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I weep.
I am alone.
I am a squished banana
Under the foot of a clown
he laughs
they laugh
at me
I weep.

Peel back my yellow layers
Reveal the soft white child inside
I am slightly mushy
Perhaps you should have eaten me sooner.

Today they forgot to give me crackers with my soup.
I think they did it on purpose.
Why should I have crackers
If nobody loves me?

I sit alone outside the library.
There is no place to sit inside.
It's always like this.
I weep.

Oh! What a cruel existance is this?
Satan does not acknowlege my letters!
Perhaps I gave the wrong postal code.

Santa does not exist.
I weep.

The blood trickles down my chin
And onto my inadequately-developed chest.

The clown laughs no more.
Fin.
Dedicated to Crys, who never ceases to amaze me with her lack of talent in pubescent lamentation.
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                     "just walk into the light          "shut your mouth and close your eyes
            or keep heading for the black          for darkness you have a knack
               if you're looking for delight"          you're the devil in disguise"
              said the trickster in my back          said the trickster in my back
         "choose the realm where to go:          "choose the realm where to go:
       three headed demons that attack          three headed demons that attack
          or pale angels that think slow?"          or pale angels that think slow?"
              said the trickster in my back          said the trickster in my back
 "shut your mouth and close your eyes         "just walk into the light
          for darkness you have a knack          or keep heading for the black
               you're the devil in disguise"          if you're looking for delight"
              said the trickster in my back          said the trickster in my back
                                hell                                             heaven
                                hell                                            heaven
                                hell                                            heaven
                      "just walk into the light          "the shading on your heart is thin
             or keep heading for the black          i'll give you all that you lack
                if you're looking for delight"          now the rotting can begin"
              said the trickster in my back           said the trickster in my back
This is an experiment of mine containing a little bit of subliminal mesages and the underlining of an idea. I also fiddled with the placement of the stanzas. It is about death and the deciding of one's fate post mortem.

The preview is an eye copy by me of a screen in PC game "American McGee's Alice" (the trickster in my opinion).
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Her skin of powdered rice paper
the scent of rotting orchids,
a drug-induced Noh dancer with
slow-writhing limbs akimbo-

silver-gilded girl of the moment
at the factory that turned out
Monroe silk screens, and porn
to the drone of a refrigerator,

from asylum to the Big Apple,
the apple of her father's eye
and of his desires, she'd sleep
among the gay lovers, pretty boys

with erotic names of exotic birds,
knowing she was safe for a while
as they quarreled among themselves-

who'd bring her chocolate shakes,
and chauffeur their princess
to her doctor's for injections
(she was too much a lady to do it herself)

until her fingertips became match-heads
setting fire to hotel rooms,
flailing from inside a closet
while bellboys stole her furs-

face of a comatose junkie drawing deep
on filterless cigarettes--
what deeds have you, Edith
what deeds?

But wasn't she fabulous! remembering
back when she and Suky spent trips
screaming from an open convertible
through the San Marcos Pass,
their bright scarves trailing kite tails

in the same wind she'd ride her roan
along the spine ridge of Rancho Laguna
with no sense of dominion, and the land
with its wild fires that went on for ever,

where the ashes of her brothers
and their self-possessed
and possessing father of eight
had been far-flung blown, and one day,
so too would hers, in the valley of Santa Inez.
:bulletred:Edie Sedgwick (1943 - 1971)

:bulletblue:Youthquaker of 1965, Warhol's underground superstar at his NYC factory with the silver foil walls, the Girl in the Black Tights. And the fine actress Kira Sedgewick is related to Edith as her niece.

:bulletorange:Noh - Japanese classic theatre
:bulletgreen:*Suky - the youngest sister
:bulletyellow:Rancho Laguna - the 6,000 acre family ranch
:bulletpurple:San Marcos Pass, and Santa Inez Valley - near Santa Barbara, California

