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Butterflies are Dying TodayI think  the butterflies are dying today  They scratch at my windows  with their tissue paper wings  Screaming into my dreams  Today is the day, I think they say  But in the morning the glass is silent  And all I see left are  fragments of kaleidoscopes  no hopes  Only powder stains  remain. Butterflies are Dying Today
Mischief. Mayhem. SoapHe's staring at me  
 The man from the movie poster  
 And the lights are shining through my eyes  
 Mischief. Mayhem. Soap  
 It reads me like the caution label  
 On this bottle of Asprin  
 No matter where I go his eyes are there  
 And they are almost like yours  
 Filled with haunting sighs of relief  
 Mishchief. Mayhem. Soap  
 It speaks to me like the words  
 Of my kindergarden play  
 Even between closed eyes I vision that face  
 Mocking my cries to a pillow named "why"  
 Mischief. Mayhem. Soa Mischief. Mayhem. Soap
+ Masturbation ++ + + + + + + + + + +   
Masturbation   
 
I take it in my hands;  I make it everything I want.  Caressing...  Stroking...  Down the length of myself.  I need not from another;  I have myself.  Slowly at first...  Getting faster...  Getting tighter...  More!  I need more!   
I move in the rythym of myself.  I drown in my own eroticism,  Submerge myself in my own delight.  I can't weaken my hold,  No, not this close.  Faster and faster...  By myself.  On myself.  How can I not?  I want this,  I need this, + Masturbation +
Trainspotting - Random Poem[The original]   
Choose Life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family.  Choose a fucking big television, choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players and electrical tin openers.  Choose good health, low cholesterol, and dental insurance.  
Choose fixed interest mortgage repayments.  Choose a starter home.  Choose your friends.  Choose leisurewear and amtching luggage.  Choose a three-piece suite on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics.  Choose DIY and wondering who the fuck you are on a Sunday morning.  Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crush Trainspotting - Random Poem
Labels SuckYou label me a GOTH  But I like Eminem  Does that make me a poser?  You label me a NERD  But I got a D on my history exam  Doers that make me stupid?  You label me a PREP  But I hate listening to Britney, and I would never be caught wearing A&F  Do you think I'm weird because I don't fit perfectly into that box?  You label me a SLACKER  But I volunteer and try to make a difference  Does that now change your perception?   
Why do you choose to stick me in a box and place a label on me:   
PREP  THUG  SKATER  PUNK  GOTH  FREAK  
WEIRDO   Labels Suck
The Man in ThoughtWhite castles  Set the scene in Vienna, Rome  Tripoli - countryside cities.  Restaurants in the shade.   
Men in shade  With white straw hats, the sun curve  Of the day, and buzzing of motors on  Rocky cobblestone.   
Family visits an old man here.  A hearty dinner, the sun a shine on the glass.   
She says tell   us something  Like you used to.  The boys poke the ground,  Fiddle with the earth,  Before he sighs.  Sighs, speaks:   
Columns Contract,  The dirge splits, spoken  
 
Ramparts, assailed corridors.  Degra The Man in Thought
LetsLet's burn the bodies of the young,  And beautiful.  Collect them all into a pile,  
To drown in acid tears,  And bitter hatred of the self.  Let's bury them by the sidewalks,  Where we face our daily battles,  To the war their beauty is a weapon of,  And defence our insecurities bide us.   
Let's smash and break the armor,  Of the cars and vehicles which congest our air;  Of the perfect specimen of science,  To which our drunken ignorance blindly drives along.  Let's throw matches in the petrol tank,  And watch the lack of free will go up in flames;  Destroy fund Lets
EeyoreEveryone thinks I'm sad,  Everyone thinks I'm blue,  But I've got nothing  On Eeyore from Winnie the Pooh.  Someone take him zoloft,  Or a little hit of speed.  Eeyore needs some Redbull,  Or at least a little weed. Eeyore
American Literature Class PoemA heresy committed  A sin so very grave  A boy in his desk  A driver and a slave  A textbook in his locker  A whip to his spine  A paper about responsibility  A plebian out of line  A mass of men like him  A sentence all the same  A torture they must endure  A pile of corpses will remain American Literature Class Poem
My Suicide NoteInfront of me lays;  14 panadol  4 panadeine  13 paracetamol  24 aropax  and a bottle of water to choke them down with.  I've already taken one aropax cos I didn't take it this morning.  I'm listening to my Blindspott CD cos Channel Z is playing 'Behind Blue Eyes' by Limp Bizkit.  I hate that song.  Shane loves it.  I love Shane, I really do.  I don't show it often.  At the moment it's 10.45pm on the 17th of Feb '04.  I had to look at my phone to check the calendar on that one.  I have 2c on my phone.  I am unable to contact the people I can talk to.  I want so mu My Suicide Note
The Best Poem Ever WrittenSomeone is going to produce  The best poem ever written.   
It will be blessed with one hundred and three lines  Of genius, and a hint of luck.  The lines will not be overlong  But not too  
Short.  
 
