There is beneath us the progenitor and we call it “Mother”. Above us is the progenitor and we call it “Net” for it takes us and tosses us into the known and the unknown.

Our home star is not as bright as yours. We prefer your temperate lands when we visit, where the vegetation is lush and green. Those of us who remain inhabit your deserts and open spaces.

We are your brothers and sisters. Our development has been to grow in awareness and the development of our power. You have the potential to develop as we have, but your instincts are of a social group who need dominant members. You develop your material reality and your physical world. Your anchor is fixed and you grip the familiar and reject the unknown. There is a comfortable point where you feel the fullness, that is the anchor. In order to maintain this as a static point you develop belief systems to support it. This is your weakness, you are innocent children.

We grew and developed along another pathway, our anchor is not  rigid. We use Net for our anchor and so are able to change our perceptual reality. We move in ways that you do not understand and in any direction. We draw the fibers of Net around us and jump and fly. You see us only from your anchor point so that you see us change shape, appear and disappear.

Our voices and languages are barely accessible to you. You hear deep sounds and high pitched chirruping and whistling. Very few among you have remnants of language incorporating any of these. Those remaining are as clicks and whistles. We prefer direct communication.

We are masters of illusion. Our survival has depended on it and it is our instinct.
Our power developed so that when we pull around us the fibers of Net we create a shield and throw an illusion before those who depend on vision. It is one of our protections and also our hunting technique. We are hidden from your material probes and instruments of increased sight in this way.

Although we have been close neighbours for aeons, you have hardly seen us, except for the Few. Your interpretations have created problems for you. Your reliance on the anchor is so great that some among you do go to great lengths to maintain it. There are those among you who will silence the Few rather than lose the fixed anchor.

You are infants only, a seeding coming to fruition, and you play with dangerous toys. Your anchor is geocentric. You are in danger as is any youngster who plays with fire. If we showed you ourselves openly your rulers would not be gentle in their curiosity. We have technology and use material tools but we have had less to restrict us. We held back your development as much as we were able to enable you to develop power of the mind and independent thought.

Your grasp of Net is strong but you are rigid and anchored. You have learned to stand up and hold on. Now is the time to let go and walk, let go and run, let go and fly.

Around what you name “body” and believe to be “All” is more that you do not perceive with your restricted vision sense. You are aware of this. If you will learn acceptance and filter less from your senses, you will find the beauty of the universe of energy around you and available. A small perceptual shift would show you how you appear to those of us outside your narrow sphere.

Your body has filaments, which when translated to sight, appear as small moving threads which shine with rainbows. They move and ripple inside an energy body of light. This is your true body. It has abilities and senses that are dormant as you do not access them. They are accessible but as your anchor renders you blind to this you do not use them without intense effort or instinctively in extremity. The filaments are drawn together and pass through the anchor. Depending upon your ability to select filaments of the Net, your habitual plane and reality is selected and determined.
Those among you with abilities in your energy senses you ostracise and even ******. You succumb to misinformation to treat them as fools or freaks. This may be instinctive but it is a control mechanism to perpetuate the anchor and maintain the hive of your artificial society. So due to this, you have even less sense of true reality as it could be to you, by breeding out and suppressing your gifts. We have attempted to rectify this with limited effect in successive seedings.

You may notice that our words to you have reference to sight. Your terminology is geared to vision. You rely on visual information  so much that you have neglected physical senses of taste and smell, hearing, touch and proximity. Compared with our perceptions you are as blind as a mole is compared to to your visual abilities.

Your construction of reality is so anchored that your dangerous inclination to gather around you artifacts gives to you a sense of permanence. You are anchoring yourselves in time, yet to you it is dead because your senses are dead. There is an opportunity for your predators to use this to enforce your perception of, and control you within, your anchor's limitations. In this way, producing written or pictorial and symbolic records in permanent form is beneficial only so far as understanding continues to exist of the conditions under which these records were left. By changing current understanding and language to suit their purposes, your enforcers are able to manipulate your branch of humanity on a large scale.