(preview photo from Wikipedia stock)
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  Sometimes I want to just lie down and cry. Just cry and cry until there's nothing left inside me. No thoughts, no pain, nothing but the slow beat of my heart as it reminds me that I have to go on living.  That when I get up there will be a new day that will bring a new wave of pain to my heart. I want to hate you for what you do to me, but how can I? How can I hate you for not being as deluded as I am? How can I hate you when it's me with this problem, this burning need to be loved by you? I can't, it wouldn't be fair. Hating you would be impossible anyway, because I love you too much.
  I ask myself all the time what's wrong with me, what could be stopping you from loving me. I have a list as long as my arm, and it should at least stop me from fantasising about a life with you, but it fails every time. I find myself wanting you more and more each day, and dying inside when you make it clear that it'll never happen. How did I let myself get this far? How did I let you touch me so deeply inside when I can barely get under your skin, if at all? I crave you from morning until night and you...I'm not sure what you crave, but it isn't me.
  Sleep is the only time you're not always with me, and when you are its not really you, more like a figment who soothes my broken heart with soft kisses and gentle hugs. It's a struggle getting you to touch me outside of dreams, so I know these are just my own desires being acted out and nothing to do with the real world. I find myself wanting to join the world of dreams a lot more often these days. They're my oblivion, my escape into blessed silence.
  No, I can't blame you for my stupid mistakes, my own insanity. I doubt you have even the slightest inkling that you're slowly driving me crazy, that just seeing you in person makes my whole body hyper-aware of everything from your scent to the little twitches you make subconsciously. You're so  deeply embedded in my being that when you're near it's like all my senses are attuned to you instantly, and all I want to do is crawl under your skin and stay there. But I can't because you don't want it, you don't want me so close and so intense.
  Now I'm lost, and so full of unshared love that I'm like a ticking time-bomb, and I wonder who will pick up the pieces when I finally go off.
Writings writings writings.

Emotional, I know, lol.

It's lesbianic!

Enjoy! (don't cry D: )

I thankyou in advance for all faves made!

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– Pero... ¿Por qué no te gusto? ¿Qué tengo yo de malo?

– Mira.... ¿Ves esto? ¿Lo ves?

Sus inmensos ojos verdes ascienden desde el suelo hasta el punto al que él señala; no dice nada, se limita a llorar en silencio. Una lágrima tras otra. El nudo crece justo sobre su lengua. Abriría los labios para añadirle un zumbido a las lágrimas pero su orgullo no se lo permite.

– Está vacío –, él y su crudeza, él y su maldita tranquilidad –. No… no… no sé cuándo empecé a quererte, tampoco sé cuando dejé de hacerlo –, engulle saliva, buscando un poco de tiempo para poder ordenar un par de palabras que tengan algún tipo de sentido –. Me lo has matado... Todo este tiempo... No se puede hablar contigo... es intentarlo... y... – Una tras otra, sus vacilaciones otorgan incoherencia a todo cuanto dice.

– ¿Qué tengo yo de malo?

La pregunta se repite como tantas otras veces en su mente, aplastándola de nuevo; no, ya no se encuentra a sí misma, tiene la mente plagada de preguntas que nunca tuvieron una respuesta y ahora que han salido por entre sus labios se siente ridícula, completamente avergonzada.

– ¿Me ves? Lidia.... no te pongas así, yo no soy un buen tipo, ni siquiera soy.... Tienes que calmarte pequeña –. Y sus manos tiemblan.

– ¿Por qué? ¡Dímelo! ¿Qué es lo que tengo? ¿Soy fea? Dime que no soy fea.

– Lidia... Cálmate.... Siéntate.... Vamos a hablar… Tranquilízate, no te pongas así. Así no, no me dejas hablarte, no puedes ponerte así.

– ¡No quiero! No lo repitas más por favor… Cállate. Olvida que no me quieres.

Súplica, una súplica. Hay algo roto y ella lo sabe, hay algo, algo que no va bien, no puede estar reaccionando de esta manera ¡No puede ser!

Las gotas saladas se multiplican, una tras otra caen por el barranco de piel pálida y pecosa. Ahora ya no es sólo lluvia, es un río desesperado y perdido que no encuentra su cauce y vaga sin control.

– Lidia.... – Susurra su nombre, da un paso y otro, despacio... con dulzura.

Ella tiembla y retrocede hasta llegar al balcón. En uno de sus parpadeos aparece él, sufriendo por ella, mirándola con ternura, repitiendo todas aquellas frases hechas de recortes de películas; pero al abrir los ojos la escena es diferente, los labios de él están retorcidos, su mirada es angustiante y el silencio lo acompaña.

