I love the word Curve, the loveliest 

distance between two points.

I love the way my hands run along 

your curves, mapping it in my memory

I love how the change of texture

from the front, soft, pliant, rubbery

changes to the side, soft, firm, and 

ticklish.

And from the side to the back

skin much tighter, from the fullness

of what lies behind.  No, don't deny

yourself of what you have

For it was your curves that caught my eye

and curves of your face, in that delicate smile

or the roundness of your eyes, or the curves

of your lips that quenches my lust

And I love the curves of your hands 

as they hold mine, finger caressing finger.

I love the word Curve, the loveliest

distance between two points.

Hide in a nook,

And read me a book.

Words roll off your tongue,

With air in your lungs.

Captured,

Ventured,

Afraid and caught.

Characters do as they ought.

Laugh and cry,

Despite the lie.

Then, fade and die.

He scissors his torso wide,

rope wound tightly

to keep insanity in,

trembling in convulsions,

pain upheaves in torrents,

broken threads, crumbling psyche

walking barefoot in troubled mind.

       Nightmares stuffed in jars

Shovels a fake outside

won’t expose bowels of inside.

Electricity strikes bolts like

pins and needles in his brain

as he cons his game

and feigns his truth

in violent purple slashes

of clouded sanity.

       Nightmares stuffed in jars

Wolves howl within his anguish

broken mirrors surround

shattered tumbling tears,

unable to witness heartless sun.

He feels his dripping sweat

through burning of surrender,

flashes of knotted destiny

scrawled on his face.

Of all he has lost,

he misses mind the most

       Nightmares stuffed in jars

I sat down by the river Styx as I have done before,

I chanced to see the ferryman as in years of yore.

You see I brought with me some souls in need of passage.

The Ferryman says he "What payment have ye for them and all their baggage?"

I have obol a plenty to pay their way now don't look long any do not tarry

For there are many souls and much to carry.

I have a message to give ye,

"The boss sends his regards and remember how it should be!"

Nocturnal ember sears my flesh,

Which once desired to connect.

Skin grafts scar my deadened skin,

Where once the night was welcomed in.

Nocturnal ember rots my mind,

Aneurism still exploding,

Where once I entered love so blind,

Memory of love foreboding.

Nocturnal ember scalds my heart,

Where blood's internal rivers flow

Where once an offering, torn apart

From wounds so willingly bestowed.

Nocturnal ember burns my soul,

That once I sold at any cost.

Black ashes born from long ago

Remembrance of a lover lost.

So many girls

come and go

of face,

indeed very fair

fair and vain

—vain enough to get mixed up

in the game

a game played by men

with big purses,

bigger dreams,

and opprobrious conducts

so many girls

came and went

bent to scorn

and disease,

braved hunger

till malnutrition

intervened

some bent to needles for oodles of cash

some came solely for few spreads

on that vanity-fair

some of them only made a dollar

a handful were a sex symbol

two or three

mastered the game,

and thus remained in the arena of lights

blinding lights, exciting nights

enticing class

so many girls

bought into that life

of lights and lies

newspaper headlines

Hollywood pop-icon types

so many girls

lost their lives

trying to fit into a box,

a thin line of perfection

imagined by fanatics

where self love lacks significance

and double digits on the scale

an epithet of greatness,

of beauty, of sexism

of Vanity!

I did a bad bad thang.

he raped me

Think I'd let a human male

hold me down and make me squeal

Then live to tell and do another deal?

When he returned to rape me again

Pulled out my nine and it was off with

his head!