adrena

Dead to the core
Very essence of being
Killed on the job
For the job
And finally after the job
What doesnt happen off the clock,
Cannot begin to comprehend
What a moment of delight;
Looking at becoming dismal for the sight of Happiness
And her sister Charity
With the razorblade fingers and the hypodermic brilliance
Cast back into something like childhood,
Trapped in a girls body
Yet too raw for picking
And in pricking those very thoughts
Upon the spindle of the queen of malevolence,
What is she now, six feet under?
And pray, captive to the swarm,
Of the deadly, needing her mortal soul.



well. . .that was fun. . .not really. . ..

. . .dumb questions. . .35 hours straight, no sleep, none in sight. . .that is ok. . .who needs sleep? i knew i should have invested in the coffee maker. . .or maybe a bed. . .which ever. . .

Delicate. . . the fingers drape over the body

Silken and sateen in the enveloping moment



Frozen. . .tranquil. . . .Some secret instant of grace



Nameless, faceless, payless . . . painless

The lack of relent and forgiving passions



A purple tinge in the dusks highlight

As the things of green cease to grow



In . . . Out . . . within-without. . . Inhale . . . Exhale

The sense of the inevitable lingers in the smoke filled air

Literal



Foreboding fervor,

A ceaseless zeal overwrought the senses



Taste, see, hear, smell . . . to touch

To Possess, To Claim, To Consume, To Own



One word, one syllable . . . a simple scream,

Yes.