All your smiles and sweet words,
Feel a bit like an ice pick
In my aching chest.
But I get it your scared,
And I’m not the best you could ever do,
I hope that’s true.
Just know knowing you is an echo
Of my past and empty promises that couldn't last.
You chose wrong,
I’m not on any throne
And you've always known I stand on no pedestal,
We didn't have to be alone.
But I was worth more, than to feel
That I constantly pester you.
I don’t know whether I’m disappointed in
Myself ,
Or proud that I was so brave,
Even if you walked away
And let me drown in that moat of unworthiness
While you mutter repetitively in your untouchable tower
That “she isn't worth the risk”.
Go ahead and merge with the shadows,
I’ll think of everything and hate that I miss,
Every bit of the things that cease to exist.

You won't even let aPrincess in
After ascending those walls
in the face of great rains,
and murmuring bandaids
over old scars and fresh pains.
You coward.

You fall down,
Feeling naked, bared,

You get up again,
Feeling hopeful, positive and enthusiastic

The cycle repetitively continues,
Until we realize
That we can choose to always remind ourselves to get up before we fall down

WE never camouflage with the masses nor follow trends and direction out of gullibility. The path WE're  on may signify bleakness in the days to come and may look filthy to some.

Wait, the plural emphasised  just struck my concern and weakness..are WE unified? or perhaps unity to US is all contrary and single word equivocation.  Wait.. who are WE?..that question repetitively asked by my subconscious sarcastically.."I" answer "WE are who WE are. The misfits"

A fountain of afternoon life flourishing in the shadow of Summer evergreens ,  can Spider webbing capture a dream
Are fireflies perceptible from the Crescent Moon
Do Mourning Doves repetitively sing the same sad tune
Is love whispered in the wind , a wounded heart
on the mend
Will the Raven portend tomorrow , are our days merely
borrowed , should the world ever return to peace
Will my poetry ever quench my minds thirsted need* ...

I slide myself between her tenderness.
She trembled from the embrace.
Her shivers soon tamed.
The pain of a pinch,
She's feeling it inside.
Unimaginable pleasures,
refrained from the release.
Nails tearing at my flesh,
her fingers grip, digging deep.
Sensations of pleasure eclipse reality.
Ravenous passions,
we consume; selfishly.
Tension building,
unbearable pressure;
relentlessly .
Her emotions
Eruptions; uncontrollably,
repetitively.
I'm giving her,
the best of me.

One bullet, one god dam bullet, this cant be
Happening to me..  These little jackets more
Precious than that which was converted by all
But now worthless only good for wiping my ****.

Why would they take them that way, its not
Fair, they never hurt anyone. I cant believe
I had to do that.... Their skin it just descended
Just like taking your coat off "O' GOD...

It was so quick, why was I not with them, I
Would be at peace, but I had to do it for them..
For me to survive "No for them, I cant do this;
One little jacket to end it all, peace in moments, bliss.

What was that? I cant let them, cant believe I'm using
A ******* water pistol but this would be so much
Fun if it wasn't for this, got to get height, learnt that
Their  fast, "Hi **** come here often, nice smile,

A push of a button, Dam the batteries died, me to
If I cant, always carry a spare. I douse the chatter
In accelerant and then like a candle they blaze in
A moments glory, "I swear I see peace in their eyes,

Fumes are a little to strong need to wear the mask next
Time, I fumble and collapse on the filthy floor.
Knock, knock,
Who's there?  Wake up if you wanna survive,

I hear chattering as I focus on my surroundings,
Got eat something cant do that again. I should have
Covered this place before doing this, blind surroundings
Mean a hasty death, learning as I go along.

What's the smell, its an odour of burning. Crap it
Wasn't dead it crawled. I lean out of a window and
See flames licking at the outside of the building.
There moving higher clambering away from death.

I can feel the heat from below, the halls lined with
Wisps of corrosive smoke. like rats they ascend over
Each other, not caring as long as they are in front of
That colour that charring heat that grasps on to all.

I run but my lungs are burning is that the smoke or am
I badly out of shape. Stair after stair I ascend just hopeful
And glad that non have found this place my legs are
Stumbling, like lead weights I lift each one repetitively.