– ¡Quiéreme! – No quiere decir eso pero su corazón la obliga –. Haz un esfuerzo, quiéreme ¡ahora! – Su voz... ¿Esa es su voz? No... no quería decir eso ¿Qué está pasando? ¿Qué le pasa a su corazón? Está rojo; está hinchado; le grita; explota.

– ¡¿Pero no lo ves?! ¡No puedo! ¡No puedo! ¡Joder! ¡Ya! No sé por qué pero ¡no puedo! ¡No! ¡Puedo!

Y este es el grito aterrador que no ha logrado matar a la más mentirosa y vulgar de todas las esperanzas que hubo una vez entre él y ella. Casi puede verlo en cada uno de sus temblores, puede verlo en sus ojos, en su expresión, puede oírlo en su respiración. Ella no lo ha creído, acaba de borrar de su mente esa última frase. ¡Ante sus ojos! ¿Cómo? ¿Cómo puede mentirse de esa forma? ¿Por qué? Pero ya es tarde. Recuerda aquel maldito día en el que encontró a una chica sola y quiso acompañarla, maldice aquel nocivo instante en que ella entró en su vida. Cae derrotado, las lágrimas de ella siguen suicidándose pero han vuelto ya a ser lluvia, los ojos desesperados de Lidia buscan un poco de cariño en los suyos, sus labios suplicándole amor, sólo eso, amor. No encontrará nada en él, pero no le importa, se lo inventará de todos modos.

Muere. Acaba de matarlo y ella ni siquiera lo sabe.

– No me hagas caso… he tenido un día duro… perdóname… – sus palabras son mecánicas y ausentes, su voz tiembla de miedo. Jamás podrá volver a salir.

– No pasa nada tonto –. Ella sonríe de nuevo, lo abraza y, aunque evita mirarlo a los ojos por algún extraño motivo, se siente llena, feliz de nuevo –. Ven, vamos a dormir que ya es tarde y estás cansado.

Lidia tira de su brazo hasta llegar al dormitorio, lo desviste con dulzura dejando pequeñas caricias sobre su piel, él no las siente pero sí las agradece; lo introduce en la cama y se tiende a su lado.

Ella dormirá toda la noche y mañana, al despertar, sentirá que hay un mundo bajo sus pies totalmente dispuesto para ella.

Él no podrá dormir en una temporada, algo se lo comerá por dentro poco a poco, y ni siquiera le quedará el dolor, los gritos...
s licensed under a Creative Commons Reconocimiento-Sin obras derivadas 3.0 España License => [link]


Based on a work at ¢rónι¢αѕ ∂є ∂íαѕ ℓℓυνισѕσѕ => [link]


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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You're the only one who cannot see,
This burning need inside.
This desperate want, this massive love,
I'm always forced to hide.

I want so much to tell you,
Just how you make me feel.
But I'll never have the courage,
To break this vocal seal.

You make me so confused,
So happy, so sad, insane.
And yet you never see,
The extent of all my pain.

I know its not your fault,
It's mine and mine alone.
I'm the one who fell in love,
The fault is all my own.

So I guess this is a plea,
Because you make my brain so hazy.
I need a break from all this hurt,
So please, stop making me crazy.
Eh, I guess I was trying to show how crazy mixed messages can really make a person. I think I failed, this is crap, lol.

Lemmee Know what you think anyway.

Lesbians!

I thankyou in advance for all faves made!

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I've got your purple car,
And your flash Miami house.
You can bring your dog and cat,
And I will bring my mouse.

You will have a study,
And you'll get a big surprise,
'Cause stuck above the study door,
Will be your Nobel prize.

We'll make love in our king size bed,
Our pool, your desk, wherever,
In front of our warm fireplace,
During the coldest weather.

You'll make me kind of crazy,
And I'll do the same to you,
But no matter what is said or done,
We'll always make it through.

So I guess it's down to you,
It's you who holds the key,
You are my one and only,
So will you marry me?
Just a little humorous thing, an Inside joke of sorts :] It's happy, anyway, lol, might make you smile.

Lesbians!

I thankyou in advance for all faves made!

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You come online.                                       I feel the familiar
                                                                             tickle of caterpillar
                                                                             marches along my
                                                                             stomach lining. Furry
                                                                             feet, excited beneath
                                                                             my claw-like ribs.



