Hell be not proud

What the hell?? the dust= the air is killing me every second as I cough. it's terrible. its not planned so it's just waiting for my body to heal and get better but the wait is infuriating.. hell has enough to be proud.

How can there be so much pain
in one person's heart??
How can there be so much fear,
the constant anxiety to be removed
from this world
Even though all you seek is deliverence,
escape from this blood bathed heaven,
you still fear giving this all up.
Fearing that you were never really
good enough to live up to your dreams.
That you fear constantly that some measure
of evolution
will knock you out of the scheme of things,
like an off note tune,
like an untimely beat.
You're just simply removed
and forgotten
like the insane number of species of life
that have once been part of this world.
Even for me to be created, something else
had to go.
There had to be a void that was created
for me to fill
my destiny was pre-decided.
the way pre-built..
nothing that I have in my heart was matching the
patterns my feet were making as I walked down
this way that was for not very long empty.
where I began there was still a little warmth
in the footprints that I began on and
now the foot prints that I leave are replaced by cold
and swishing water
that wipes the sand clean
its with every step that I'm dying
out in the series of thoughts that for a few hours
give me a gothic release that is dark ink that
eats and decays into the paper.
It must pain the paper to be scratched upon.
It is the degree of misery that a placid life
in the fields seeks in the fast life of the city
and the claustraphobic choking eyes that seek
the sands and the water that swallows up footsteps.
I guess I was just in the line of things that existed
that maybe my line was something that is steadily going instinct.
Listening to some sort of wall that creates a barrier for my tears to flow inside me
To reveal a new path down my face.
Its the vacant empty hunger that I beleive not even time can replace.
Because it is vacant empty hunger that of which
the depth I cannot calculate...
No measure to estimate,
How do you measure the depth of which most of it is
virtual?
How do I sever this line of fate and for once
move to a stage of self-preservation that does not include
self-hate?
Where do you learn to draw the line when what you did is reflecting on what you are
and You are just a shadow of what you Did?
I am dusty and hazy and vague as the mist that gathers upon the months of winter mornings that I walk
as a task that I have to complete to just continue my need to continue the steps
and all the happiness is the crude sense of existance
not that this existance makes sense
because I like to complicate things.
Easy things confuse me.
Simple things stupify me
and 'tis just the easy way that you got luck'
is just too good to be true to be relieved.
Cant deny this need to say that
My existance is short lived
and I am denied of pleasure even in the crudest sense.
The pain that I cannot speak of is revealed in the
fantsy of my 'here's to a happy ending'
keeps my steps going.
slow. Weakning from within
my body turns to a mist that's containted by the 5 layers of flesh that hide the air.
The smile plastered on my face is because it takes time to turn this mist to water
and the silent night,
alone in bed,
that's all that's left of my life.
A stain on the sheets, a dark wet, cold and non-living
Puddle of water.

Wind-II

Wind –II

The mellow night lights the stars
And the full moon.
Its craters darken from the light it reflects
Onto my heart.
There’s the suns’ energy
Untyring, undying spirit,
Lighting up my eyes,
With flecks of gold from the firelight,
Crackiling cinders,
Flames licking the gutted logs with a femme touch.
I lay my head in the sand,
Staring at the sky as stars fill my eyes, ever-ready
To be named and decorated
The celestial home,
My earth, my home, my haven, my sacred shelter for the questing soul.
I don’t need a reason to be happy and relaxed here,
It comes out of nature, a habit
This planet, planet Earth, goddess Earth,
Mother earth, protector of us all that
I share my home with, a heaven,
Yes, it’s heaven, it’s no where else
Because we’re born here and belong
To this part of the Milky Way.
In this goddess’s hands each one of us is
Special, loved and cared.
She blesses and endows us with
Beauty, individuality and security
And binds us all into one
breath.
Every 3 seconds the planet breaths together,
So pray on every 3rd breath
To fill this word with happiness and peace,
United, the peace and love is forever.

