Love Is Blowing Up In Smoke

find deliberation in my hands, for the sake of liberation is at stake. find contemporary kindness in the sky for the sea saw battle of your mistakes is weighing down the world. find remorse, under rocks and sympathy in gift wrapped boxes. allow wishes to come true. allow beauty to surround you. eyes see the world and hands molding it to it's desires, free will and ability, stand tall to the fire. casting forward into the unknown, unsteady heels wobbling into a new direction, new light embraces your mind. time after time there is love blowing up in smoke. body lotion silk making dreams harder to grasps, extravagant ice cubes cooling down the situation, you stop to drop and now your on a roll, don't turn back - get in the zone.

Literary Dodge Ball

words stumbling out of your lips and rest right on my shoulders. the pressure is weighing me down. a new game of literary dodge ball, i avoid your speech like the plague. twisted embellishments, racing towards my lung, to capture my breath, and stow it away in a place i'll search for but forget. little weapons you keep in your brain, and ever so often they become tangible and you throw them out into the air with the intentions of staining pupils and allowing a new soul to realize it's been captured in the clutches of your voice. as if dropping bombs into the water and watching the ripple take affect, words casting the very same ripple throughout my body and sending new vocabulary into the pit of my stomach, which is effecting my speech. i cannot form the words properly, i can no longer delivery them in a manner that could rattle your soul because you have no soul, it's been replaced with a pile of words, doused in flames and waiting for a target.

Coma of Truth

truth is never really comforting. you want it, don't you? don't be silly everybody does. you crave it, right.. you think your strong enough to take it, handle it even.. but it's not fragile nor sharp. the truth, it doesn't care as much as you care about it. it's this love hate relationship waiting, just waiting ever so slightly like a glass of wine cheering you on to sip your way into intoxication, a coma of truth. truth can easily bring a smile to your lips and a tear to your eyes, it can punch you just has lightly as it can caress you. truth can't take care of you, it can wreck you up. like an alley fight it's waiting for you under the street light, truth.. well it begs you to believe it so it can laugh in your face just how pathetic you look for dropping to your knees, to cradle truth in your eyes, a constant tug-a-war with yourself and the fluff, that is truth. truth, it loves to hate you. and you hate to love it because you know it probably won't do you any good, but hey.. that's truth for you right. the dealer doesn't deal you a hand and then hope for you to get the truth, he's going to win just has you might get lucky. strike out the truth and open your eyes, unfold your belongings and hope that truth doesn't catch you waiting for it.. it knows you better than you know yourself. truth is, is there such a thing, or is truth just this made up fantasy that this delicate flower that grows from all the lies and sprouts a fabulous flower of truth, i doubt it. i mean truth is like a balloon, a balloon filled with paint just waiting to burst along your horizon.

Warm Guns And Red Lips

Beautiful people with glasses filled right to the brim with poisonous happiness. Warm guns and red lips, urging kisses to happen, to rise and fall. Hearts flickering on and off and dazed and confused, we'll drink to that. Rose coloured pupils because glasses didn't go with the outfit, switching lanes that you've out fitted. After life is nothing but a promise and in the scene the warm feeling of sugared cups now rests in a place just above your mind, digging its way into beautiful things, scared for your life but too high to run. Salted ambitions and feverish times. Sleeping beauty's dead and the prince is no where to be found. Awake in the morning to the mess you've caused, in all your scandalous apparel. Affairs with the devil, rising like a body count and you're snatching souls like its going out of fashion, style crashing down on all your senses, comb your horrific hair, a disaster that surely deserves another glass..

Mix With Choreography

attempts at indecent exposure, not sure what your getting at.. wanting everything you've had and everything you loss. guzzling liquid temptation down your throat and mixed with any choreography could cause slippery lips and thunderous words and try after try after try. stumbling for the moment, regain yourself over time, quick fix hypocrisy this will never be what it use to be. idolizing fascinations with mornings that have come and gone, missing something entirely pleasing and rushing for the instant pleasure it once delivered. Embarrassed and undesirable, put on the shelf to rest, no longer performing any sort of acts. no kindness, all greed. a greedy excuse to sit next too me, but this spot is reserved, please go away and feel nothing more. memories slicing your mind open wide at night, twisting and turning at the vivid images you can streams over and over again, but how far can your senses take you off the ever fading reel that you have rewinding and rewinding on your brain. unsatisfied and gushes of realization now, after time, punch you in the gut and there is nothing you can do too save yourself. redeem not, talk less, come to turns. reaching for a grip on this crumbling effort, forget what it has become for it will never be different. salty substance caress your eyes and this won't be your last disguise, contemplating ridiculous outfits just too see, can robin hood once again steel from the rich and keep it for thee?