"Heya, pretty girl."                                    The caterpillars
                                                                             munch on the
                                                                             wildflowers and
                                                                             emerald green
                                                                             grasses in my belly;
                                                                             growing larger and
                                                                             filling my stomach
                                                                             with a soothing,
                                                                             unfamiliar warmth.



The phone rings.                                       The creepy crawlers
                                                                             do summersaults and
                                                                             flips off the walls of my
                                                                             tummy. They attach
                                                                             themselves to the roof,
                                                                             hanging securely off the
                                                                             soft tissue. Pulling on the
                                                                             the skin, they create a
                                                                             feeling I can't deny I enjoy.



The way you say my
name, and your laugh.
                               The caterpillars, hardly
                                                                             moving, nudge every
                                                                             once in a while, a
                                                                             tickling deep in my
                                                                             stomach, branches
                                                                             supporting their
                                                                             sleepy heads.



"I love you."                                             The caterpillars burst
                                                                             free of the confing cocoon
                                                                             that is my stomach. On
                                                                             coral-lip wings they
                                                                             flutter, brushing along
                                                                             my lungs, and leaving
                                                                             traces of shimmering
                                                                             smiles. Radiating from
                                                                             my skin, their wings are
                                                                             the shade of pressed
                                                                             roses between ivory
                                                                             paper. Napping in my
                                                                             bones and nibbling on
                                                                             my heartstrings. They
                                                                             are carried up and out
                                                                             on the sweeping current
                                                                             that is my whispered
                                                                             reply, "I love you."
"If I could release all the butterflies I get in my stomach when I'm around you, to flit through the flowers and draw smiles from your lips; If I could pluck the stars from their black velvet backdrop to arrange your name; If I could paint a picture of forever, or of perfection, just to show how I feel...It still wouldn't be enough to show you how beautiful you are, and what you mean to me."

Hmm....a sorta metaphorical look at the whole idea of "butterflies in one's stomach". Dedicated to my love, and inspiration. Hope you all like!
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DOES ANYONE KNOW THE MEANING OF TRUST ?

Trust [ trust ]

noun (plural trusts)

1. reliance: confidence in and reliance on good qualities, especially fairness, truth, honor, or ability


2. care: responsibility for taking good care of somebody or something
We put our children in the trust of a good daycare center.


3. position of obligation: the position of somebody who is expected by others to behave responsibly or honorably
breached the public trust


4. something in which confidence is placed: somebody who or something that people place confidence or faith in ( archaic or literary )


5. hope for the future: hopeful reliance on what will happen in the future


6. responsibility that somebody has: something entrusted to somebody to be responsible for
accepted his responsibilities as a sacred trust


7. law holding of another’s property: the legal holding and managing of money or property belonging to somebody else, for example, that of a minor


8. law arrangement to manage another’s property: a legal arrangement by which one person (trustee) holds and manages money or property belonging to somebody else


9. commerce credit: credit given to somebody on purchases made
let me have it on trust


10. commerce cartel: a combination of corporations with the purpose of reducing competition and controlling prices



verb (past trust·ed, past participle trust·ed, present participle trust·ing, 3rd person present singular trusts)

1. transitive and intransitive verb rely on something: to place confidence in somebody’s good qualities, especially fairness, truth, honor, or ability


2. transitive verb confidently allow somebody to have something: to allow somebody to do or use something in confidence that the person will behave responsibly or properly
I trust you to do the right thing.


3. transitive verb place something in somebody’s care: to place somebody or something in the care of another person
You could certainly trust him with such an important job.


4. transitive verb suppose: to hope or suppose something
I trust you had a good vacation.


5. transitive verb Caribbean give credit to somebody: to give somebody credit on a purchase
wouldn’t even trust me a carton of milk


[12th century. From Old Norse traust “confidence” and treysta “to trust.” Ultimately from an Indo-European base meaning “to be solid,” which is also the ancestor of English true, tryst, and tree.]


trust·a·bil·i·ty [ trùstə bíll& #601;tee ] noun
trust·a·ble [ trústəb’l ] adjective
trust·er noun
source : encarta english dictionary
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my spine is what's soft
and hands are the cold
being under my skin

lips are the
humming birds
clicking to
the vacant ears,
locking clothes,

and even though
rain does not come
every season, fingers
are the pattering
to my skin
-

in love
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