I think of just sitting on this step, so many feet have passed
On these now dull and silent, echoes of floors below as I
Hear then now flooding this place so many eager movements
None thinking of the other as over the railing like rain they fall.

New momentum has me up stepping two at a time, I burst
Through the door, I see the edge and run, just as I thought
Old wooden planks grasp at either ledge. I hear there need,
So I quicken the pace, step after step till I traverse across.

I see them flood through the opening where minutes before
I stood, they see me running at full pace. I smile give them
A polite wave with my index finger and just as one lunges
Across I kick the planks and it descends then still again.

I sit on the edge watching their frustration, teeth chattering
But in unison. It cant be like a form of language? is that
Even possible. Then silence, awkward black eyes stare focused
Just on me. Then they start to jump leaping to certain demise.

But as I watch then swan dive some grapple to the side laughter
Turns to concern and I stamp on bloodied hands, They have no
Skin but where that loss others things grew. Nails were more
Hardened like jagged steel they latch on to the brick work...

I swear that one that was able to get across even though no lips
Was smiling in arrogance its muscles lifted teeth chattering and
I understood its clicking "one of us, "one of us, what the
Hell is going on how did I understand that thing?

Exhausted I search for a place to hide as screams heard not
So many now, I find homes abandoned, a door left ajar.
"Blood so much blood, I look upstairs and find a loft with
A ladder. I poke a head through slowly no chattering and rest.

Nightmares ensue as I dream of what I left behind, my wife
My daughter it just felt like taking off a coat. They were just
Muscle teeth chattered I locked the doors "I ran, I ran,
"I so sorry, I  awaken to chattering how did they find me.

Pain gripped me, but their close no time to think, I just climb
Out the loft window. I look down no others around, I hear the
Sound it speaks to me "We mean harm, I'm startled and
I fall, my last thoughts are  "I will see you both soon,

But death didn't wait, as I ascended I landed on claws,
I ignore that moment and run, I feel the breeze upon
Myself, I feel so relaxed burdens, fear, anger have all
But faded from my view. I see them like fearful statues still.

I call out to them fear not freedom from this existence is
Within your grasp. But what was heard by those stunned
In perpetual fear was but chattering, I do not realize it yet
I will not till I carve upon their flesh that I am what is feared.

I gain pace, hungering to teach them the error of the flesh,
To teach them this is but a better way. No hatred but a
Yearning to teach them the freedom of this existence.
We are evolution, we are a higher conciseness.

No need for mortal entanglements, no need for possessions
Freedom to roam. Flesh was a prison that is expelled, freedom
From those traits that burdened me. I killed my brothers,
Sisters but no regret they passed wilfully enlightening me.

Passing a shop window I see my new form, I am not horrified,
Neither repulsed. Freedom from form as I sense those that are
To be apart of us, but there are those who are neither of freedom
Or form for those there is only the consumption of old flesh.

The others they run, but not relaxing that it is but a matter of
Time till they dispose of that aged form no longer suited to
This new word. I hear talking, voices unmistakable that of my
Wife and daughter, not departed as I thought, i speak to them.


.. / .-.. --- ...- . / -.-- --- ..- / .. / .- .-.. .-- .- -.-- ... / .-- .. .-.. .-.. --..-- / -- -.-- / ..-. .- -- .. .-.. -.-- / -- -.-- / - .... --- ..- --. .... - ... / - --- --. . - .... . .-. / .- --. .- .. -.

( Loosely translated)
I love you I always will, my family my thoughts together again.

They claws so gently, caressing  each others features. They look for
Others so near to the change, so in need of a familys help. I took off
My contempt and it was like I had  just slipped off my coat.