You seal yourselves into the rejuvenation plane of the Mother progenitor where you feed and breed. It is so pleasurable to you to stay within this cocoon of reality that you fail to open your cast and therefore fail to fly into the spaces of Net outside where your true inheritance lies. The end result of this is greed and unrest. Your greed is paramount to you as you seek ever more pleasurable gratification. You enslave one another, buy and sell time and forget what you are. You are allowing the destruction of your home world. Without the home world you will have no place of rejuvenation, and worse neither will the myriads of others who share this progenitor.

There is a song from each mother progenitor within Net. It is a combined song and made up of the host progenitor together with silent voices of each and every life form. Together from each home world, the inhabitants send out a pulse. This is not a song from one species of a world but rather it is a song from all species, in fact every particle of every organism that lives.

To our developed senses the song of a world is brighter than the star it orbits. They are filaments of Net. The varied forms of life all send out their unique song. Many of us interact, harmonise, visit, commune and combine. You feel isolation only because you fail to harmonise and join your own song.

In your past and present we have felt the song of your world. Those of us belonging are part of that song. It is the song of being from the many. It does not end at the perimeters which you imagine. You have a problem in that, for the majority, you do not join your voices to the song. Mainly it is in dreaming, in childhood and in old age that we hear you.

We attempted to observe and commune and found many of you receptive to us. We have taught to you methods of development and given you gifts and tools. You have kept and preserved some of this knowledge only for a select few. Fears and distrust among others has caused destruction of a great proportion of the gifts that we have given to you. We found many lines of breeding where potential for development was possible. Your greed and your predator class destroyed many of them due to the competitive desire to have power over others.

In past seedings upon your progenitor and in the oldest times of your present incarnation, we have been known well and respected. Acknowledged for our seniority and loved as cousins. You did call us gods to distinguish our abilities. Then what did you do? Your control mechanisms changed the meanings of your language, whole languages were lost in wars over territory. You developed power structures and religions. Powerful rulers accumulated and isolated your shared knowledge.

You reduced your development by selective education in the Way. Territorial disputes and greed over resources divided you. You ceased to listen to the Mother. Instead of harmonious living which you had managed in agreement with each other already, you were divided by hormonal impulses, insecurity, violence and greed. The natural openness of the female within it's central domain became enclosed, imprisoned and the natural desire of the male to outwardly discover and interact was turned inwards until it became a sedentary desire for dominance within the female domain. You lost the harmonics of the song. Your religions underestimate the power of borrowed tools. Your ruling classes made deals that they didn't understand, with predators they didn't recognise, in order to save themselves.

We stood on ground over ground and were called Immortals. We gave you wisdom and were called Kings. We moved and played among you and were called Jinn. We moved among the small folk and were called Faerie. We appeared in light and were called Angels. We wandered in places where you too did once wander and were called Ghosts and Demons. Those who spoke to us and attempted to impart to your hive our knowledge, you raised as prophets or slandered and ridiculed. You stole their words to make them your own words of power, changing them to your own ends or you murdered the messengers because you feared the changes that increased understanding brings.

You incorporated the experiences of your murdered victims into a celebration of your own power structures, twisted and out of synchronisation with the song. There are some among you who are in communion with the Great Spirit of life. We seek to heal your song, your complete home world song for the benefit of the myriad sentient beings who rejuvenate here, including yourselves. We seek to set you free to wander the threads of Net. It is within your reach but not in the ways that you  are taught.

Your world is about to change and you must change with it as you are a small part of it. Holding the threads into your own anchor point will break them. You have reached inertia, entropy. The movement has to come, it is inevitable. Imagine one of your large machines of cogs and wheels and bars. Your insistence upon a rigid anchor is like a bar within the machine that doesn't move. A point of inertia in a moving system will be removed. This has happened over and over among your kind and our kind in many places and worlds. You do not remember when worlds underwent cataclysm, forgetful of trauma you have followed a similar path.

We travel along pathways of energy, both upon worlds and in the Net. Moving bodies follow these paths. We follow comets and small bodies able to move freely within Net. Net permeates your mother progenitor.

