A body is a cage.

It keeps your real colors

From streaming out

It clusters within

Building up and up

But it can never be released

Because a body is a cage

That can never be opened

I am waist high

in wanting what

I cannot have.

I am on the verge.

I am on the edge of

something terrifying.

I have been locked

out of my own mind.

I'm unable to decide.

A different muscle is

wearing the pants now.

I want to sink into

warm bath water.

I want it to cover

my eyes nose ears.

I could drown,

but I won't.

My heart wants too much.

I study the fingerprints as a profession. Nothing so calculating as an FBI analyst, but as blueprints of the soul. They form in the first weeks of life, womb-side. Never change. Scrape them, scar them, liquify them, they come back screaming the same things. Healer. Artist. Professional Victim.

Enlightenment scored on flesh for all time. Every secret on display for a reader to interpret. Entire swathes of you laid bare, ready for the curtain to go up and reveal your naked truths. It rolls on.

I knew the body had to have a secret legend. There, one day, on the edge of the world, looking at my hands, muttering, "I know the answer is here somewhere." Can't look away, won't. These endless lines, a play dissected and flung across flesh, daring me to reassemble them into an arc without breaks.

Holy, sweet, selfish skin, self-perpetuating feedback loop that amnesia cleverly disguised. This endless landscape of freedom to become, to remember and give thanks for all the wisdom, misery, loneliness and compassion living beneath the lines.

These tiny worlds, whorls and galaxies spinning out from extremity to extremity, all the way to toes, which have them too. They have them too.

The place reeked

of moth balls, of old

ways to get rid of old

problems, remedies

that never worked,

it smelled of dead

things, of musk from

pretty garbage piled

high on walls and left

to degenerate, left for

time to disintegrate,

left from shopping

trips that failed to

kill the sorrow, long

lost pets rotted into

the carpet, trapped

where they couldn’t

get out, a cat’s bones

lodged in the chimney

desperate to breathe

air, the ghosts there

discontent, phantoms

of what once was

living alongside the

dead, a home that had

its day and now with

a groan it saw what

it had made and was

dissatisfied, saw the

children raised in

halls not so hallowed

and remembered the

slapping was louder

than the kissing, than

the laughter and the

lovemaking, tainted

memories seep into

the ceiling, the floor,

the roof-tiles so they

can’t reach heaven,

can’t be cleansed,

sinking into the ground

as the foundation

gives way, wondering

if it hadn’t been a

little crooked all

along.

What is the last name of Beast from Beauty&The Beast?

Answer: Cuit..got it? Beast-Cuit (Biscuit) hahaha

What is the first name of Mr.Beans wife?

Answer: Avrila.. Avrila Bean (Avril Lavigne)

Yes i'm lame and corny but can't help but laugh at it..

Hahahahahaha

Last night

The wind

Was going

70mph

I don't think the weather has ever reflected my emotions so well.

Did I lock the front door

Is the A/C set to the right temperature

My lips are so chapped but I don't feel

like getting up for my chapstick

Calm down mind - I need sleep

I wonder how many times

I will toss and turn until my brain shuts off

Oh that was a good thought for a poem

hope I remember it in the morning

A jockey finishes his training and finally makes the weight loss he needs to enter a new filly in her first maiden event. It's a flat 5 furlong event on grass and the going is good to firm.

They line up for the start and the huge crowd are shouting encouragement for their favourites, the starter sets them off and they gallop away at good speed.

The lad is pleased with his position mid field and the filly settles into the event with a steady pace, suddenly from somewhere in the crowd a jar of pickles is thrown and hits the young jockey full in the face, as it hits him it smashes and covers him in pickles and he loses ground.

Determined to regain his position, he recovers composure and urges his filly to greater efforts. As they pass the first furlong someone hurls a plate of sandwiches at him which hit him in the chest, again hindering his progress. Undeterred, he again settles down to his work as his horse starts to gain ground.

They pass the second furlong marker and a fillet of salmon is launched at him from the roaring spectators which wraps itself around his reins and again he loses ground. Valiantly he refuses to give in and urges the filly to greater efforts.

He makes good progress and makes up several places until at last they approach the finish when without warning an assortment of fruit is launched at his horse which distracts it badly and it falls to last position at the post.

After the race, the horses owner calls him over to explain his poor performance,

"I just can't explain it" he stammers, "I was hampered".

Pride, love, pain

you kill me a little bit

every time you say hello

i’m so tired of this wicked kill

slowly, so slowly

I know better.

life with you is life without you

I know the quiet times well, the moments so pristine

I know your breath, the pauses in between

I know what’s underneath

I love your core, I love you

naked in my bed

I loved

every raw moment

I loved it all

Life’s so short and everyone asks

just what exactly am I doing these days

you’ve worn me,

worn me out