buddy icons for aol and aim

Act 1

I could have sworn
that the witnesses would have stayed
just long enough to pray on the stars.
Could the inevitable
ever have fallen
at the worst possible moment?

The perfectionist wants answers,
as to the drug infused verses
of our deceased memories.
The perfectionist wants a resolution
but with each passing decade
the verses become our fallible excuses.

Je tapos;aime.

I looked through the jungle
in the coldest darkest air
to find that two eyes
were looking back at me.
There will be many mad men
so torn by a grimly beast
that he will eventually believe
it to be real.

I looked again into the jungle
to have a sudden revelation
that I had been looking within myself.
If an ideal place of comfort
is holding a tempermental weeper,
then let me behold your spoiled puzzles.

Je tapos;aime.
Act 2


Hither.
Hither to an echo.
I can feel the march
rising me away from the poor men
and into the drifting winds of Autumn.
This tiny mutiny
has formed the kindest hatred,
although there is no place
that I would rather sleep tonight.
I hear your hunger from ten stories above,
goodbye my precious concerns.
Hear your hunger screaming for money,
good riddance my needy child
Hither.
Hither to my empty arms.
My secret is so much contained
that I feel holy
just knowing that youapos;ve evolved from laughter.

If we are lost in our place,
whatever city,
what ever institute,
may be laugh
at the horrific tragedies.
No one seems to realize
the human emotions
swept under the rugs.
The horror is,
the honor is,
what does it matter
when epiphanies
cannot have themselves?
One man saw a skeleton key.
One man knew about the pool of red.
One man said too much about the latter.

Je tapos;aime.

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