"Glitter Love"

out of the fog in my mind
an image peers back at me
~we lie in bed~
i like my body
when its with you
it aches without
the gestures of your hips
and i have to wonder
where this all leads?
i go to bed each night
hollow-eyed
bedazzled by your charm
memories of your caress
haunting my waking moments
things you say,
pop!
jump into my thoughts...
Answer me this:
for what do we torture ourselves
with this pleasure
of our mutal passion?

_________________________

"Untitled"

And as i stood cowering i self-hate
he appeared
vauge and shining
he grapsed my hand ferverently.
And as i fell unto my knees
i heard him whisper,
"thoust shall be unto my heart"
for he was a glory to behold
fast in my loins and a tumolt in my head.
And as i lay, bathed in love
he cradled my head
kissing away my fear with his twinkling lips
until i gasped and shuddered with delight
-forgeting myself-
mesmerized by the dazzling prospect of "us".
_________

Hope is an ugly thing. It builds invisible expectations, and paints 
beauty where emptiness resides, only a temporary facade over the black, 
unknown alien reality. Hope is an ugly thing, allowing swelling hearts 
to hold dear, to cherish only evaporating bubbles, oh so fragile bubbles. 
Hope is an ugly thing, it will break on you, all of a sudden with a loud 
bang and your foolish feelings will rain down and drench you. Hope is an 
ugly thing, not a glowing light out of heaven, or a beautiful thing indeed, 
it is a destructive and misleading, unclarified it will shatter, then 
surprize you because you hadn't even realized you had hoped!
*
Hope is an ugly thing. There is some vile nature inside all of us that 
seems to want to cause us all more grief than we should have. We tend to 
build our "hopes" up til our hearts swell with expectations and we see 
everything through rosy-colored glasses. Reality is distorted for those 
silent moments when hope is present and it outshines the negitive, but 
its only a pretty shell, a horrid little covering that hides true emotions. 
Hope shuns the reailty of black loneliness and dispair, pain and all 
forms of grief and misery, it masks life as life is.
*
Hope is an ugly thing. And these pleasing shams that cover life are so 
fragile! A delicate balance of what you only dreamed to hope, and what 
could only be in your dreams. Hope is a swift fiend, galloping in when 
your back is turned and your eyes are closed, reading your dreams and 
making them seem flesh and breathing to you, but this careful concoction 
is that- only a dream, seldom reality.
*
Hope is an ugly thing. And these little bubble dreams will burst (as 
they always do) and with a shocked face you suddenly wake up to the 
dreams you had been thinking, dreadful thoughts! radical thoughts! 
impossible thoughts! Damn that hope!
*
Hope is an ugly thing! Don't you see? We need it. They tell us that 
hope is good, that hope is divine, that hope is beautiful, that hope 
is heavenly, that hope is a virtuous emoiton, but don't they see how 
painful hope is?! It hurts! Pain is a stable fixture in our lives, 
necessary and yet rather lovely- but how dare they mislead the rest 
of the pigs and sheep of this world into believing that "hope" is 
wonderful when it is so blatently not! The worst part is, we need hope. 
If it wasn't for hope...there'd be no point to go on. Hope is our 
reason for living, yet hope is what makes it painful to live. 
***
Hope is an ugly thing.
_______

"The Avatar"

they go on in the other room
he is soaring away
arms above his head.
he is so lonely in his ark
he dwells in search
of his manna.
he can feel it coming
departing himself;
the rise of his avatar.
and his avatar said:
"run with the lightening, boy"
and so he did.
and his avatar said:
"swim with the fang, boy"
and so he did.
and his avatar said:
"dance with the soulcrusher, boy"
and so he did.
But then it was his turn
he stood on the crest
arms above his head.
he held the white stone
and how it shone
he knew its name.
Pure he was-
purer by far
to know, to reject.
He stood
and for once, let his hands
rest at his side.
sun shone at his back
the night was at his ear
the whisper of joy.
But for all his modest
reign of resistance
he stood pitifully alone.
Alas, he turned back to
this avatar
and held up his stone.
"and all i loved,
i loved alone!"
he cried bitterly.
But his avatar was gone
gone, back unto
himself.
But he was still
looking out the window
watching the silence
alone on the hill.
_______

"Before Bereft"

before bereft 
there lies the thunder of my soul
crashing unnoticed
existing for only the dawn
dissonance has left the table
i hear only the secrets of the past
the whisper, they torment
me at night
and then i see you-
clear as a bell
re-run lust as i echo your name
i'm dying in your arms
"and as long as we are together
time cannot touch us" you utter solemnly
i shout, it can, it does!
covering my eyes
but i see you everywhere i try not to look
creep, creep you
crept in awares
something beautiful i have to have you
what does he think?
does he hold back in his silence?
i look hard.
i hope not.
_______

"Cherubic Grimace"

my structurally imaculate enigma
will you taste my toes?
(how innocently seductive you are, my niave genius)
with all your planes and angles
will you poke me?
watch me bleed helplessly?
imperfect in my imperfect eyes
(but the glory lies there)
tonight lets match flaw for flaw
spaghetti or linguini?
innane glimpes are all i collect
i am wistful for the day
(for the moment)
i am trembling...
so silent you sit.
Do my self-doubts linger?
stain your consciousness?
if you bite me, i'll bite back
you're the spider that scuttles to his hole.
hungry. partched. driven.
do i have what you want?
of course i do, you know that.
don't resist me.
i'll bite your head off-
and you'll like it.
_________

                               "Jupiter's Child"

                   late at night it bothers me the most, when
                             i stare out the window
                     silent and lonely under such majesty.
                        the stars blinking and the moon-
                             the moon is my lover;
                         i sleep with him every night.
                    my whispers are smothered by my pillow-
             smothered and sent floating like my aimless yearnings
                           into the vast gulf above.
                            my murmers are piled up
                                  glowing orbs
                     pulsing red, dashing green, icy white.
                    a whole horizon of unfulfilled thoughts-
                    like a silken canopy over my inert form;
         hello, i greet my dark sky, depressed with this framiliarity.
                    i have an imaginary friend in Jupiter, i
                  promise not to stare at his red eye, and he
                                will talk to me.
           but i am restless; the night and i grow weary with pretend
                        i have to get up in the morning-
                i may be Jupiter's Child, but i'm still mortal.

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