i change the pronouns
in my poetry
from me
to her
and no
do not be mistaken
i am not her
and she is not me
i do not know this lost girl
yet i do understand her

i have dreams of her
she has eyes that scream
with bags sinking beneath
plump with everything
that she
hides
her hair is unkempt and wild
she tells me her only goal
is to finally be as free and wild
as the drooping loops
her skin is porcelain
and i fear that i might drop her
that my rough touch will not soothe
and that she will break

her cracked lips part
and she says her name is
Anjelica
a pretty name
yet seemingly
too clean for the broken doll

bruise is a pretty shade on her
she has red scars
that chase the dip of her back
and
her voice fills any empty room
as though she is
fighting for a place to speak
as though she is
fighting the silence

i walked slowly and uncertainly
to her room
my feet moving out of instinct
dancing along a cobblestone path
with white cherry blossom petals
scattered like my rambling thoughts
i reach her door
and place a shaking hand on the ****
i twist it and pull it open
moving slowly and cautiously
as not to wake her up
but i am afraid that
she looks even more
damaged
when she is asleep
i reach my arm over her
and she stirs
her stained mattress heaves
as though it's carrying
a burden much heavier than she

her eyelids blink open
and her cracked lips part
as she asks if i'm here for cigarettes
i apologize repetitively
quietly
softly
because i am scared of anger
and she says it's okay
and that she understands
but darling i do not think
your mind could comprehend
how i need them
how i need them to breathe
how they are the air that i breathe
how i breathe them much more simply

i leave with the cigarettes
tucked in my dress
a burn in my hand
and i leave
my dear Anjelica behind
to the destruction of her dreams
and i must confess
i am haunted by memories
and i hoped she held the key

i changed the pronouns in my poetry
from me to she
and i swear they are not about me
but i see myself scrawled in the ink

There's a constant pressure
In my chest
Pulling, Aching, Twisting
At my very own gut

At the very cost of my joy
My life, my smile, my curiosity
Is what led me to this point
Of too little too much

Too little too much
Constantly repeating
Over and over and over and over and...over
Repetitive motions of life

Life stolen with the motions
Going through the motions
Wake up
School
Go home
Wake up
School
Go home
Wake up School
Go home
Wake up School Go home
Wake Up School Go Home
WakeUpSchoolGoHome
WAKEUPSCHOOLGOHOME
WAKEUPSCHOOLGOHOME
WAK­EUPSCHOOLGOHOME
WAKEUPSCHOOLGOHOME

...
Inbetween the motions
Are lost emotions
From being lost in the motions
Never allowing rest

Rest from the constant nagging
Shaming
Teasing
...heartbreak

never disappears
only builds
buildings of nothing
that make up everything

repetitively everything
constantly nothing
too little
and too much

He is born amid
dust blown from
burnt and dried plains
powdered grime carried
past the James River
conveyed though arid skies
pelting window panes
penetrating cracks
and crevasses

She dampens
muslim sheets
wraps them
around his crib
catching sand
and falling chaff
like a coffee filter
captures grounds
from boiling liquid
draining into the ***

He survives
exposed to
horrors of the 1930’s
gradually he grasps
a new catastrophe
symbolized by woolen
uniforms embossed
with chevrons
and metals
for bravely killing
and destroying uncles
and cousins
committed to expanding
the **** nation

She cries
consols Granny
who frets in vain
repetitively rubbing
her hands across her knees
fearful as her native
beloved homeland
becomes scarred
war torn by
death and torture
beyond imagination.

He recalls crouching
beneath wooden school desks
practicing survival
of an unsurvivable danger
while nations
race to discover
an explosive intended  
to end all war

The residue of indecision
Rumbles by in
Stomach pains
And the repetitively lame
Excuse
As to why
You didn't get
Out of bed today.

What a shame.
What a waste.

C.e.M

1.
Once, back
in the good old days,
all we had were

words. We were full
of them. Yours, mine, theirs.
The words were good to us;

we respected them,
heard them, breathed
them. Lived them.

Then they were gone.

2.
The other day I
foolishly tried
to bring the good words
back,

except none of mine rose up
to meet yours, and none
of yours but one broke

the silence. The brave,
one word - repetitively spoken and
asked by us both; "good?" "good."
"Good?" "good."

