The Guard at my Door

Her right leg is placed between his two over-sized, thickly grown thighs. Her left laying near the warmth they radiate. Her torso is curved slightly, so that she may lay comfortably on his chest. She spreads her two hands, and ten delicate fingers, and rests her chin within the triangle her thumbs create. Her eyes have adjusted to the dim light, the yellow gaze of the street lamps, that seek the nights stories. His arms are lifted, and hands elevating his neck to look low at her resting head. They have revealed their fears, their passions and have sung songs, trying desperately to figure out the lyrics that are so easily forgotten and replaced with sound-a-likes. He's the songs alto, it's constant, soulful and reliable; she is the songs soprano, sings low and sweet to not awaken the others. They have talked and have dreamed of horrors and pleasures; of what should never be and what is only a fantasy; they have dreamt of others, that have found that weak and battered door to their sub-conscious. Those are the dreams that seem too real, too possible - like the risks we endure everyday.
She reveals to him her dream - that black and mischievous mask, that is discreet during daylight but blunt and unapologetic when all is asleep.


She had been at a strangers house, possibly a party where she could not find familiarity - in faces or in circumstance. She was sober and aware, unfortunately her greatest faults. She had walked down a white, bland hallway with doors to her right. She stopped at the furthest one, and without hesitating opened it. She shouldn't have. What brought her to do so is unknown, but that was not her fear at that moment.
Laying curled on the bed, lined directly to her right - was a girl. Her face is irrelevant - it could be anyone's, any girl so vulnerable and exposed to the demons of immorality, indecency, temptation and control. She commanded, in a quick but calm voice - like those of professional firemen or officers that invoke safety in those in need with their tone,
"Get out. I'll stay."
She left. It wasn't clear what would happen to her. Maybe he'd realize it wasn't the girl he wanted, but some stand-in with less appeal. Maybe this is what she wished would happen.
She climbed onto the bed, every movement sure of what she was doing - although her mind did not grasp the severity of the situation.
She lay on her stomach, arm hanging of the bed side, head resting on her chin - on a pillow that brought someone comfort but relished in the few moments it would witness more than a sleeping mind. She lay and heard voices outside the door, people enjoying themselves - people unaware.
With only a few moments, not nearly enough the convince her to get out... he entered.
A tall man but thin. That's all she can recall.
That is when her heart began to race, when her mind began to scrabble - attempting to figure a way to get out or a way to achieve protection. God! If anyone had only known the anxiety and the fear that made every nerve, every spec of common sense lose itself - uncoordinated.
For having always tried to be safe and sure, expecting the unexpected, she was lost.
He stood over her...

That is when she awoke. The fear had been too great, too real - that not even sleep could constrain her in her adrenaline.
She was stunned. And looked hastily around her room... just to make sure....


But now, she was resting above a heartbeat that would not falter, that would not commit her to brutality.
And when she would leave, and return to her room where she thought that nothing would ever betray her - she would remember that she was here. That she was not in harms way, that if he could he would stand all day and all night at her conscious' door and refuse all trespassers. That she could be brave and save another from rape, but would rather be in the presence of a man, who would understand her needs and treat her body with innocent passion, with care and concern but not restraint. He would let her guide, and listen to her moans and decipher that they were inviting. But if she were to go silent - he would pull away and show her that sex was merely an outlet for the intensity of his feelings. Because even in lying there - his arms wrapped behind his head, and hers laying and listening on his chest - he was feeling immense and true love.

Our Shadow

I laid there and I could not see my shadow.He lay on his right side behind me, and me curled into his overbearing but protective chest. The light came from behind both of us. I stared at the wall... I couldn't see me. I saw him, his arm spread across my hip, and his broad shoulder poking at the air. But i did not see me. What a feeling! I was there, but unseen. I was hidden in his presence. I liked it that way, until i was tempted by the fingers and the light - what can i conjure?

Scent Or Stench?

I came across two words the other day...."scent" and "stench".
Although they seem to be referring to the same thing - "an aroma in the air, which can be detected through scent" - they imply very different meanings.

At their basest understanding "scent" is a more positive and inviting description. It says "smell with me!"
On the other hand, "stench" is negative and can be tagged with adjectives such as "putrid," "foul," "stinking," and "rank".

These two words can serve as evidence to an idea that has been stressed over many years - and that is that language in itself is an allegory.
We use words to represent things, whether paintings or actions, and as a result, create a more abstract understanding of these 'things'. However, over time semantics have developed and now there is a common understanding of words and what they meaning, what it acceptable and what they cannot refer too - context.

Thus, is my concern with expression in writing. How well are we actually expressing ourselves? How well are those who are reading actually understanding our emotions?
The aim for writers, is to evoke a feeling whether awareness or simply goose flesh from their readers, so although they may not know exactly what it is the writer is feeling - they know that something is being felt.

Coming to a mutual understanding between emotions that are so obscure (abstract thoughts, ideas) and telling it to someone is incredibly difficult. A common language can never be established - because we, as individuals, impose our own meanings onto "words."

