As a child, I always knew what I wanted to be: a poet or a serial killer.

Both used the same ammunitions, while the poet kills with words,

The assassin used a bullet but at the end, both listen the whispers of their emotions, feelings to terminate their anguish.


As a teenager, I wanted to be a saint or a whore. Both used the same trick, one sell his soul, the other one sell his flesh but at the end, each ones is searching to escape.


As an adult, I wanted to be a cobra or a lethal rose. Both used their beauty.

One will dance, his stare hypnotise you to inject his lethal venom, and the other one will always prick your heart to piece.


These days, I dream and wish to be love and to love, I dream of the man pressing his lips again mine and wish the sweetest kiss of a lady.

Because at the end of the day, we are all sexual being…


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palewingedpoetess's picture

Quite painfully beautiful to read..............

you not only peaked the mind's thoughts but cut with words the poet to the bone. In a bloodletting sort of way I truly enjoyed reading this and experiencing your obvious talent. Thanks so much for sharing........... A sincere fan, Melissa Lundeen.

CrowPieD's picture

the final kiss

STOP U MAKING ME BLUSH BUT U WORDS ARE LIKE ARSENIC WORDS ON MY LIPS! if u knew along i have been waiting that kiss, soon....µMerci of what is left is the pieces of my heart, truly yours....H.N.M

Visual poet/ Libertine lost in a labyrinth of complexities, methaphors, searching for the essence/ Ink of life/ death to spell my syphilistic words on the page/ screen.