Each stanza will be written  With vigor, on purpose  And will never exceed the limit of  Seventy-six syllables...  Or something like that.   
In this poem there will be a man.  This man, though, will not be a hero.  Nor will he be a loser.  He will be just the right type of  
Everything and have only one tragic flaw  Which will be...    The Best Poem Ever Written
Eternity For A TormentLoneliness is a torment.  Solitude, once my friend now an enemy.  Am I searching for something that doesn’t exist?  I’m alive but it feels like I’m dying.   
Slowly my sanity is being eaten away.  Each day brings more hurt.  I see her and I know… never.  Am I the world’s practical joke?  Some experiment gone horribly ary?   
My own inexperience only hurts matters more.  Paradoxes like this make me question everything.  I said my piece and received my due pain.  Something wants me to do this all over again.   
Since when does emotion hurt this much?  Something Eternity For A Torment
when miracles happened afterEnjambed, sangrias and tattoos of butterflies  Jigsawed between organs.  
Open the mouth, tonsils stretching far below  The ridges of the waves in a mass ceremony  Of season.  
He tells me, You're the lucky one  And I want to find freedom without knowing why.   
Ambivalence is too familiar;  Shanty towns and metal houses poison neurons  And I'm back to the beginning, saving lives, saving lies  For later when they mean something more than pillow talk.   
I am pen and paper and you are a multi-minded Renaissance man,  There isn't much I wouldn't do for you yet I stand at the when miracles happened after
adrenalineThey used to say that if you held your breath long enough, you’d start to see stars.  How easy it is to euphemizicate and forgetialize. Honest, if you hold your breath long enough, you start to see paramedics and then? Then, ambulance lights’ll be the closest you’ll see to stars.  
But hey, they’re still pretty.  
 
It’s funny, isn’t it, the things we do for fun these days. Someone once told me of a game in Japan that schoolgirls were supposed to like more than peach flavored bubblegum and designer shirts with obscure English brand names. As it goes, you hold your head down to slow oxygen flow, and someone punches you in the ch adrenaline
HiddenLate at night  Pretending to sleep  She lays very still  And quietly weeps.   
It's three in the morning,  With tears in her eyes,  She can't help but think  Her whole life is a lie.   
Day after day  She goes off to school.  There isn't one person  That she can't fool.   
Everyone thinks  She's so full of pride,  But nobody knows  What's hiding inside.   
She hides her emotions  Behind a big smile.  She' can't show her pain  'Cause that's not her style.   
As each day passes  Her pain only grows,  But she hol Hidden
I Am A CameraLiquid sun now sips the ocean  
and the clouds frame the moon.  
Yes, the moon hits the stars and the wind blankets my back I Am A Camera
Cosmic Vision.   
 
Cosmic Vision   
 
 
Visual echo -    Echo.   
Yearn to plunge into cosmic abyss,  
harvest frosted emeralds  
from the underwater world  
materialising beneath  
vintage liquid swell.   
Flirting with  
  phantasm.   
Nearing with earnest endeavour  propels me into cosmic chasm,  I observe a mystical sphere,  
detached from mortal part,  
existing only in reverence.   
 