WIND

Wind

Feel the wind toss
Up my hair
Strands, that fly across my face, tickle and
Caress me.
The sudden touch of an angle,
lights up my face, bright
but I can only close my eyes.
I do not wish to see this angle ,
If only to end up judging it.
The feeling is pure and a high
And that’s all I want-
Little dots of sparkling mika- dust
Twinkiling on my glowing golden-brown skin,
I’m happy to be alive and breathing
Fluttering my clothes of pure white silken-cotton,
My feet softly stepping on clouds of desert sand.
The exceptional cool at sunset and dawn..
The sensual softness of the sand and wind
and my blowing hair and music somewhere
remote in my mind.
Playing a soft, mellow melody,
Makes me smile from my belly button,
Rising up, filling me,
Sun-burnt skies mellow to a twilight
purple haze,
the sun has set,
but my smile hasn’t.

Drink

There will be blood, I said
on the great platform, a flute full,
from your vein
in a flute
like wine
I'll drink.
Into you.
My breath sinks and rises like fumes of insence
mixes with the scent.
A tablet of rat-kill they left out for me.
But to be a rat it takes supreme care and precision.
Practice till there is no difference between me and it.

just scuttering in the street way as ogers of odd sizes make up the sea and the sky I float on.
Till I reach your throne
and sink in my teeth and
change back to who I am
A blood-sucking power hungry merciless
woman.
My eyes are red from insomnia and the rage of my past
the sky is red from my tears.
The graveyard has my sunken footprints that
don't fill up in the rain.
And the flowers will not dry on your grave.
Your memory will never fade.
It will always be just yesturday when you sat
where I sit.
Your face sparkling with the secptical smile.
Secptical is what power makes you, but I am yet to find that out!
Your blood was like the sweetest wine.. the elixir
that the soul dreamed of
my sweet victim,
Do not cry,
your voice is in the darkness..

My life thro a paper shreader

My life through a paper-shreader



I'm going throuh a paper shreader...
long strips of my life
like a reel of film....
Passing out like a bunch of box pleats of a skirt,
scrunched up too tight at the top,
flapping out at the bottom.
Graduating through with honours,
shaking their bodies in a Hawaian dance.
Some of them were supposed to be my
study notes.
For something or the other..
too bad I'm out of notepaper for this.
A study of my life through a shreader.
Going to present a paper
on the whining sound and
the dustbin it all falls into
scratch, scratch, graze graze.
like my teachers nails on the black-board.
She thinks of doing that every time she sees me..
make that noise.
Better then when I'm around.
Walking into the class-room
every morning,
the flat of my sneaker against the flooring
and the sand paper pupils of peeps on
my posture.
A continuose connection
of judgment, a test, an inconfidence
or no-confidence in any sort of limit of repulsion.
Mellow notes of the flute,
My heart an African drum,
a tom-tom, hipnotizing,
sleep-inducing rhythm of everyday life
Tear out chunks of my skin if you can.
Habituated to the insult of my clothes against my skin.
like a punishment for some past sins.
I seem to forget them,
"oh how convinient,"
Like every breath on my lips
and my hair moving to my continuous touch.
African elephants through my brain and on my skin
like ants that crawl and bite off.
Bits of my sanity.
The window attracts me,
I move away from the shreader.
I just finished this reel.

blood boils

Two minutes ago I was fighting fit till
I thought about today's situation
sudden gloom settled like dark clouds
ready to pelt on my heart
raindrops to hailstones
numbness and hurt all the same...
there is so much ignorance
why am I feeling this pain?
I try to disasociate, but I cannot tear the thought out
of my brain.
I cannot dissect and remove the electrical connections that
remind me of today or the heart
so that it would rain on my dry diaphram,
so cool to the skin and the innards
pin points of blood,
bubbling in the vein spurt out...
like distinct phuts and
spray one after the other....
drip drip through my brain