Bengal Tigri

Jungle florescent in the back of its eyes it slithery lay wait in most patient disguise waiting solely to strike deeply within you so deep that no breath can escape you you cant make a peep tis most despised dark and dreary its skin mostly mirrory anomalistic animalistic but boiled way over far gone past ballistic an anacondic forced freak of unnaturealistic vodoocan magic its deeds are world over oft horrifically tragic yea whatever boat you float a labyrinth of motes and far fields of oats so stretching one gloats "that by journey half passed that if started in warm attire one would have need the warmest of coats lest he chance to expire" it has networks like spokes that make crushing throat chokes like black riders and darth vaders to the darkness it caters and like a siren you desperately will be entranced by it coaxing still observwating in the somewhere the thing somehow knows things so cheerily for thrill it will too wait you out no doubt so secretly it seeks to reek havoc from habit like a post soviet slavic indeed its agreed BT is most waskly of wabbids

Shae PipSh'fterz

mfsirs- [abbriv. of "mother f***ing sir(s)] a group of men betraying counter balancing characteristics of being extra-personally abrasive or being sinisterly intended and eloquence in speech and mannerisms or chivalrousness.

Sux es

they'll kill us all for even thinking about tryin to x poez eh? no way ho ze gun have sum fun like hoe chi in a min mfen face thrown book take a look reading rain and rainbows flo is so x tinked like doe doe ray me falicity fall is tisk tis of the where sweet lambs like liver tea time boss tin tin tale heart telling and selling massive grave lie layman mass is tell report say dos that start spanglosaxin bill clinton backin up toni tone braxton higgs. in disabitch..

A query. us. a quarian

if u are unopposed try to flow with the ebbs care not who knows the future? i dare not attempt to presuppose i hop and i surf waves not never, nearly never caring nor con-cerning with to where or when or what for it goes riding highest highs and lowest lows, entering the open leaving shut whats closed

1ofMenY

cant.help.myself,me,&I want.you.back. words.4 wards cant contain these thoughts.d ranged.dis ill.u shunned. must.a.just.b.a.lone.sum.or.....

we kniss

afraid to fall asleep because i know ill eventually have to awaken. fear my dreams will convince me reality was mistaken. sometimes life gives us what we dont want to take in. wishin could skip today erase yesterday and tomorrow would begin

Too Nyte

it is said that absence makes the heart grow fonder.... yet to come moments with you too do i ponder. rest assured knowing that when inside mine head wonder i i find myself chasing you until till i can stand it no longer. you running like in circles inside my dome endlessly always. im a planet spun spinning, you're the sun pulling me. im caught in u all days.

of Man

Hands and knees
I crawl the way.
To meet you
in your house.

Flattered to see
you still waiting
for me, still wearing
my favorite blouse.

In dreams you wait,
and are still,
so still. In silence,
all heads bow.

Drowsily shifting,
you quasi-angelic,
darn anticipatory
a signature smile.

Trusting, expecting,
assured that this night,
I'll arrive to you,
know all the while.

Never you fathomed,
not once got it thinked,
yet forever
you will await me.

Soon my love...
Soon my love...
Always yours
I'll be.

If only I'd survived
to say
those things
I always meant to.

I'd tell you darling,
whisper to you,
bout time and space
I've bent through.

Make it real,
manifest,
what can't,
won't ever be.

In your dreams
I'll visit you.
Together,
ever we.

There is nothing here,
nothing left,
I fear, for
I am gone.

Eternal longing,
immortalization,
our history,
this song.

Stay you sleeping,
forever longing,
please.....
just never wake.

There is peace where
there's at least shares
left in the hope
we couldn't mistake.

Fate is a galaxy,
spinning round,
our souls in spiral,
tangled.

Twisting strings,
glistening,
all tinsely like,
beautifully dangled.

All consuming
always looming
that which was
won't be.

Time, a rock
thrown through
a clock
harder now to see.

Dragging you under
the ocean of emotion,
as if an anchor attached
to your soul.

Helplessly you
drowning in sorrow.
Sucked into,
like a black hole.

