((the true forever is moments together)) - Courtney Newton Shattered - 5/31/2002
imagine everything that's real, then remind yourself that you're only imagining these things, are they still real? the last kiss from that love, was that real? it was? are you imagining that it was or are you in that moment now? don't you wish to be there now? why can't you be? don't you wish you could live inside a moment for eternity? but, you are - you're living inside the moment people call "eternity"; but how do you know eternity even exists? so, do you even exist? do you question your own existince? why am i here? when was the last time you can remember your innocene? is your innocence a reality? what are you? are you something? nothing? even if you're something you're nothing, none of anything matters - we all die. i don't want to die, i don't want her to die daddy. i can't hold her forever? why not daddy? i wouldn't drop her. tears run dry? but why daddy? i love her daddy, this girl means so much to me. mother, i can't lie for you, i can't tell you i'll be here forever. mr. - why hold her back from life? why do you not let me hold her? i don't understand. i don't have much time. hopeless? why make me hopeless when you could help me, why be so cruel? why are you crazy? i want to be with her mr., please, god? why do i love you? why should you have to ask? i love you because you are more than everything to me, words in themself cannot express or explain or answer why, i can't lie and say something stupid, i don't want to recite a poem as an answer - that would be foolish. you've now entered my mind, you will need more than a boat to not drown inside. then again, i am human - why should i be forced to be? that's why i never imagine love, i live love, i live love because it's real - it's what i feel. i've been hurt, but i get over it, humans do this, they get over things, even though they never forget. i try to live every moment at all times, so i won't lose reality. so i won't forget the feeling of breathing you. cruel - 5/31/2002 cruel . . . Am I confusing you? Think - to always think like I do, Scared to confuse people, So I act stupid. I don't want to confuse you, I love you, And confusement disturbs connection, Connection is all we have, All I could ever want. bReak - 5/31/2002 bReak . why people laugh at loVe, or at rOmance, or pAssion, or even trUst, is because they have never felt it, or - they have and it was broken. would you break my feelings when they feel so good? . stuff - 5/31/2002 You have to have confidence, without it you would crumble; but - I'm so scared. Strengthened emotions sing I love you when the rest of my world has killed me. Intensity is almost too much to bear. If each step is a beat, and each walk a song, then every moment with you is a masterpeice. Fooled out of life by standards, only then would I be inhumane. I feel sorry for those who can't think like me, And I feel pity for those who are conceited, I feel sorrowful pity for myself; I can't relate to myself. I don't need to understand myself, I'm scared into hiding within my skin already. If i got scared, would you open the door for me. If I got tired, would you fight the world for me. Everyone has demons, they just choose to not know them. Everything I feel has already been written before. PASSION IN YOUR LIPS ETERNITY IN YOUR HIPS HEAVEN ON YOUR FINGERTIPS FOREVER IN YOUR KISS Nothing's meant to be forever, but this is something I believe there's a forever, now that I'm with you. Skin has never held such a feeling before you touched me. I could live lie for her, but then this love would be a lie, so I'll stay true. Life holds no walls, Only humans make bricks. Everyone needs time away from thinking. Time to touch the whole of you to reality. Am I touching nothing? The feeling of something that could happen but doesn't, gets me closer to the feeling of true enigma. Why scribble out what could be the best literature in the world? Because - the world seems so far away. You could turn a scribble into a masterpeice with one slide of a pen. Paper should bleed when her name is written, at least breathe, or cry. Don't play like you're not good enough, good is such an understatement of what you are to me. I've given up on giving up. Unseen movements kill the candles. I try not to be a mile away. Little puzzles of myself for you to chew on give you cavities. You're no bitch, you're such an angel that God should worship you. Obsession is love, love is obsession, I love obsession, I obsess about my love. Obsession is humane. Put the bottle to your lips, just to drown your sorrow. The thinker never dies, they just fade with their ink. Deserving; creation thrives inside my veins. Every poet has written of love, but not every has written of mine. I JUST WANT TO FEEL HOW YOU FEEL Sad Song - 5/31/2002 SAD SONG I could write you a sad song, I could bring you to tears, The piano hides no expression, The music hides all fears. all inside me - 5/31/2002 FORCED MYSELF TO GROW UP INSIDE MYSELF, MY OUTER SELF STILL 15, BUT IT