Death of a Rose of thought, last in lust filled dreams.
fellatio squirming,
barriers announced and bypassed.
misstree what would you like to shatter today?
because certainly you haven't come to these lands
for safety, for certainty or for rest--
you have come to roar louder, to
thrust farther into darkened recesses
than you have tasted before. you are here to
find something new, to push through and past.
and i? i am here to see if you
can show me something new.
Death of a Rose and what improvements would you have me construct for your eyes and mind?

frantic scrambling, lost in your woods of deepened beguilement.
blood hot eyes peering through my skin.
feral musings upon your broken harp.
strangulation happens when falling through your vines.

i am leaving tatters of clothing and blood pools as i catch my breath, leaning on this blackened bark.
misstree clothing is as superflupous as
the flesh that it hides. every
thought, every assumption and
preconcieved notion must be
left at the base of this monolithic
mountain. it will be a breeze to
ascend, it will break us to climb.

if you think that you are lost,
you are precisely where
you need to be.
now strike forward.
let vines tangle only to
taste their tension.
they cannot hold you, if you
remember being ethereal.
let the scent of rot be
the perfume of a rebirth.

focus thrust in one direction.
there are borders.
they must be shattered.
Death of a Rose this is an insane traipse about the blatant grey.

this is the place i can freely write,
knowledge of consensus gained,
conciousness granted;

so i will keep bullet like, until my trajectory is frictionless.

counting the times and moments that are the defining instances that you can trace my screaming into the blue.
Death of a Rose of my despair.
of my self loathing.
of my nightmares.

of your touch.
of your words.
of your pain.
no reason i seem to appear as either a pushover or a bitch 120605
flowerock over and underwhelmed
extremes are draining
I prefer
that can be boring
then I get anxious
why isn't anything happening?
epitome of incomprehensibility (Ha yes - I feel that way often. When I get bored, I have a perverse desire, for example, for pushing myself into situations with tight deadlines, apparently being nostalgic for school, though the last year and a half of it was horrible. I discovered limits, mine and the school's.)

extreme sports
radical scrapbooking
low-cost association
what's it to you?
who go