Lust From delicate to lovers' sweat with poison in between Take a sip from beauty's lips to taste amphetamines Just enough to scuff the lighting pumped into the veins Emotion of the cheap domain sustains what it contains Creation of the degradation generalizes warning And beautiful women will usually taste like irony in the morning A desolate display of the emotions tied within her Pin the sin within the skin, experience the vinegar Lusting so sincerely, love it dearly, drink the sin Volunteer the hunger that's severely soaking in A one-dimensioned melody, passion spree, melt it down and mix it There's tension in the temperature as the mania emits it The composer of composure hides relief that settles in Misbehaving is a craving when exposure's running thin Indifference is evident where the love was once contained Desire eats a vicious feast through hearts that can't abstain Religiously refuse the patience, let the lust erupt The addiction to the friction leaves her lovely and corrupt The devil seeks where pleasure speaks and sneaks beneath the skin Sex is at its sweetest when the sweat is laced with sin |
| Kendal Huevelman |
 |  |  |
Shells She sits on floors with bandages and scissors set to smother She could have dressed in rainbows, only blue was not her color She’s beautiful, they all would know, if one would only listen Patience screams behind her nerves until she’s forced to break the prison The pieces she releases tend to hold the actor’s form Make their homes behind the curtain, but are anxious to perform Release it. The late nights, the wrong rights, the rain She’s tarnished and diminished, but it’s all that keeps her sane She’s a silent tattoo artist with a lack of conservation But her crimson masterpieces cease the peace. Its mutilation She dances over clouds while she becomes a feather figure She could have been remarkable if she maintained her vigor She’s beautiful, but no one knows, they only see recession The skin that draped around her frame became an ill obsession Her stature she announces floats among the windy weather She longs to taste the bone within the pieces pinned together Vanish. The thoughts convinced, the lessons of a cynic She’s nearly lost and lifeless as the dolls she tries to mimic She’s a talented magician, watch her disappearing act. But a vanishing magnificence holds nothing to subtract He hides behind the chasers and the coiled dollar bills Resides inside erasers in the form of precious pills He’s beautiful, but only knows sufficient suffocation He’s silenced by the habit and the craved anticipation The spirit that he spilled across the egos of the poisons It left embedded patterns on the life it tried to moisten Consume it. The dependence on nights he keeps awake The powder’s getting louder as he listens for escape He’s a substance sewn together as the man inside his albums The venom in the virtue and the self-enticing pill bumps The world has left the vacant hearts with pressure on their shoulders Reality reseals them as they try to touch its borders Perfection is a practice Addiction is an actress Concealed within the mattress in the basement of disorders |
Writers Once upon a rhyme, In the most nostalgic of times, There was an artist Whose depiction of the world was wrapped in vines Labeled a writer, And knew it ever since he was a child Emptied his head with a stick of lead, Some lines, and a smile He would give to the givers, And even more to the receivers, To every foolish non-believer, But gave the most to the dreamers Inspiration, Extended invitation to the mind Only to find, Emotion can be captured in a line And with a pen, the writers chase What they can't vocalize Disclose their cries, Through poetry, lyrics, books, and lies And then there are the meek, Who left technique upon a shelf Much like myself, Only, I can touch the pictures that I spell And I'll write, Despite how it's interpreted by others These are my colors, And with them I'll remain undiscovered. |