SEEMS, MY MIND IS PAST DEAD, OLDER THAN MOST HUMAN BEINGS; cry for me. AVOID - 5/31/2002 I see little bits of the devil every time I look. Temps the innocent ; seduces the sad. I have to cry about this, but I laugh to the world around me. Voided hope hurts but I smile to you. The world was precious - now it bleeds of needles; Needles liquidated with sweet deceit that leaves the world swimming in its own casket. The message here - I am trying to tell; AVOID. Life could be so beautifully kept; AVOID. stress - 5/31/2002 This peircing headache fucks with me; Let me settle for something to settle this; Some unkown army that I just pop into my body. beauty - 5/31/2002 Everything that's beautiful in one being, How could something so fragile hold this and not shatter? With everything beautiful comes something horrible; But when all beauty shines through you - there is no impurity. before - 5/31/2002 My soul's suspending from the ceiling, Trying to hold on to itself; it squeezes too tight and dies. The life that it took on its own is now dead. That's the way I felt, before I knew there was you. SUICIDE - 5/31/2002 Razor's Blades Scream Silent Sharpness Through Her Flesh As She Kisses The Last Breath Of Life. Present - - - Night - 5/31/2002 PRESENT It's so cold in this room, The fan entraps the ceiling in dizzying circles... At times I wish I didn't feel need. NIGHT The night is where my soul thrives, Shadows beat my heart, Dark shimmering; I feel at one with the edge of existence - Hearing the rush of unneeded metal on a graveled road that seems but a step away. Myself on the porch. MADNESS-FETISH ESSENCE INSIDE-QUESTIONS - 5/31/2002 MADNESS - Her mouth moves in magical moistness around my fingers - her toungue intensifies my madness.\\\ FETISH - Inviting me to reality, pleasurable pain; I bite my lip; her teeth. ESSENCE - The smell of her perfume, of her body - lingers in my nostrils. As it will - As it will. INSIDE QUESTIONS Some things are best kept to myself, I can't share the world my happiness, I've done that for too long, for why? For if I lived inside questions I would find no answers. But who is to ask them? Am I that worthy? How do I know? Do I ask? \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\Perfect\\\\\\\\\ - 5/31/2002 PERFECT Golden shimmers her presence, Her face glowing so perfect, Makes me breathe her. Her eyes are the meaning of life; Her lips curl in such a perfect form that I could die when my eye catches her smile. I thought I knew beauty, I was mistook - I could cry crazy tears of happiness from just one look. Am I dead? I've found heaven. Her hair falls in all the right places. The slightest touch from her skin makes me tremble within. Her angels fight the demons in my hell. Something to live for, Someone to die for. My Goddess - 5/31/2002
The opinionated mind is subject to critique. I feel as though mine is today. All lost may return or find itself. Shelter something and what it does not know will grow heavy upon it, for curiousity is a seed. These flowers, when grown, will be found wilted. If you have no boundries then you will set your own. If your boundries are set by others, you will try to push upon them. The imaginary lines of society ar "irony in a nutshell", for they are not imaginary (no, my dear friends, they are not). They are drawn out like pictures of the past, present, and future. Sure, we are the brainwashed majority (we, being all of us) - school, church, etc., but isn't this what the world needs? Structure? The world is but a bridge and we are its support. Our world, at the moment, is but a swaying suspension bridge and we are cars on the way to our jobs and our homes and we are talking on our cell phones watching people jump off the side of this bridge and we don't even care! Who are we? We are all computers, giving outputs only from the input we recieve. I am no computer. Ask yourself, are you? Nothing is anyone's fault... yeah, right. If your attitude and actions effect others, then why do most people not seem to care? The clock is but a waste of time, my friends. We are all made-up men and women masking models from the magazines and movies; the produce of the media. We are milk for the bones of society, and our society has carpel tunnel. Payne Rains Creative Writing (Journal #2) - 10/29/2002 Journal #2 - October 20, 2002
I know your love, Your love of loving me. Your love as high as a flying dove, That is as beautiful as can be. I know your love, It is clear to me, What is your love made of? I want the recipe. (repeat 1) Your love need not be spoken, For it will never be broken. --payne rains i know it sucks - but it took a while to do the french thing.. I'm making a book compiling all of my writing... and pictures... and i'm having my friends put something in it that they want to contribute... is this a good idea? :-P much love to all... Slave - 11/7/2002
