Most of my inspiration is from sadness...When I write, I create a release..I have no intention of causing depression from my poetry, if anything I appreciate the ability to express it.

Wednesday, February 11, 2015

In an instant I view this moment, yesterday or before.
The time drift teasing along my bedside,
I see my fingertips shaking in vibrations, longing for touch.
Left with no validation as the night sleeps, I'm awake dreaming.
My tongue deceives me. My mind fleets. Should I speak?
This deja vue reminds me as time creeps.
Explanation of all moments intertwined, satisfaction delights,
Quickly shifting backwards as it coincides,
I can see, it's too much for me.
The words make no sense to those who won't hear me.
My muttering, loss of attraction.
Silence is beauty,
Yet inside fires blazing.
I've cried over my limit, I've said too much.
Back tracking to where I've left off.
Time tells, ashamed to be.
There's a women inside clawing.
Sexual energy, desire for me.
Her appetite for lust rising.
Grown out from loneliness, laid to rest,
Blossoming into what nature meant.

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