 
. Cosmic Vision
White Beaches~White Beaches~   
White beaches I once knew.  To walk, to stand among their numbers  I sang once too, my song reaching no corner,  
no place that can be known.     
They heard, they knew and sang their song subdued.  I walked among their numbers, the white washing over me.  Of something I once knew and felt but never saw.   
And so I knew that lost I stood and found there too.  Among their numbers where sky met grass  what time forgot they told in muted whispers.   
I strained my ears to hear what tales they told  what fables they outlay.  They pulled a White Beaches
onceat 6  i could not hold still  the images in my head.  gliding and looping  in infinity spirals  
through  still slick  grey halls.  i sought to fix them  with iron nail  through hand and  foot  and navel.  impatient to learn stillness,  i ran,  hammer in hand.   
 
At 11,  I realized  I was not being watched.  Mind, motions,  the minutiae of my life,  were a steam rail  
into Past; while  I slid towards grey hairs  one year hence.  I plundered language.  I incanted each instance,  I spoke every secon once
Warrior Simpaticoi watched you become   
born under unknown stars  scorning unchosen scars   
deceit conveyed in cold breaths  dark spirits bickering on each shoulder  as though you were already dead   
though  palm trees wrapped bareness but for a cloth draped  you would rustle in wind together, simpatico;   
a citron in a foreign place  negotiating scraps of sustainability  adorning spattered ignorance in blossoming crevasses  while willowy flesh entertains  sharp edges of steel  you grew   
into mountainous whisper  
providing repressed hope,  &nbs Warrior Simpatico
Between My Ears Another SpeaksÿØÿàJFIFddÿì!DuckyM     ÿîAdobedÀÿÛ„         
     ÿÀ©îÿÄÀ
 !1AQa"q‘2¡B#±ÁÑRðáb3$ñr‚C’S4¢²Âcs%5³„ 6!1AQaq‘"ð¡±ÁÑ2áBñRbr#‚’¢ÂÒ3²$âC%ÿÚ ?ü¼÷=AUOƲv÷ÿ«ôõZù´’åÉãjeUR»å¾wOaªÂ¥=­ÚƒùÔ»k"Óu흉 Ooϱd¸¶Ó{=Ö³d›i±Ûáváù¡[íä>Œ«hvγÛC­‰«=£Ø8G‹D]Öï¼ÆÚÕm3m/M”ûàQbˆ34ìÍjGgà_\TMµuïpo %‰ˆ{»˨¥µ»wл™·EÝ¡Çä«Ø#N¢ÕWÖ«:+ÓrÕÌ$…£‹ 5‚ý×RZÈÓ‹DâQE•2ã±=ßÀU6µS–tqbÍ’½µø’¸K¨ Between My Ears Another Speaks
conceptual cube.   
Conceptual Cube   
At a research facility  lab-rat studies lulled  one scurrying lab-coat  verging on invention,   
though  
physics teacher taught  creation requires separation   
"non-entities we are  cells forming organs  that build bodies -  seeds in societies  scurrying a speck  of the galaxy  conceptualized  in a single psyche's  
endless expanse",   
while weekends found her  dwelling on divinity  
in unknown depths  
of cosmic oceans  and creaking floorboards;   
lab-coat lived in a box conceptual cube
i want to see my brain.before i die  i would like to see my brain  when it's still alive i mean  but it will die  so how can I?   
but let me just imagine.  will there be,  a thousand mes,  dangling from various trees?  because that would really be creepy.   
maybe my brain is a mini world  where the creases are nice valleys  and the bulges are small hills  and like this world,  my brain will not cease changing.   
i wouldn't know, though  i haven't seen it.  i've only seen what the diagrams show us.  and it's not all that exciting,  so i don't believe the i want to see my brain.
Opposites"do blind people see in all black or all white?"  he asked her,  as she rocked his small body in her lap.   
her foot tapped a small beat  
on the ground  as she put just enough force  to rock a little boy to sleep.  "i don't know darling."   
he shut his eyes  
and squeezed them tight  so that small lines  snaked out from the corners.  "i see black."   
"that's just the back of your eyelids baby."   
"the backs of my eyelids are pink."   
"close your eyes, but don't squeeze them....  keep looking. and  don't open them until you Opposites
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