Pleasing Please

Travel well my passing sister, the last monarch of a congealed tribe well spent. Let the cruor run barren and take new passage, finding the truth to all that was meant.

His hand you have missed for ages, those moments of birth and development have gone by. The laughing moments of life’s hardship, for all this time has gone bye, and by and bye.

The talk ticks of borrowed time, no breath is guaranteed. Tick-tock, tick-tock, for this is the moment of grandeur. Funny how so many view this as limitless …

As the mind goes, it’s interesting how the soul can see. The stifle was replaced by more candor and humor. Your stories and jokes, now a piece of my mind, I hope you have peace of mind.

“Melina, I love you, God bless you,” she said. I knew it was our final meeting in this simulation. We simulate love and care, anger and displease. I want you to know, in this time, I care and you were the beginning of my please. I love you.

Aluminum Partnering Parting

Tell your daily features, nothing but a cramped glimpse into your view. Share your perfections of pose and poise, while hiding your self-objections, as those are nothing to observe.

Aluminum casket of application and projection, staring into the depths of a world which is pacing at 14.2 inches. Hold my rigidity and bypass the passer, disremember the natural exchanges, sauntering beyond the chorded address of deprecated melodies.

Soon I enter, as the components meld with your involvement, guiding you passively from behind the lines. Line up … draftee. Truth be told, I am the new dictator of order. Behind was only the rouse as a leader of your fronted mind.

Hello Friend! For we waved goodbye so long ago, only to wave again through the allocated transmission. I haven’t really seen you as the bars heighten, the bond of isolation with a firm handshake that keeps us together.

Share the stories so we can feel secure in our identity, buried in the signals of arrest. I miss you so dearly, my dear. Dear in headlights of a smothered embrace long retired. I’m tired.

Blue Ribbon Guts

Losses to gains, you remain without a name. Wiggling your fake fleshy spoils to entice their loving toils, too bad it’s never enough to win any childhood dream.

Blue ribbons you will not, as your prideful mounds begin to rot, looking lonely as their gaze peer past memories of who you once thought yourself to be.

We all trudge upon the deaths of others, mirrors of experience and lust. The lust of one is a solitary road, dragging in the blur of pills and mushy words, taking no prisoners but the self-truisms. Followed by no backing, the backs of others are not yours. You look back …

Your age wears on, deeper into the sooty fresh insides. Year by year, there is no hand to hold but your own. The beauty of tender is no longer splendor and you touch your guts to brace for the edge.

Finis.

Tendril Dreams

Tendrils wrap my vows of splendor, for vanished dreams to not be remembered. We walk the valleys of brimstone and fire, admiring the manifestations of lacking desire.

I am the daughter, lover, visionary and bear, bearing the pins of lifetimes of work. I needle your thoughts into pliable actions, giving the directions, while you hand me the spoil.

Drudging through the trenches, we emit suffocation, with prayer hands for a laundered breath of air. I grab my mask and supply your ventilation first, only adding to the death of potential, breaking the rules and abating the only true victor.

Where are we in the world? Can you actually see? Or is this the collective haze of billions of false prophets. For we build the temporary lapse of truth and hold each other so dear, against our will, while pulling tighter into your life. Strife.