it all within a session,
A million worth of cramps sediment,
Waiting to sneak into the coffin for my afterbreath,
Just, free ‘em all, Whenever I feel it.
Aloud. Lucid. And, Crisp.
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Bandiero rossa la tironfera

Il frutto del lavoro a chi lavora andrà.
Evviva il comunismo e la libertà!

Segmented urges of Pride

This Day That Age

A sad day that I wish never to tread ever.
a Wound that needs more than 5 years to heal ...

God help me forgive.
Because if I don't, the rest will burn. And Die. :D

#Misandry

Them Sneezes

It feels like orgasms. The start of a sneeze. 
The rush of it. 
Then, the end. When you're done.
But whenever you're not, it's like the saddest day that you missed your beloved for the train.

Or, simply put, an orgasm, done, about or vanished without the holy peck! 

Where does pain go to hide?

Do you know what is to have no place to cry?
Because the world has not described your pains yet?

Nowhere to shudder its hefty sighs down,
Nowhere to paw the overwhelming discomfort yet.

Where does pain go to hide, but behind smiles! 

a bare half hand in a stormy frost

There is a crease to my lips,
That bends into the cheekbones just when I think about Him.

I don’t know why but it is endless.

I loose that complete self of myself when the crease happens.

I know that there is nothing ahead.

Certainly.

But, well, we humans don’t learn in one go, do we? 
(Or a million …)

I don’t comprehend why sadness has to implore me.

Yet, it does.
Day after day .. 

It is my pleasant indignation.

I have none else.

Do you know when and where do poets get their poesy?

It is 

During the usual festivities. 
Just like this one- this new year.

They seclude their selves to include into a sad session of poesy 
than enjoying the striking hours of new year’s eve or laugh dead smiles…
Like the rest.

Our joy is in avoiding our dreams, isn’t it?