3.
Was it the cold that
froze our words, leaving
us with the first syllable of
The Last Word?

4.
Goodbye.

I am... something more than nothing...
nothing less than anything...
looking for a heart to dwell with...
a place where i have purpose... fruitless & forlorgn...
i wander blindly... with my cane of hopes...
and seamless desires...
tapping every surface listening for the stir of echoes...
hoping the reverb from one is what i seek...


i am... blinded by the lies...
and false proclamations... that love is real...
and looking back at me...
as though the one i seek has been here always...
and i know she hasn't or else she would have assisted me...
a blind man... in crossing this road to eternity...


i am... forsaken... repetitively... continuously...
by this entity known as love... looking at my thoughts...
invisioning what true beauty must look like...
holding it's mirror of forlorn hopes...
as it falls becoming shattered dreams...


i am... lost... in this darkness... for i lost my sight...
to the smiles of false love...
and shards of promises thrown in my face...
you are the reason i'm blinded...
all the things you bombarded me with to my face....
and knives you've jabbed into my back...
the pain you caused burnt out the sensory nerves in my eyes...
and no amount of surgery can repair the damage you've caused...


i
am
incomplete
What
Is
A
Man?
Without
His
Senses
???­
Nothing

Why is it that I still write poetry
Even if I **** at rhyming words
I still listen to music
Even if the genres have evolved repetitively
I still sing high-pitched songs
Even if there's no way for me to reach it
And I still like you
Even if there's not a single chance that
You'll feel the same way for me

Why is that so?

Day into night and day into night again for as long as this here feeling or lack thereof exists, I scribble love notes into the fibers of every letter engraved into this keyboard, repetitively, in search for something
To form a phrase of some meaning, or of placement, like structure 
Like form and position 
And it seems that every silent sound that is of black ink is scented with the echoes of something we will never be but could, if I just keep etching possibility in between the spaces of every word of tongue 
Still awake among the still of night there is something of a soft whisper rustling through the breeze as leaves sway under bare moonlight, and I keep searching for you in these bedsheets but you are nowhere to be found 
You only exist within the multitude of tiny threads which consist of letters and syllables and sentences and punctuation marks
The ones I constantly weave day in and day out, from sun up til sun down 
I keep writing to hopefully feel you completely, as some sort of fabric, as cotton, or wool, or something far off
Some far gone piece of me or you or us 
Something that never was
-AL

I fell asleep to the sound of the ocean

the waves reminded me of the way you repetitively touched me -

softly and fiercely, all in one motion

and I wish I could feel that same exhilaration one more time

{hjl}

Deny me not of that-                                                            ­                                                                 ­                   Which we all are entitled.                                                        ­                                                                 ­                         Growth requires so much.                                                            ­                                                                 ­                     Depending on the creature;                                                        ­                                                                 ­                     Plants: sunlight, carbon dioxide, minerals, water.                                                           ­                                       A growing person: love (a little at least), pain (what does it hurt to have some?),                                    Privacy.              ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­                                      Yet, that-                                                            ­                                                                 ­                                                       You deny me repetitively.

No room for self growth.                                                          ­                                                                 ­                         To listen to my own thoughts.                                                        ­                                                                 ­                 Not even a chance to recollect-                                                       ­                                                                 ­                Or counsel myself.                                                          ­                                                                 ­                                       A growing child am I                                                                ­                                                                 ­                             With the least opportunity to be by myself.                                                          ­                                                          

A dictator are you.                                                             ­                                                                 ­                  Breathe, eat, talk up those people.                                                          ­                                                                 ­     Decisions, commands you enforce.                                                         ­                                                                 ­    No choice have I but to follow.                                                          ­                                                                 ­                 Free, I wish to be but                                                              ­                                                                 ­                             Chained I remain. A slave-                                                           ­                                                                 ­                      Your captive, a hopeless soul-                                                            ­                                                                 ­             Waiting to be freed.                                                           ­                                                                 ­                                  Restlessness and anxiety eat,                                                             ­                                                                 ­            Peck, gnaw away at what sanity I have left.                                                            ­                                                                 ­     

What humanity I had left-                                                            ­                                                                 ­                     Has begun to fade. My soul-                                                            ­                                                                 ­       Drifts away to the furthest-                                                        ­                                                                 ­                       Dark abyss. My body, this corpse,                                                          ­                                                                 ­       Will stay as a reminder of what you have done                                                             ­                                          And the error of your ways.