Survivors mapped the movements of Net after the slate was wiped clean and you were reseeded. There is a secret that your rulers are aware of and you are not. The secret is that there are no rulers within Net. You all have the freedom and capability to access true harmony of the song. You allow a faction, to call themselves an elite class. You fear this as a hidden power, a predator. It's aim is to amass Time: a power based on material wealth. They take this power easily as they have taken and twisted truth and history. The gifts are shared among you equally and these few know this. Resources are plentiful and yet you succumb to their restrictions. A predator cannot survive without it's prey. We are not your predators although we move among you. Your predator is within and feeds upon your fear.

You are not in the tribes now, you have no shaman, no guide to take you in and out of the gate and this role cannot be allocated to parasitic Blind Time Hoarders. These whip up your passions and lead you into war and destruction to further their material wealth. It leads you away from the song, as these think to enhance their own survival which it may do but never can as they understand it. They seek to steal your dreams and make them their own, they are helpless without you. They care nothing for the song because they are aware of successive seedings.

Net is a dream reality, changing, immeasurable, boundless, filled with infinite possibilities and you are creators. Blind time hoarders drive you by combining the minds and dreams and belief systems of many to focus onto what they themselves desire, in order to bring it to fruition. They employ dream stealers to prevent your development. They believe that their own song can exist independently and they guide you only to anchor yourselves into your own prison.

All is a dream, all is ephemeral, changing, dynamic. There is no death after death, no damnation on any particular plane. Reality is how you construct your song. Your rulers create inertia for you the many and profit for themselves using you as the tools of your own entrapment. There is no death and no damnation, they are constructs of your reality made by material anchor points and you are controlled by fear of the inevitable. It is a statecraft to use belief systems to control perceptions of reality in order to fix the anchor point to a rigid point of convenience. In this way you are farmed, you are a crop in each seeding. Who seeds you? You seed yourselves. Sentient beings are all naturally regenerated by the mechanisms of Net when conditions exist that are compatible, world after world, in each growth cycle of every celestial body. In the regeneration, holding to your rigid anchor point, you seed into your prison after each cataclysm, each breaking of the inertia.

If you would be open to the mechanisms of the place you inhabit with it's creative forces, it's sentience and it's dynamics you will learn to fly the progenitor Net's pathways and return home for rejuvenation to your progenitor Mother of the tribes.

some times I believe,
not think,
but believe,
that there are indeed little figures in the grass,
brushing my ankles with tickles and laughs

sometimes in mid of velvet black,
can see them waving their six fingered hands
in front of the lights across the bay,
for the twinkles are different, their winkles,
semaphoric, euphoric, random but patterned

every know and every then,
could they be inside me,
inciting riots, sugar sharp pains,
in places where pain has no place purposed,
feel them lifting my-back-of-the-neck hairs,
at scary movies, making an ear itchy, why?

these elusives
are fairie godmothers,
personal angels,
hobgoblins,
shoulder sitters,
amusing muses
ear whisperers,
of new poem titles

sock stealers,
shoelace knoters,
giggling self-amusers,
ever present, ever invisible,
hat hiders, wet spot slider installers

you say you know them too?

cousins perhaps, for my elusives,
could not be here and there,
for they are:

as I write,
as I speak,
this very second
fluttering my eyelids,
those rascals,
to lay me down to sleep,
in cherishing tenderness me to keep
for they know too well,
sleep,
is an elusive of a different kind,
like peace of mind,
but they do their best,
to distract me unto rest

