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The Butterfly & The Bull


Be it a good toro or bad toro
the matador waltzes with such precautionary anticipation.
El toro has no team behind, just instincts
to which the matador readies his revel.
May the matador bring el toro justice,
glory, regardless of the waltz.
This performance, without encore...
bred for this glorious demise.
All el toro sees is red tapestry
that may eventually fade to black butterflies
with a dreamlike interface
creating one final visual
before the last breath...
Applause, cheers to the glorious matador.





Clung



It's easier to lament then let go
the pain mocks us, telling us more?
the loneliness screams at us
but not louder than the silence.
This dangerous game we play
impeding on sanity
with the best intentions & the worst results.
We succumb to this lovecrime
pretty much outlining in white
where our bodies will lie.
We suffocate ourselves with desires and emotions
a beauty existing only in theory,
we cling to the fiction in our minds.
Immaculate imaginations running rampant in unison
drowning in disillusion that discharges into false reality.
We both go down, sinking as people
losing ourselves to the tide.




Comfort vs. Discomfort


With the best foot forward
the ground breaks
with every bit of confidence
and all our human capabilities.
Mental compulsion with such physical hesitance
Can peace be negotiable?
or just an idea from heaven