She reads five books a day.
And forgets her children's names when they call.
She works.
Hard.
But she plays almost never.
Only clapping games
With special-needs preschoolers.
She will try until she dies
To stay alive,
But she is quiet and she is shy.
Her thoughts get dusty
Pacing repetitively in her head
And never making it out of her lips.
Her mouth is glued shut...
She married a man
Who switched her Chapstick with glue.
But, Mother, let us dance.
Let the rhythm move your aching bones
And grow happier as you grow older
It should not be the other way.

With so much to do
In such little time
Again and again a problem
A problem coming repetitively with time

Even more, the issues stack up like a castle of cards
Fast to blow over, reek havoc and die

The enemy is time
The lack of time
The cruelty of time

The feeling of being overwhelmed,
Instilled into my mind,
Till it reaches a peak,
And my problems die

I have prayed
I have prayed and have cried
Each day I've fruitlessly fallen and tried
Again to get back up
And it seems the only truth I know
There is no truth in me
Redemption-less I seem to be
Like a born blind man squinting to see
Something transparent anyways.
My imperfections will define me
regulate my life
So those with less drive and strife
Cut through their struggles like a knife
While repetitively I beat mine
With a weak fist.
Was there a message I missed?
Is my downfall my own fault?
Will success ever opt to be mine?
Or
Am I doomed forever to fail.

To net a butterfly takes time,
catch the states of mind with kindness.
From thoughts, emotions, opinions, belief,
ethereal dreams may seem out of reach.

The small pineal gland still stands tall,
even if we're concealing what is real.
Cold hard stone in hand,
a granite man can fracture.

Match the eye of sun gods,
appreciate your wider space in chorus.
Combined from our creative borderlands,
where we learn to understand and teach.

Factual fractals repetitively resonate,
so try to make the most of your ability.
As intuitions have a silent plan,
contemplate your future face.

This life can be deemed a dream,
where we're all here for a finite time.
You're born, you work and times pass by.
Then onto the next opportunity.

I live in the basement, never venturing
upon those stairs, I hear her voice...
"Come up and see me its been to long,
Holding my ears singing my favourite song
repetitively until she is drowned out of
my thoughts. rocks tied to her voice as it
sinks out of view.

I use the stairs that open to the outside,
Lingering looking at this place I called home.
Venturing in the old ford, she lets me drive
it when food is but breadcrumbs and eggs
old enough to birth the dead fetes of a partly
grown bird. I look out though a ***** window
screen, this trip takes two hours each way.

I always wonder if my bald tyres are ever
noticed, but I'm not hindered by the thoughts
of this. So much to see when driving in solitude.
I stop at the side of the road picking cherries,
I slump them in the boot. I may eat upon this
morsel or just hang them outside watching
them swaying in the gentle breeze.

My father just looks out the window.
Doesn't talk much these days his eyes are sunken
like the titanic splintered between two pools.
I move his chair and his arm falls at his side.
collecting it, I put him palms resting on a blanket
He's so gaunt now, he was a strong man now but a shadow.

I look at those cherries lingering above the ground,
shaded from just picked to becoming spoilt, but i
just leave them swaying the aroma fills lungs with
life's eroding perfume, I breath it deeply within.
This is my home, "she never calls me for dinner anymore,
I just make my own, the washing up is festering in
my ignorance, like a garden of petrification flowering.

Saying bye to my dad, I get in the old ford.
Its time to pick some fresh cherries, the tree
is looking unkempt. Its blossom is in honour
of a mother, I hang them all there. My
Mother hung there for a long time ,but she's
long gone. So I bring other cherries to the tree
to show that she'll never be forgotten....

He sat gripping his beer bottle in one hand
and a pen in the other, tapping it repetitively
on the open notebook before him.

That's when a little red-haired squeeze
came in and sat beside him, grazing his leg
with hers as she ordered her mixer.

She saw the great potential for love in his eyes
and started questioning his mind accordingly.
Seeking his essence, searching his being.

Yet he never shifted his gaze from the lined paper,
and answered all of her inquisitions without hesitation
because he knew what she wanted.

But she shifted closer to him and started to speak under
her breath, asking him if he has a woman waiting for him
at home. Asking more than her words implied.

His knuckles whitened and tightened around the green glass,
and the pen started tapping faster and faster on the unwritten
words upon the empty sheets.