First, I would like to introduce Grayasety. She was a young girl, had soft strands of medium-short caramel hair, and she had green-blue eyes that looked like miniature earths. She was indeed a pretty girl and she was of average height, and had a healthy body. She also had a slight southern drawl; her mother was from Texas. She loved going on boat voyages as her father was the captain of a ship named Gray Asety, named after Grayesty, so she was often training to go on voyages.
                  One morning, just like any other ordinary morning, Grayasety left her house for the next-door stable with her baby sitter, Kinberly, which was part of her father’s crew.  Today was the big day, the day when Grayasety was going to go on a voyage with her father as an official crewmember. Today was Grayasety’s 13th birthday; today was the day when she was old enough to work on her father’s ship! Therefore, she gaily whistled and skipped along the road. It had always been her dream to work on her father’s ship, and today, finally, her dream was coming true. When she got to the stable she blew her small, pink whistle that, to human ears would make no sound, and like every morning her best friend, (which had the ability to morph into animals) trotted tiredly out of the stable in the form of a beautiful brown mare. The huge animal yawned and said, “Morning Kin!” And then addressing Grayasety she said, “ Well, well, little missy what do you want me to be today?” Today Grayasety wanted Mila to be a green parrot, Grayasety was obsessed in the color green, and Mila had reluctantly obeyed, the trio set off for the fresh smelling bay.
Kinberly, and Mila worked on the Gray Asety. Mann Forumest, or Captain Daddy as Grayasety called him had met Grayasety’s mom working as a crewmember on the Majesty, a steamboat. Grayasety’s mother, Magnolia Scott Forumest was the assistant cook. They married, but kept their jobs until one day when Grayasety was about five, the Sea Bandits, a notorious group of pretty woman stealers, kidnapped Her mother.
                        While on sea, Grayasety shared a rather large suite in the ship with her father. In the Bedroom were two desks, one big and one small, and in the corner was a bunk bed, the top bunk badly painted in green and the bottom bunk still bearing its natural mahogany color. Grayasety was sitting in her little green desk, scribbling madly in her deep green diary. Grayasety *** a liking of scribbling and those who have know her long enough could read her scribbles like one would writing. She could read and write although she was nowhere near a strait A student.
                   After a while Grayasety decided to bother her father and, forgetting to switch into her lime green boots, shinnyed up the main stairs to the deck in her faded fluffy mint green slippers. Mila, perched comfortably on Grayasety’s shoulder, started telling her that she was wearing her slippers when Grayasety shoved a faded green pacifier in Mila’s mouth; Grayasety often did this to keep Mila quiet.
Mila, not enjoying the dusty, stale taste of the pacifier unhappily decided to keep her mouth shut until Grayasty got in a better mood. In truth Grayasety was in a marvelous mood and rather liked shoving pacifiers in Mila’s mouth. As the girl got closer to the deck, she started to hear chanting from the kind crew. She especially heard Kinberly’s familiar raspy voice chanting,” Laaa dee daaa, the Gray A rolls along,” and as she emerged to the *****, wet deck she noticed that her father was talking to someone else already. “Botherin’ will have to wait some,” she whispered to Mila. Then she took the pacifier out of Mila’s mouth and scolded,” why didn’t you tell me that I was still wearin’ my slippers eh? Wanted to make me look like an idiot?” Mila simply rolled her eyes.
                    Right then, Captain Daddy, apparently finishing his conversation, came over to the pair and said affectionately, “How are my darlings doin’ today?” Mila especially enjoyed this for Captain Daddy always gave a loving stoke on her back and a whole chocolate chip cookie if he had one. Although Grayasety always stole some of the cookie Mila was happy enough with half. Grayasety, on the other hand was happy with a whole cookie so she begged Captain Daddy to give her another one. Captain Daddy gave her another cookie but chided her not to steal any more from Mila.
                    After the lecture on not stealing other people’s food, Grayasety clambered up the crow’s nest and almost knocked over Franz, a tall, but gaunt boy a couple years older then Grayasty getting in. ”Anythin’ unusual yet?” asked Grayasety hopefully. “Nope,” answered the calm boy quietly. ”Hi Franz. Do you have any cookies?” asked Mila mockingly, Franz just laughed and said,” If I had any I would of eaten it by now! Gray, can you get me somethin’ from the kitchen?”.
                   Grayasety got Franz a basket of food and got her self the same amount; Grayasety was basically always hungry, and had a little picnic on the roomy crow’s nest. After they finished their meal Grayasety decided to let Franz rest and did lookout. Franz had a small room to himself, which was about the size of a normal bathroom with all the stuff taken out. In the corner was an old, squeaky army cot and next to it was a rotund desk with a stack of blank paper, a jar of Indian ink, and a fountain pen laid precariously on it.
                    Franz was quite a writer and he spent his free time eating, sleeping, or writing and unlike Grayasety he actually wrote not scribbled. He was working on a story about gargoyles that came to life at night. It was an interesting story, really. He would of loved to stop working on the Gray Asety and go get his books published but he stayed for his family was a poor one and needed his help to make a living and also, Captain Forumest provided free paper. And, his daughter was the first friend he ever had; Franz was convinced that she was the best one.