Thus I choose to stand apart and say,
"That flower has a beautiful stench!"

Do you agree?

Abandoned in Silence

The world is quiet, hidden discreetly under a white screen.
Never has it been so quiet.
The screaming and whining of mouths are silenced, lost in sleep.
They are mutated, blurred and unknown.
Mouths that are similar but hold false truths. Now
they are quiet, with the rest of us.
The hands of time, are not quite however,
they continue to protest that there are moments in which silence is expected,
required -
"night!" they declare, is when all is at peace,
when reality is put on hold, hung to dry
thus, mouths are silent but minds...
minds they continue on executing the acts of theatre,
continue to conger up false realities - dreams i think they're called.
Sometimes we awake slowly, and remember, if only for a moment,
these characters who play a part...
sometimes it is our faces we see, and faces of others we thought we had forgotten
but it is never us. It is always a disarray of ourselves...
us as evil, us as confident - us without our insecurities or us battling our fears.
But now the city is silent.
And although our mouths speak irrelevance when we are awake,
and our minds search for something more lively than the bodies they inhabit -
we awaken to the hands of time,
reminding us we live in a world that ceases to be quite - no matter our will,
no matter the time,
no matter.

I Love... Where We Are

“I love you”

For so many it’s the ultimate feeling, eternal bliss.

For others it is comfort, responsibility.

For me… I’m not quite sure.

There are moments I have, while he’s speaking to me and my mind wanders to think of how much he means to me.

There are moments where I am proud of him, like when his friends congratulate him or laugh at his jokes.

These are the moments I want to scream “I LOVE YOU!”

These are the moments I want these words to be released from my mind,

Because I’m so tired of them causing confusion in my mind.

But my mouth never recites those words.

I’m not sure that it will allow me to – for a while to come.

Because I don’t want it to be said without care, without passion, or as merely a need to reciprocate.

I want it to mean something to me – it should stand as a stone marking a new path, a new level of entry…

What I want it to mean is also my fear of every saying it.

I have constructed this idea of “loving,” and although it is not the most positive – there is truth in it somewhere (for all those commitment phoebes, at least).

The words “I love you” are means to building a concrete wall to the freedom once had in the relationship. Because before they are said, it seems as though you can leave the relationship whenever and no feelings will be hurt. Maybe its my impression that there will be a smaller degree of hurt feelings – nevertheless, you can always say it wasn’t serious, “we didn’t say I love you”.

This theory, of course, is absurd because merely saying the words does not mean that you don’t or do have the feelings or the emotions.

But wouldn’t you agree it’s easier to let go of something if there is no concrete evidence of it ever existing?

Once the words have been said, the relationship starts anew – it’s more cautious, careful because the consequences are more severe.

I’m not entirely sure if I’m concerned more with my feelings or his…

"Soon We'll Be Found"

Just recommending y'all to listen to Sia's "Soon we'll be found".
Great song, also check out the video.

Here are the lyrics:
Come along it is the break of day
Surely now, you'll have some things to say
It's not the time for telling tales on me

So come along, it wont be long
'Til we return happy
Shut your eyes, there are no lies
In this world we call sleep
Let's desert this day of hurt
Tomorrow we'll be free

Let's not fight I'm tired can't we just sleep tonight
Don't Turn away it's just there's nothing left here to say
Turn around I know we're lost but soon we'll be found

Well it's been rough but we'll be just fine
Work it out yeah we'll survive
You mustn't let a few bad times dictate

So come along, it wont be long
'Til we return happy
Shut your eyes, there are no lies
In this world we call sleep
Let's desert this day of work
Tomorrow we'll be free

Let's not fight I'm tired can't we just sleep tonight
Don't turn away it's just there's nothing left here to say
Turn around I know we're lost but soon we'll be found

Wanting

*came across this on my other blog (that i forgot the password too) and thought i'd post it up here. I wrote it in 2006 and damn... he he


A person you've never met - only seen.
how could you want, need?
to have a longing for what you can never have - a weak grasp.
to stand in one position, one place and live one way.
to have subtractions of hope at every airing.
how can something you never hadbe taken away?
a possession only believed by you.
the theory is what hurts.
picture perfect exists in the minds of those who believe.
flaws, the stones which pave the road to intimacy.

flaws, my worst enemies.
nothignw ill be picture perfect.
i don't believe - not yet.

a cure for the unfaithful, seems futuristic.
will a medicine heal the eyes of oblivion?
will therapy endure the unsatified mind?
a listener to the web of errors, could only be another ticket sold
to the already existing audience.

if things were picture perfect.
could one sitll be faithful?
could the stones rearrange themselves again?
the grasp of a hand couldn't clench any tighter onto something -
if a pulse is not there.
with a pulse comes the conscience
which will prevail? will the pulse grab on; reasons of the physical
or will the conscience grab hold; reasons of the good and moral?
Perfect is impossible but the chase for it; neverending.