She put her hand on his forearm and the tapping ceased
as blood red mist started fogging his already blurred vision,
seeing crimson, he ripped his eyes from the blank pages.

The bottle shattered and broken glass sank into his palm,
the pen erupted painting his calloused fingers black.
He turned and faced this intruder.

"Please leave me alone now," he spits into her frightened face,
and the crimson fog covers his sight completely, as his thirst is
sparked, ignited, and begins burning furiously.

He slams his eyelids shut and searches for Arlo's words,
searches for Arlo's eyes in his mind.
Searches and searches for her heart.

He massages his temples and counts his breaths.
He fights for his sanity in the face of doubt and intolerance.
He just wants his dear to be here..
He sighs and opens his eyes.

And he's alone again.

The wrinkles
they are a bit faded
but have a gentle presence
that fits with the folds
of the 16thC altar cloth
once ****** white
but now stained
through years of use

bread and tears
or wine
and tiny rice biscuits!

The Christ on the cross
is very old  
made of painted wood
and the altar is surrounded
with a fence
of turned table-leg like posts
pale blue
as is much of the interior
perhaps denoting Heaven

and as the psalms
waft music round about
we look through the windows
to the listening hills
and streams
the old birds
wise
will sit watching too

and all the people
will suddenly feel their age

wow what a display of flowers
the church was as full of them as people

I put in the only black dress I had with dark pink roses on it too and I cut the rim of a black felt hat that had cost only Kr. 10.- in scollops and diamond cuts around the crown as it was too big for me.

Then I walked down to the valley to the church, and when I entered was ushered to the very front pew, I said there must be more important family members than me to be seated, I could hide in the balcony or something but he insisted. So I had a good view of the proceedings!

It think several hours waiting the ***** playing quietly in the background and finally things began to happen.

I sat next to a black man, he was already dressed in black!!! The white robed "prest" came into view and with his powerful voice sang twice as loud as the congregation.

After all the flower sashes had been repetitively read out, we left the church following the coffin to its final resting place.

And just as had happened in the church the priest mentioned the sun and its rays came through the windows, and as he threw on the "earth to earth, dust to dust," it broke through the grey clouds again and lit up the gay flowers, the frame of black and white onlookers many in tears watching.

Margaret Ann Waddicor

You tell me you adore me
You tell me that then you ignore me
You play these games with my head
You do these things that make me feel dead
You are beyond any kind of repair
You are the poster boy of the guy who doesn't care

Once I adored you so much
Once I ached physically for your touch
Once I did, I swear I did but not anymore
Once again I am done playing life's *****
Once more listen to me and what I have to say
Once upon a time is not the way we begin our day

It's over I can't say it enough
It's no longer strong or tough
It's no longer what we had
It's not like you want me so bad
It's like this... You are never there
It's like when I try to talk you just sit and stare

All you do is say you're sorry and that it won't happen again
All you do is lie to my face and turn around and behind my back you sin
All I want to do is stab you in the face repetitively with a rusty blade
All for nothing... The NOTHING you do, so sleep in the bed you've made
All I wanted was for you to take the time to notice me
All you ever do is make me bleed tears of remorse, so let me be

Let me be free of the things you used to do
Let the person you used to be come back to be true
Let me go if you can't change from this creature you've become
Let it change before the damage is done, before it can't be undone
Let me turn my back on you for the last time
Let me let you pay for your hundredth crime

For the last time... Good Bye

© 2015 Kitts

It truly is that simple; if you want Truth, change your chapter of story. If you want a lie, keep re-reading your past chapters repetitively, possibly driving you insane.

My feet touch scarcely the unknown soil
repetitively winding and unwinding
as would the prowling of a curious lion
to its new surrounding.

My hand cautiosly longs to touch
as the petals look so soft and warm
but fear the tear of crimson sorrow
for you are both the flower and the thorn.

A rose sits adamently , urging me
its sweet smell the very fabric of desire
can it be -that scent it carries
summons the Muse to come inspire.

Cherubs and godly beings alike
might bless the deadly sinful power
but ****** be I for being hasty
for you are the thorn as well as the flower