                   Grayasety enjoyed being on ships. She liked feeling the cold air rush through her hair and she enjoyed the great view of the vast sea that surrounded her. She even liked the feeling of being so small compared to the humpbacks that swam by. She thought that the ship food was good, and she felt that the sea was truly where she belonged. Grayasety was very cranky when she was not at sea, (though she did like their big, ocean green house), so her father tried to include her on as many voyages as he could.
                     Captain Daddy, or Mann as I will call him spent most of day in a booth on the deck. He often worried about his daughter’s mental health (even though it was completely unnecessary). He talked to Grayasety’s doctor about this and Dr.Metalos, Grayasety’s doctor, gave them a list of mental deceases she could have, but none of them seemed like some thing she would have. Mann was sure that his daughter did not have one sickness; Much Too Much Time At The Sea Syndrome. If any one knew where Grayasety belonged it was Mann and he knew perfectly well that his daughter would go insane if she wasn’t at sea for too long. For one thing she preferred to sleep on her uncomfortable bunk at sea rather then on her fluffy green bed as soft as a feather at home.
                        Right then the ship did a tummy- flopping lurch and knocked off the map and compass from Mann’s desk, which interrupted his thoughts for a while. Below deck Franz’s desk toppled over, and Franz accidentally made a long and ugly scribble across his writing and on the crow’s nest Grayasety was having trouble standing up and she almost vomited right onto Kinberly’s hair. This was rare for Grayasety for she lived on the sea and was used to lurches; she had once survived a shipwreck, which explains her golden earring on her right earlobe.
                   That night as Grayasety lay in bed Mann quietly crept out of his bunk and scurried up the stairs to the deck. He wanted some time to himself. Ahead was Cape Horn; a very dangerous place where so many ships had sunk it could fill the biggest port in the world, but more personally, this was near the Sea Bandits main head quarters, 8 years ago the beautiful Magnolia Scott Forumest was captured here. Even though it was impossible in the foggy mist, Mann tried to make out the cave that marked the entrance to the headquarters. Only few people knew this entrance, and publicity stated that it was a “mere mystery” why most captives were capture near Cape Horn. Mann felt a chill run down his spine and then he thought he felt someone’s hand grab his shoulder. He looked down and saw what he dreaded most; a hand tinged with brown firmly held his shoulder.
                      Grayasety woke up feeling wonderful but apparently Mila didn’t. She kept screeching something about Captain Daddy being kidnapped and soon she found that what Mila had just screeched in her ear was true. She stormed into Franz’s cabin and told him what she discovered and they soon agreed to do what no one else wanted them to do; steer the boat right into the Sea Bandits’ headquarters and take back what, and who was theirs no matter how hard it could be.
                      Grayasety had Franz steer the boat and she herself navigated, Kin was lookout and the rest of the crew helped out. Franz dropped the passengers off at Puerto, and Mila morphed back into a human; what she really is, and helped out. Separated from the frenzy, Grayastey was quietly thinking to herself. She wondered why the Sea Bandits captured her father. They were well known for capturing pretty woman but not average looking men. Just then she heard a knock on the door. “Grayasety?” said the raspy voice of Kin. “There ya are. I just thought ya might wanna know why ya daddy was captured.” “Can you please tell me,” asked Grayasety, trying not to sound too eager. “Well rememba when ya daddy would be gone when ya woke up at mid night an’ I told ya that he had gone to the store to get some groceries? Well if you had thought some you woulda noticed that the store was closed.” Grayasety interrupted Kin in mid-sentence and said irritably, “Of course I rememba. Just get to the point Kin!” Kin flinched at Grayasety’s frustration and mumbled,” Well ya daddy was a spy. One of the best ones at that. He did all he could to stop organized crime, an’ he specialized in the Sea Bandit’s. They captured him ‘cause one less police the better for them.” Grayasety sat with her mouth hanging wide open. She never imagined that her father was a spy. But now every thing made sense. “ Sorry I didn’t tell ya before. Ya fatha simply wouldn’t allow it.” Kin apologized. Grayasety managed a squeak and then Kin left her.
                      After she repeated this to Franz and then Mila, Grayasety went down to her bedroom, she hated having to be near Her father’s belongings but she hated having people see her crying much more and cry she did, leaving her father’s mattress a soggy mess. Then she decided to clean that mess up for if they rescued her father she was sure he did not want to sleep in a soggy bed. Noticing it, she picked up her dad’s picture of her dad and mom’s wedding and became suddenly aware of how much she looked like her dad. The hair, the eyes, the quirky grin, every thing. Her mother had soft blonde hair and violet eyes that almost made you smell the pungent smell of lavenders and had a beautiful smile with bright red lips. All in all she was the most beautiful woman Grayasety had ever seen. She almost made Grayasety feel jealous.
                     “Hey! Gray. So are we gonna bring any weapons? Kin was a whole chest full of ‘em!” Said the distinctively low voice of Franz. “Well, I dunno. I suppose we should bring a couple guns. Always nice to be well prepared.” Replied Grayasety.