So sleep now.
Don't weep now.
Slumber ever
so peaceful.

When you wake
the path to take
is the one which has
the least pull.

Feel my presence
by your side,
I'm yours
forever more.

Mourning will come.
Morning will come.
Can you hear me
mi amore?

Though I shan't.
No, I can't.
Not ever.
You'll endure.

Know now that never
shall ever be severed,
what was once forever
so swored.

hiss

Infect this with perfect bliss Mrs. and kiss the fists of purposelessness
as they barely miss, those pessimists, dismiss their submissiveness,
for darkness tricks, when down it kicks. Toks and tiks, persist. Its
with an optimist's wish list in fist that this witness is listless with.

Phal'omey

He, Lium, Infidel. It teased him to speechlessness, for the tongue is truly mightier; and he was a pacifist in rational interactions. Ataraxis illuded him but was alluded to through increasingly sparse flashes of wind like moments that could not be caught, nor held, and were gone. Past and passed over, before he could feel them, take note of, notice of them. The battle for his soul was arduous like a firefighter para-dropping into the thick of things. Arborous. He was, inside him, a kiln. Shattering dreams, making things hard; sometimes beautifully. Pumping blood that was truly red when full of je ne sais qua and then blue again once exhausted. His inherited lion-heart inherently moved him. Proudly. Driven, tidal, lunar. Interchangeably guided by and set adrift by things beyond his senses. As if tugged at. He could feel it sometimes. When frightened. Or enlightened. Bright, brilliant, boastfully so. Yet his lacking in wisdom found him the reaper of sows. Fool-ish. Forgotten wrongs left unrighted one could suppose. Divine justice, karma, one or all of those. The past is alive and i'mortal. Constant. In repose. Its in motion, an ocean, it ebbs and it flows.  Ripples and butterfly effects coincide and intersect, illuminating poetic justice which takes concentrated effort to neglect. 2222 vision caught in 4D retro-spectacles. Fee. Fi. Faux is fashionable. Far from conformist, his laugh lasting past blasting through gravity. Not once to look back did he. What would he see? Hypocrisy. And the perils of being. God in threes. Thinking so much. Differently. Rather rascally rose he, literally, and metaphorically to the occasion. Timely solitude bred him needed introspection. The cure of his ails, his serum, confection. He floated Pftfall-esque to Mars and then back. The curious conject coyly, they coin conflicting conjectures. Jesters. Infect-ers. Producing poison to infect herds of heards. To hear their own voices give they themselves lectures. In truth they are twisters. Weapons their best words. Construedlers conscrewing. Cons. Screwing. Cons. Crude. Enemies molding the mass attitudes. He escaped them. Broke free, no longer their slave. To maintain their illusion they must make him behave. He has been circling some time now in an infamous infinity, a symbolic orbit. Each day lives in infamy. Metamorphasisic. Some say there will come a day when he shall shed the cocoon. Now to them is not too soon. For long enough to have misses, fits resembling longing. Seen scenes of exclusively sunny sides of the world contrasted by that ever dark side of the moon. Observers have taken notice, desiring to know this, to be audience to his witness. Started asking, raising questions. Discussion groups, detective and objective. Eagerly awaiting are these. Each passing day as if it were the night of and they require the results of an election. Wanting the word of a man who sought and found a thought taught extinct. This thing called solace. They ask themselves impatiently, “why does not he just call on us?” They thinking up reasons to distress and distrust. Despising controversy, the scandal outweighing the perks of isolation, perhaps thought he, after careful calculative consideration, it is time I be coming back, from this extended vacation. Lium A. Loneman began to plan. A man is social naturally. Amongst others he has to be, at the same time a self-teacher. A creature, who once glimpsing a potential resolves forever then that he's destined to reach her. He was eager to share, to give away his wealth, he himself. Not to store up were his energies. Of his qualities being afraid was not one of he's. Opportunities un-seized? Elderlies tell of these regrettably. With people of good will on Earth, who needs to shut the cellar door? Peace to them, forever more.