Temptation.

Some women are absolute demons;
They're hard to spot, sometimes, most of the time.
They'll fuck you over, leaving you begging for a merciful death or their undying love, no matter how painful either would be.
Most demonic women have eyes of fire or ice and a disposition of viral injections.
Naturally hypnotic voices echo through any room where you've encountered an individual of this species.
These women will completely captivate you - heart, soul, body, psyche, thoughts, dreams.
They will sneak into a position of being your entire life subconsciously, which you realize only once she's left.
They never stay.

Like spontaneous combustion, she'll light your heart aflame and never let it go out, even after she's gone.
These demons are passionate yet unfeeling.
I battle with them, I love them, they love me.
But they're nothing compared to soft hair, blue eyes and a contagious laugh.

Your eyes.

The trials of Hercules morph in modern day to psychic survival.
We are a diseased people, plagued by internal fires of the mind.
These days, it requires more than slaying a many-headed, malicious dragon to stay alive
We need to slay our own demons and no (sword) or (spear) is going

to help (!!)

Macabre, morbid, tragic
I resent these words.
This entity of our collective wellbeing needs more light.
(existence)

Irrational, sane, rational, insane
Locked in by extremes as the hoped-for traits lie between Freud's worst nightmares or wet dreams
Thanatos, thanatos
Give me libido (injections)

It'll hold.

Floating through the apple-green clouds, an airplane visits my conscience.
As it passes by me, it waves and a knife flies against one of the small, rounded windows as (even from far outside the airplane) even I can hear a blood-curdling scream echoing through the nightly, light sky and that scream penetrates my bones
(bones)
I soar further as I recall the memories and see them colonize my mind yet again, again, all over again.
Post-traumatic stress disorder, I shake in my parachute, the motor churns with pure energy and I recall again and I smile as I recall again, again, all over again.

Starry nights.

Combat boots, bottle caps, prostitution misconceptions.
The world sighs with each heavy step and a cigarette lights the way.

Communicational mishaps mar minds as the clouds stumble through the sky,
powered by violent pushes from the wind.

Untouchable happiness – dangerous, volatile, flammable.
The flames’ obscene licks bring forth insanity and nobody is left whole.

Life as seen through another’s eyes becomes vicariously satisfying;
you know once that realization hits, the light will never flow out of your eyes the same way
again.