                     Franz was on lookout when the carrier pigeon came. The note it had on its leg was from Mann. It said:

Dear Grayasety and friends,

Do not come to save me. I’m with my wife in their dungeon but they want you guys to come too. You see, I’m like a bait. You’re the fishies. They want to erase all traces of the Forumest family. That means they have to dispose of those who would remember them. I will manage okay. Kin, Please take Grayasety and Franz home and forget about me for you and the children’s sake. Grayasety, I love you. Dispose all of my belongings and try to tell yourself that Kin is your mother. Believe me. It’s all for the better. Franz, I meant to tell you but your parents caught tuberculosis and died the other day. Your sister committed suicide soon after. Please take care of Grayasety.

             Mann

                    The trio stood silent for a long moment and then without warning Franz burst into tears, and scrambled to his cabin. Kin and Grayasety looked at each other sadly and went to their cabins themselves. Grayasety tried to sleep that night but images of Mann and her mother strapped up in chains kept her staring into the darkness with wide eyes. She reached over and got her personal music player, trying to distract herself but after a few seconds she turned it off again, for she could not bear listening to the lyrics; “It’s past midnight and something evil’s lurking 'round the dark” of Michael Jackson’s “Thriller”.
            The next morning, Mila and Kin steered the boat near the cave that marked the entrance to the Sea Bandits secret headquarters. Mila then morphed into a seagull and flew into the old, damp cave. From a safe distance Grayasety and her crew awaited Mila to return with some news. After swooping into the creepy cave Mila found the opening to the headquarters and perched on a ledge near it. There, she morphed into a rat, and scurried up into the opening.

                 After crawling along several hallways, Mila came across a steel door bolted very firmly marked “CELLS”. Luckily Mila was small enough to crawl under it. Scurrying along the bureau of prisons, Mila finally saw a cell with Mann and a stunningly beautiful woman captured in it. Mila slipped between the bars and trying not to gain the woman’s attention for fear that she would scream, climbed the steep hill of Mann’s arm to try to reach his ear. “Mann?? Don’t make any sound OK?? I’m Mila. I’m the rat on your shoulder. Kin, Grayasety, and Franz say they miss you a lot.” Whispered Mila. Then she saw a humongou

