R.E.M

I've become disenchanted, trouble ending what I started, desperately cathartic, one frustrated artist, I've got balance but I wish I had delusion, verging climax but reaching no conclusion, and I cannot weep, just think about improvement, released by sleep and rapid eye movement, how much I wish in this time to make, to dream what I dream whilst I am awake.

Drainer

She moves from one person to the other, feels that momentary warmth of a lover, sucks them dry of all the light they have within their heart 
before the night awaiting... does depart, 
and the bodies build houses from where she did walk,
no traces of injury, just faces of chalk.

Writer's block - again

I've got writer's block, I need someone to knock it into me. 
I don't need reassurance or sympathy 
I need something to use. 
Maybe it's you? can you be my muse? 
I've had a thousand ideas escape me like fish that don't bite, 
I can make out something...but it's just out of sight, 
and if I pray to have anything - it's just how to write, 
am I broken or ill? or just wound up too tight? 
that this creative clockwork ain't turning, 
the flame inside of me ain't burning, 
does my brain have a bruise? 
got writer's block - got nothing to use.
maybe this is proof that the brain ain't the start
and everything worth saying comes straight from the heart
maybe things are quite closed off inside of my chest
I've let in some things but then cast out the rest
so without writing, I've got nothing to lose
I'll be more inviting, will you be my muse?

Restless

I can look into the pool of reflection 
pray that it promises any projection, 
walk into the caves of deep mind's eye 
hope there's answer to the resounding 'why?' 
I'll try powers of introspection 
there maybe some correction 
to the errors I've been making, 
give them a smile - they don't guess I'm faking, 
Listening to songs from back in days of promise 
memory is company to me in my solace,
smoking and drinking myself to the brink of bad health 
- assuming that the liquor will bring the thoughts quicker.
There's a lot of sitting and waiting
restless days of procrastinating
a bag of ideas that are no good to use,
you were given a gift, please don't abuse.

Sunrise

I am disembodied, as much a compound of the air and less of the ground, I am not of the earth, yet worth more than a cloud, but just as heavy with rain, as I am like bad weather, and as full of pain until a sunrise will dawn and set me free, what comes of sunrise? what will be?

Mirror

The Mirror gives no answers to the chances that she lost, she'd dropped life to the ground and was mindless of the cost. She'd been around, from low lit rooms and lay in beds that were tombs of dead romance, and now all she wished for was just another chance. She had been young and free and so carelessly pretty but was seduced by the city and now the dreams were shattered, her promise now a crime scene with walls splattered with traces of the murder of her father's hope. She lay on mattresses in apathy, the air thick with Dope smoke, and the words she couldn't choke out ringing in her mind, if only, if only could rewind.

You've gotta suffer.

It's the energy that is transforming the air that leaves us lost, alone in despair, with change and transition means suffering and contrition and doubt in one's self. The twelfth year is the one where love will make itself known to all those that have conquered and grown. Live from the heart and be love, so this means love you. Think of the world around and above you. Be ready for the change by allowing the range of your heart to be ready but this means, start with you. Be love, feel love and you will walk right through.

Perfume on the pillow

He was too old for it, felt too old for the chase but she lifted his spirits, heart doubles pace and her perfume still illuminated his pillow, her long spiraled hair sweeps down like a willow tree, and he could not get the taste of her off his lips, his head, keeps rewinding his night with this girl so exotic, tantalized and tickled with all things erotic, the thought brushed against his mind like her breast had done against his chest, it would be up to him now admit he's impressed.

kiss of it

You asked me if I could see them now, how the demons were in encrypted in your lovers kiss, Your words were none other than an echo of their hiss of incantation, and each time we made love, a damnation, for there is no other sin more provoking insanity than to love one who carries more than humanity, your words sent me wondering down caves and black pockets, my eyeballs writhing, rolling around in their sockets, and your smile so crooked, clever and sly, questioned my soul, gave me no reason why, and spells that shake the trees and breaks off their arms meant I had fallen for your cursed charms, and wrapping me up with long fingers tight around me, you were the end, the death, you'd found me

blind

I'm always looking for you but I can never find you, you fade into the background and wear shades that I'm blind to. It's what I put my energy into, where my emotion is most strong, but it never opens a door and I've usually got it wrong. Should I keep knocking on the entrance to find it leads to repentance and no conclusion to my never ending mission, each dead end tainting my vision even further, and is it worth contacting the optician to question my sight, ask if it's up to scratch? or could it be I should stop looking, detach my gaze from this, get over it, give it a miss. Thing is I've been looking at you, wondering what I lack, but truth is there's nothing, you're not looking back.