Poetry of Shell

Empathic ink, Music and the Moon.

Over the last few years,  I lost  the light from my face. My heart was swelled up so bad, it slaughtered my own inner grace. But there is a flicker now, and it's starting to spark. Like a candle, it dances around the room.
It " announces "itself, to the dark.
No Introduction needed.
Bitch walks right in.

Inner Strength,
she embraces me, now.
As Music notes fill the air.
At the mercy of this dissocation,
I find I really dont care.

The fan reaches for me.
My pretty hair starts to take flight. 
I close my eyes. I'm down the rabbit hole. Finally, peaceful tranquilty.
The Music and me. Finally, feeling nothing but the warmth of color in my cheeks. finally, free,recharging me,
I smile.
(Fur Elize beethoven)

Pen on paper,
God, I love the sound as i write.
brand new paper. This passion pours out of me like deep,dark, ink. The crinkle, the cleanliness, of sheer white. Sprinkled, with lined perfection.
But, strictly guided with arrows,or lines, rather,to direct me in such a strictly,
There after.
I submit and grab my pen.
It's soft in my little hands.
Once it touches the paper,
I follow its demands.

I feel every person, and there smiles and There stares. There, Hellos, how are yous? And I don't care.
No words are necessary. 
I feel it all. 
Even through a text or in a call.
But the last one hurts, burns like hell.
Right in my chest, My Care Bear stare needs a bullet-proof vest. 
( Tchaikovsky Swan Lake plays) swan theme

I light a blunt and softly land on the clouds as they form around my head.
The Music echoes, it screams, and Teases, I fall back on my pillow.
It acknowledges, holds me,
Seizes.

The fireplace
Beats orange and blue.
it turns itself inside out, Constantly,
but remains bold and true.
There is nothing  left to say,
and nothing  left to do.
I have receded, to My Chambers.

Now,I'm waiting on the moon.

(Beethoven moonlight sonata)