Mama Lapalu machang.!!

Dance! Slide your feet across the floor, Jump up, Dip down, Bang your head, Till your hair frees, And cover your face. Go into a trance! See the lights, the battle, Giant machines pulverized into pieces. Like broken lives, Headed in every random direction, Racing, towards stars unknown. It's a war, raging in space, Of only metal and light, And darkness. No flesh or blood. Soulless! Far, From the blue oceans, Green mountains, And concrete jungles. Far away, From your home, Your bed, From the sensation of her lips. And far away from the amazon locker that says, "You have 40 seconds to pick up your items." At 192 beats per minute. Collect the pieces, before they drop. Ditch, the double-spaced bullshit! Fuck, the ten-minute breaks! Burn, the envelopes with lines in RED. Blow up the ships black and hazy grey, Torch the stripes and stars in space and get ready! Drop! It's war again. Peaceful, and Serene!

I stood in front of you, On a dimly lit cobble street, Under the gaze of a stranger, A friend, A friendly stranger. We stood, not too close to each other    that your breath would touch my skin,    whishper in my ear,    Or breeze past my chest hair. But we stood not too far from each other,    that I could still see your green eyes,    even under the dim flickering light,    and feel,    layers of happiness, guilt, freedom, gratitude,    Sorrow, ambition, strength and love. And we stood still.    Not too close that the scent of your hair,    the scent of you,    would overwhelm my senses,    Conjure up memories,    Of waves and white sand,    Rocks and Rivers,    Yoghurt and yeast,    Of Screams of excitement, and screams of frustration,    Or of Cigarettes and sex....

Don't push it! Words will appear, and disappear.. You glimpse a thread, and pull it towards, Hoping to weave a tapestry, With vibrant colors, Or darker hues. One moment you see it all, You feel it!! Next, It's dark. Empty... Like a room full of stuff. Living stuff! The desk, the chair, And a shirt hung, that we once shared. A closet, A bed, A trashbin, and the flowers placed right above. Flowers that are dry, and weeks old. But their purple color is very bright, still. Against a wall that's empty, and white. I kneel, pick up the lone peace of trash, The carpet is clean, Now. It's a scrambled white paper. A receipt, From one warm evening! For a pair of cold ice creams. I toss it into the trash, beneath the flowers, Whom you know, Will soon follow. It will be clean, then, And empty, truly. I will open the windows, Hang colorful tapestries, Nail soulful paintings, And place flowering succulents, I will try, To fill the void, L...