No swooning coo; not a jestful whisper; or even an inspiring touch of flesh could pull me from this. Not a heart-attack, or death itself - it being so near and dear to my every move, could pull me back. Not a muse, not a whore,not an angelic child - could pull me towards them. For, my pens are the shackled chains and my notebooks are like the metal ball. Writing enslaves me. --payne rains so.... - 11/8/2002 the sweet sacred juice of fresh apples slide down my soft sickened throat. call me Adam. my jeans sliced as crazy mirror-like patterns of my sullen soul. the circled morning was blinded by white mystery the last time i gazed to the swirling sky. tickle me with kisses. love is a bar of soap - to the metaphorical aspect of writing, such a wasteful line. all lines were and are and will forever be wasteful. maybe one spark of inspiration, one light in the catacombs of some mind filled with darkness; one smile; maybe. the only reason for not reasoning is that reason is as reason will always be; reasonable - and I am feeling rebellious. Metal pot on plush softness in my view; take the remote of life and smash it upon the ground. then happiness will surge through me; happiness will flow over you. like happiness is a wave of occurance; you shall be loved. each day an episode; each year a saga; and each life a waste - slice me into bits. throw intricacy into a pit of thought; and it will become the volcanic ingenuity of time. fish smell better when cooked. --payne Revision... in the process. - 11/10/2002 ( it's as if you taste their soul... (( A kiss, as if souls share each other; switching bodies for just a moment ((( A kiss from tips of lips - our souls share each other; swirling in each others bodies for the moment (((( This bliss! A kiss from tips of lips - our souls share each other; swirling in each others bodies for the moment... hearts are merely messengers of love; ring my doorbell, and I shall answer ((((( the doorhandle of love is but a hand and now our souls are touching (((((( walk inside this house of mine, and you shall find it to be a house of mirrors ((((((( and, lost - you will be forever, for - I lock my victims inside (((((((( This bliss! A kiss from tips of lips - our souls share each other; swirling in each others bodies for the moment... hearts are merely messengers of love; ring my doorbell, and I shall answer... the doorhandle of love is but a hand and now our souls are touching. Walk inside this house of mine, and you shall find it to be a house of mirrors and, lost - you will be forever - I lock my victims inside. ((((((((( I wish to be that book; the one in her palms. To be her school desk - for she, is my admirable headache. For if her lips were made of poison then I welcome death! If her hands made of daggers, cut me. If her eyes brighter than the sun itself - blind me. If her hair that of thorns; prick me. Oh horrid dream! That she might not hear my plea. In front of me she now is, like the gods above are showing mercy! Such bliss is this! To touch the tender tips of lips - our souls share each other; swirling in each others bodies for the moment... and what is this? a toungue? like a given rose! Where my knees once were the floor now is. I am not the fool of greed. hearts are merely messengers of love; ring my doorbell, and I shall answer... the doorhandle of love is but a hand and now our souls are touching. Walk inside this house of mine, and you shall find it to be a house of mirrors and, lost - you will be forever - I lock my victims inside. And no one hears the thoughts of a mere day-dream. --payne rains from the school desk - 11/15/2002 this is just a note - - if i write one more line of love i will explode; so - for a while now i will write differently; time for a style change - goodbye 00 (im in my creative writing class right now) Apple Slices - 11/16/2002 Scar-like river of flowing damask, Down flesh that thought itself dry. In this burn my hands now bask, Damming the reason I cry. Slicing fruit was once enlightening, But the metal grew itself eyes. And struck my skin - like lightning, Bringing my foot to its demise. --payne
burn: river, stream
damming: to dam, block
scatter brained - 11/17/2002
chilled last night, got thought struck by a lost train.
the scream of a useless machine through the night took our eyes to dreams. soft metal cylinder like sweetness was only its own. where does the rain go, where do the clouds go, where does the sun go, where does the night go, why do we starve.?. what about love - like me I try but die inside like the night was made of knives and tonight i heard the words and verbs collect themselves together on her toungue and i knew the words that she would speak from her mind before she did because i knew them too well - why do we bleed. why do you hurt, i know you hurt - I KNOW YOUR hurt I KNOW i know I KNOW you don't want to hurt PLEASE then PLEASE let me hold you, comfort you, take you away, comfort your soul... take you from pain - chilled last night, got thought struck by a lost train. the scream of a useless machine through the night took my eyes to dreams. soft metal cylinder like sweetness was only its own. but sweet dreams like these and my mind will wake with cavities.
