These awful moments don’t end, they drag on and inward.

Time should erase, and heal the distasteful mime of pain,

over and above us,

ringing out like a rag.

Though fighting makes us feel weak, and like century old dignity is being stolen from our wells.

There will be nothing left– and how can this breed such an anxiety, that  ratchets though our marrow?

Some say death is easy–and living, living is truly difficult. What about the in between?

Were we given air in our lungs,

just so we could know what it feels like to choke?

There comes a time to face consequence–finally being made to pay prices and dig our own ditches.

Being given baggage full of burden, just to be laced with dull destinations–

left to be just worthy and empty enough,

to live awful and confused.



Your’re burning up my love?

Your’re burning up MY love!

Your’re burning up, my love.

Your’re, burning up my love…

Queen pt.2

This is a race, not only for land and honor, but for the freedom that comes with the love of ones people.

Hope has always lived inside me, and one must see farther that the storm ahead to lead, but now that I am the storm– the public is trying to see past me.

They circle me like hounds with a taste for something they long missed, and now seek again.

How can I speak to them? When they fight my every word–even before my wishes leave lung for lip.

I can see repression coming to the surface…its so very clear now. The opposition doesn’t need to beat me to win,

they only need me to run, because they know its for my life.

Sand and Sea.

Closer than the tide and to the shore,

then slowly we wore, each year a little more.

I can see  your new height, risen above me,

the more I rinse away.

Sand and sea, we meet repeatedly,

and you take a little more of me.

Breathe your fire, breather.

Fire. exclamation mark. fire

Your hot breath is fogging my windows, you can’t see for me.

Your scales hurt when you hold me to your back. and I can feel your struggle.

You’re too strong to hold the slippery delicateness of my wings, yet too weak to break my neck.

You’re too fat with greed to release me, and so heavy you can no longer fly.

Your  throat burns lava hot, and when you part lips to speak you breathe fire, and die.