Marble Statue

Magnolia white,
When mental muscles rust from lack of use
The empty page, the canvas blank,
When life has paused, mind at rest
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Watermelon

Chapter 1: Watermelon

Sickening sweet taste of my childhood, bottled up, in peaches, white grape, and vanilla. Smooth but sour. Childhood, my land of enchantment, life, my ever lasting childhood. To write is to step onto a magic carpet and fly off into endless trips of nostalgia. Despair tastes sweet, like peaches, and white grapes, and the smell of vanilla. Personalities contained in bottles of scent, fragrances defying analysis. I am passionate about the sense of smell, taste, touch. Vision—the looking at the surface, it eludes me, it leaves me utterly befooled. Nothing is to be trusted except the most banal sentimentalism. I form my conclusions only through pure, heart wrenching emotion. And that’s where it all begins.
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Whatever

Words echoing in my head
The deep lagoon of nothing
Stirs a serpent coil,
Rising
In a smoky haze
Above my head
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I

A believer of myths. I’ve given up on words; I trust now in feeling, not in justifications. Explain me nothing; just give me a sensation- show me some thing, shut up.
That’s all I’m saying….
Actions speak louder than words- always. Smiles and slouching shoulders; or winks; or nods; or avoiding some one’s eye.
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Shadows

The past, its wispy shadows,

a long lived tree, shading me,

from my present.

The past, my vision

or was it an illusion?

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Tickle my fancy

Tickle my fancy,
      Out of touch so long…
my fancies have been fading
Worthlessly floating
Resting in a stagnant pool
      Here I come, coming home
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