(don't ask :-P)
11/17/02 - 11/17/2002
(don't ask :-P) 11/17/02 - 11/17/2002
------ 11/17/02 - 11/17/2002 here's the second picture of the two i submitted that were accepted - much love
11/17/02 - 11/17/2002 here's the second picture of the two i submitted that were accepted - much love
11/17/02 - 11/17/2002 here's the second picture of the two i submitted that were accepted - much love
11/17/02 - 11/17/2002 here's the second picture of the two i submitted that were accepted - much love
Guitar Man - 11/18/2002 hey guitar man, can you play me the blues? i'd like to - walk around - in - someone elses shoes, and if you spare me - your time, i can spare you my quarter N dime. I said - you won't find no love here, down on palmer drive.... cuz my baby done up and gone - she left me all by my lonesome, left my heart in the telephone. oh - you won't find no love here, least not on palmer drive... (lead) oh - when you hear me callin, baby - just let it ring... cuz the only sound you hearin girl, are my tears - yes - listen to them sing, (guitar solo) (acapella) hey guitar man, can you play me the blues? i'd like to - walk around - in - someone elses shoes, and if you spare me - your time, i can spare you my quarter N dime. my nails were painted black - 11/19/2002
. --payne "simplicity is depth; for if the truth in such a minute-thought verse be known - you would drown on the surface" -payne Growing You A Heart - 12/2/2002 freeverse search for true verse.. the search for a true poem can no longer exist; for such a wasteful search would it be... only thoughts reworded are now; then was the true; then was the pure; then was the essence of poetry - but still! i return to my roots; i write of me; i write of what surrounds me, i write of the love, the hate, the things I feel - so do you; if not write them you feel them and if not feel them then then a cold hearted soul you must be! poor slave of society; poor heartless beast - let me warm you with these words... let them touch your skin and drip through to cover your soul - growing you a heart! if not by ease - then by force... WRITE ME LIKE CUT VERSE; HOLD ME LIKE YOUR HANDS ARE MADE OF BUTTER - LIKE YOUR EYES SHOOT THE FLAMES OF HELL - BUT SOOTH YOU? I DO! SOOTH YOU - LIKE YOU WISH YOU COULD BE SAVED - I PRAY - NO, TO NO GOD - FOR GODS ARE FALSE AND I AM OF NO FALSITY; PROVE ME FALSE? SURE! PROVE ME A SLAVE TO SOCIETY - UNNEEDED! FOR I KNOW I AM, I KNOW THIS, I KNOW I'M BARCODED LIKE A NUMBER STUCK ON SOME FABRICATED PLUSHIE -I'M A NUMBER STUCK INSIDE THE ELEVATOR OF LIFE; ALL I GET IS PRESSED UPON - PUSHED AROUND - FUCKED WITH... HOLD ME. TAKE ME FROM PAIN - STRESS - LIFE!! WHERE SHALL THE MOON RISE TOMORROW? CARE I DO NOT! WHY? I DON'T CARE - WHO STARES? WHO DARES STARE???!? WHY DO YOU? DO YOU NEED SOMETHING? I KNOW LIFE - I know hate.. I know that this could touch the heartless beast, the screaming; the screaming; the beating; heart beating now - drip through to your soul! growing you a heart. - payne. 16 - 12/8/2002 had my birthday party friday - i'm 16 now... i'll write more later, but for now - much love. My Kingdom Is Dying - As Yours. - 12/9/2002
"P" is for pleasure... "A" is for adore... "N" is for these numbing feelings... "G" is for godliness. --payne Rosary; laughing powder nose - 12/10/2002 i didn't know a rose could walk or talk until today; well - i've seen it bloom smiles. i'm sure many thumbs bleed from trying to grasp its love; but i just admire the petals. how does such a walking rose smell? my eyes think - the sweetest. must she water herself? must she. --payne ~The Poet's Notebook~ - 12/11/2002 I received a new poetry book today - here is what i have wrote in it so far, hope you enjoy. much love - payne. ----------------------------------- I am prepared for anything, For I have been through It all. I have seen it all therefore I have have no need to travel; I have been on trial, drowned, executed, and forgotten - I have lived every man's life - for I am a poet. --payne ----------------------------------- A finger pointed is often accompanied by one of its two friends - laughter and curiousity. ----------------------------------- Inspiration smacks my mind like headache - throbbing thought through my imagination. ----------------------------------- MAKE-UP LIKE MAGGOT-FLESH!!! SLASH YOUR BEAUTY with a powdered Blade. FRAGRANCED lady. --payne ----------------------------------- Writing needs not a title; for in itself the subject should be understood. --payne ----------------------------------- I've learned nothing in highschool except the fact that teacher's pay is fair - and I've learned on my own account that creativity causes jealousy; and every man enjoys envy - but despises being an envious man; life ironic. --payne ----------------------------------- No man is perfect; as with his own poetry. --payne -----------------------------------\--\\ Think of a man without thought; the next cursed man would be one whose thoughts are not his own. --payne --------------------------------------- The elbow of life could be at a peaked position; or for most - like pushed appon a table. maybe that man's fortune would let the table be his own - and not one elses - raise up. --payne -------------------------------------- Hope is like a sock - luckily..... one can find it; even more lucky is the man who finds a sock which fits or doesn't fail him. --payne -------------------------------------- I don't think of poetry as a game; more as an adventure that begins with the first word like the first step. --payne -------------------------------------- A man comfortable with his pen is a man more comfortable than the man comfortable with his finance. --payne --------------------------------------- Words are footprints in the sand of time; and the poems stand strong as they walk in circles inside life's hour glass - God must be apathetic. --payne --------------------------------------- If a verse's consequence is a bedlam; I feel proud - as with my actions' consequence. --payne --------------------------------------- A critic is like a flame to paper. I try to keep each word fireproof. --payne ---------------------------------------- I have a habit - a craving - an addiction - there is no "10-step program" to cure me. The one-step critique is all it takes, but still I write to prove all wrong. --payne ---------------------------------------- \\A poem is a subway train. People ride on thoughts.// I can only hope they enjoy my travels from one place to another; because these trains of thought to not stop.// Certain things derail me - while others push me full-speed, although I know not what.\\ --payne ---------------------------------------- Optomism - 12/12/2002 If I was a riddle, would you think more of me?
I dug a man up out his grave, and we began to dance - We danced down streets, through crowds, up hills, and over the sun itself.
Then the man told me the meaning of life and how one becomes pure; After this we drank ale and smoked, From of the finest tobacco pipe.
The next morning when I woke - just before I stretched, I had forgot the night before, The dancing and the meaning of life.
The only thing left, That stuck inside my head; Was that to become pure, One must first become dead.
I sat atop a toilet fresh, And remained there all day - I read the paper front to back, To the last section from "A".
When the phone rang I did not know, What I was supposed to do - For I felt not like moving from my Toilet squat... I felt like feeling glued.
I always had wondered if, My friends or anyone would care - If I just "up and disappeared", Well - I tested my hypotheses from the "relaxing" chair.
But trust me, friend, I was prepared, I had a brush to brush my hair - I had stocked up on toothpaste the night before, And clothes I needed not wear.
I stayed there for days and days, Years, to say the least - I grew a beard and lost all weight, Became a ghoulish beast.
I sat there until my watch stopped "tick-tocking", Until the paper grew yellow through and through, I sat there until the tub grew rust, And until all of the bathroom lights blew.
I did not know in which year we were, Or which day it was, For it remained December 16th, Below the yellow fuzz.
So I remained inside the dark, waiting On someone's call... I heard a thump, a thud, a shout - Coming from the hall...
Now remember, my friend, my hearing had gone bad - I could not tell if it was mom, Or if it was my dad...
I saw a light, the light, brighter than the moon; I saw it shine between the crack; horozontal in my view.
I saw the door open, it creaked as it had; But I looked and saw neither - My mother or my dad.
I saw a little boy, or maybe a little girl - but the figure I saw, Was not of my world.
I saw his little smile - From the shining light. It warmed me over and left me in delight...
Well the strange is yet to come, For he must not have seen, That I was sitting there - And he began his release.
It passed straight through, And then I could clearly see, When I woke up on the 16th, I was not quite me...
--payne rains tuiles - 12/15/2002 it's like it is sunday even as your breaths are warm as this Saturday sun. I aspire, as you; now. I'm screaming inside... I'M SCREAMING INSIDE... I'M CRyInG inside; but watch me smile. we aspire once more; i whisper my love through lips to ears; it flows through an imaginary river of connection and i linger with my chin on shoulder; to hear your words like fallen angel harps, they sound! but now.. eye to eye, lip to lip, thought to thought - I just wish to tear the moment apart - then put it back together with you. so that, we could spend just seconds more as we glue - but with what to glue this moment? not love - the word is too over-used; not hope... it wouldn't hold; not desire; not care; not admiration; but memory - for it is the glue to all moments we spend. Alone I aspire; but never alone am I now for you are the blood from which my heart beats... And I could beat a fucking symphony. I wish your hairbrush was here... flowing through your hair - and your hands appear - then your face and body; mind like golden... If your thought could take shapes I would not idolize, but respect the forms. as i do. and today was a blur of black hair, cold-wall mall, taste, steering wheel turn like crazy thought now your hand in mind and your thoughts catch my words as we fall asleep on the phone. --payne