Blog Locker

How much love is enough      before enough is to much? How many memories are enough     before enough makes you choke Up with misery, sorrow and pain?     How many scratches, bruises Slashes and jagged ends      are needed to kill from inside out? All of those selfish tears      and screwed motives are from nothing but uncertainty. Who once was called a decent man,     lover and friend Can do nothing more than lie, hate and steal-     only from the chest of one whom loves the heaviest. So how many stanzas, phrases, tears and gazes     does it take for you to see clear? How many minutes, hours,      days, months or years? They say that the first is always the toughest,      I say the first is lethal. No order, no rhyme, no scheme.     your nothing more than a myth to me...

Sometimes the mind is hard to understand. One minute I'm happy, the next I'm sad, then I end out being the worst kind of angry. I would like to believe that I'm 100% crazy, bipolar, depressed or all of those. It just doesn't make sense. I can walk around all day like I don't have a single care in the world; a big front, faking like everything's okay. But that's the problem- everything isn't okay. I do thank God for another day, another breathe, but life and its random assortment of unfortunate events has made me bitter. More bitter than diction could ever explain. Of course I could walk around all day and tell ever person in the forest about my problems just as therapists suggests, but what's plan B? My mind is a big hemp of mushy feelings, emotions, thoughts, advice, wisdom, religion, politics, events, the past, the present and the future. So can I get some help? It's sad to say that I will not and shall not be satisfied until my selfish ...

I Don't Remember... by   Ash L Bennett I don't remember, any more, The exact shape of your hands As I held them in mine, Caressed them, Memorized the length of your fingers, The depth of your calluses. I don't remember, any more, Exactly your height, how much Taller than me You were, where My head rested on your chest When you held me tightly close. I don't remember, any more, Your scent, when we lay together Creating our own Magic rhythm, Matching our heartbeats as we Touched the sky, together. I don't remember, any more, The sound of your voice, calling My name as though It were a song Within itself, a precious treasure You valued with all your being. And I don't remember, any more, The color of your eyes, the shape Of your lips, Only... How your eyes crinkled at the corners And your laugh, as you told me, "I love you." Copyright by Ash L. Bennett, 2011 Feb 9 ...

"Two things to look forward to in this world are death and taxes." Quoted from my father, this statement is more than true. It's blunt. It didn't mention love, or music, or games or clothes; only two things. I can assure to you that if I understood this statement two years ago, I wouldn't have been hopeful for a lasting love. I would have just lived in a relationship, hoping for the worst so that my heart would never ache. Makes sense right? If you were to ask me, I would like to follow my heart completely. None of this, letting your mind dictate what happens. NO. All I wanted to do was love you. Yes, you. I might've showed it in the worst ways possible, but that's all I ever wanted. Yes! I was immature, careless, irresponsible, arrogant, ignorant and hard-headed, but weren't you? Not even a little? It's funny because I sit here, trying to remember the worst parts about us and hate you, but the worst parts were me, so do I hate myself instead? ...

There is no exact theme for my blog; it's all just quite sporadic. I guess what I'm trying to emphasize here is that, life does not necessarily have to have a direct order, or margin, or certain requirement. If you truly think about your life, you'd be pretty surprised to see that the order we implement on ourselves is complete gobbly gook. I would honestly like to appreciate a sporadic life, one without all these areoles and barriers. Funny because, an example of a "good" barrier are condoms. Could you imagine life without the invention of condoms? I mean really? Talking about random? Hell yeah, females may start having kids out the butt. But really, in all seriousness, we give ourselves standards. Is this wrong? Noway, without standards, I'm pretty sure we'd all still be back in the stone ages trying to figure what to do with a rock, a stick and fire. Really? Okay. Well, although the argument here is in support of a spontaneaous lifestyle, I guess you...

When as bright as day and as black as night, your heart soars a thousand sands worth my delight. I sit and mourn, then sit and beg- only to avenge my sicker said. I am merely a child risen, to mask a while- but raging frequent stops only to bring forth tiles. I sit and beg for nothing more than a slight remedy,  or simply a keg. Give one piece of that luscious you call you- let me embrace on that side that rests a new. Give me peace or bring me death. Sit with me  or lay with meth. Die with me  or live alive without my solemn hellos and goodbyes. Speak yet worthy to all that hear that love was once set on fear. Let not your heart rise a new, when nothing more sides a few. Be fearless and gracious and kind yet spacious. Give me my heart and I shall return a start to nothing new but a changed tart. Begin quite slowly  ...

Do you ever think for a second  that maybe mistakes are for the better? That with age comes defiance- That with defiance comes knowledge? It's evident that we're all bound to make mistakes. So are you willing to face them? Are you able to conquer them, To gather them- To throw them away? Move on. Life doesn't wait, And neither does your heart. No more pain, No more games,  No more wait. Now, life gets real.  So take a bite; It's bitter-sweet.

Whom is it that withholds happiness at my gates? His remedies are dark yet sweet Holding me back from fantasy.  Why can't I ever achieve this happiness, blissfulness, tranquility? That he not only speaks of,  Which is said to bring me peace. Who is it that keeps happiness away from my heart? Let it not be myself? For whom truly holds captive the pains of said past,  the scars from my burns and the wonders from said future? Yet, do I have that future? Or does my anger swallow me whole in my inequities? Whom is it that buries me with regret, with sorrow, with aches? Is it right to allow tears to fall onto mine shadows? Or insane to bondage myself? I seem to lack the qualities which are sought.  So tell me, is it me? Do I bring forth mine own sadness? For as I remember, My remedy was taken from me.  -Nayo Shell 

So of course everyone knows that tattoos are a form of self expression and individuality. So I'm sure no one would be surprised if I say that I want to do the same for myself. The only problem is that I'm a sucker for pain and would rather remain blank then have to think about a needle constantly piercing my skin. However, the couraguoes side of me is saying "suck it up sucker!" So I want a tat of a lion and a snake 'doocking' it out in the Garden of Eden with color. So let's see how painful this will be =/.