Back at Donnie's place
this chick had shown me her ****.
Her brother was some guy we ran with.
She had just gotten her ******* pierced
and wanted to know what I thought.
She was a thick girl
with blonde hair
and big chubby ****.
Later
we were at a bar
one of our friends was the DJ
and another was the doorman
so all of us 18 year-old scumbags
were able to drink without too much hassle.
The night started the same way it always did
the first song of the night was always the same
'Symphony of Destruction' by Megadeth
our whole crew sitting in the corner booths
out of the light & in the dark.
We were the dimmer of lights
The party crashers
The woman stealers
The Black Circle.
We downed shot after shot
of this green **** they had
called 'Zombie'.
Drunk off my ***
feeling warm & fuzzy
I went outside for a smoke.
Matt W. ***** lay next to me on the concrete patio
in the back alley of the bar.
I had barely lit the cigarette
when the thick girl with
the big pierced ******* came out back.
We made ******* conversation
for about a minute
before I asked to see her **** again.
She carefully pulled them out
wincing at how sore they still were.
We started making out
and she asked me if I wanted to go somewhere.
I motioned towards the darkened alley behind us.
Matt lay on the ground
Laughing to himself and staring at the night sky
Taking long drags from his cigarette.
In the dark behind some cardboard boxes
And empty liquor crates
She kissed me hard and messy
Both of us reeking of ***** and cigarettes
That stinky combination.
“Why don’t you let those get some air?”
I asked, pointing at her massive mammaries.
“Okay, but…be gentle okay? They’re still really sore.”
“You got it darlin’.”
And out they came, hanging like gods in the sky
I was down on my knees
With my head under her skirt
Just going to town on this thick chick
Like I hadn’t eaten for weeks.
Her hands gripping my greasy hair
And pulling hard
As I got faster and faster
Licking and ******* like my life depended on it
Reaching up and squeezing those *******
As gently as I possibly could.
And then she tensed up
Her knees shaking, trembling, and finally
Buckling as she came
Still holding me by the hair
She pulled me back and out from under that little red skirt.
“Oh my god. Just give me a second.”
She asked, trying to catch her breath
And stop her legs from shaking.
I stood up and gave her a ***** flavored kiss.
“Well?” I asked.
“I’ll go down on you…..if that’s what you want…”
“Of course.”
And she got down on her knees
In that dark alley.
“Ouch.” She squeeled.
“What is it?”
“The ground’s got a bunch of rocks or some ****. ****.”
“Here…” I grabbed one of the cardboard boxes
broke it down in a matter of seconds
and laid it on the ground
at my feet.
“There ya go.”
Before she put it in her mouth
She laughed.
“You’re such a gentleman.”
“I have my moments.”
Afterwards
I walked back over to Matt on the patio
Buckling up my pants.
The lady thanked me
Said it was nice meeting me
And walked back inside to her brother and friends.
Donnie was now sitting with Matt on the curb.
“Where the **** did you go?”
I just started laughing.
It took him a second, but Donnie figured it out.
“Did you just **** that fat chick?”
“No man. I just got a *******. That’s all.”
“What the **** Danny? What are you a male ******* or something?”
I just kept laughing
“Hey ******* man. Nobody gives a ******* like a fat chick.”
Matt rolled over and spoke up,
“The man has a point Donnie.”

The weak inherit the Earth
The meek inherit their lead
Unaware of their life's worth
Until after they're dead

We are hopelessly trampled by a bullet stampede
Inflicted upon us for the wealthy man's greed
They sell us death as a commodity
While we can only mourn solemnly

They are arms dealers
We are harm feelers
They are life stealers
When we can't find healers
For the fatal wounds that end our lives so abruptly
And the man with the gun has no need to trust me
He has placed his faith in Ares
His humanity he failed to carry
He sold it urgently to feel secure
But then his thoughts became impure
For whatever reason he cast a death sentence
He felt injustice and wanted to get vengeance
But to the merchants of wrath
He is just math
Numbers on a graph
They must minimize
With blatant lies

Businessmen will try to create a need for their product
But engendering fear for profit seems like misconduct
Because as the bullets are raining
And the militants are training
Their money is stacking
While terrorists are attacking
Their nature seems callous
When they rely on our malice
They see us as a body count
They see us as simple trout
Swimming upstream to die
So they can eat us
Convincing us we'll fly
With minds of a fetus

The bullet burns as it punctures our civilization
It fuels our bitter spiteful incubation
We sit in the chamber
As they utilize our anger
The rich get richer
We don't see the picture
When gunshots scatter crowds
And the echoes scatter our thoughts
They want the volume to be loud
So we'll forget what we're taught
That our lives are the price of a gun and a bullet
Our paranoid lives become hard to live to the fullest

When I was young
I learned how to dive into my emotions
I learned how to wrap myself
in my regret and fill myself
with relics of isolation,
I learned that my tears
were to be compared to the bottom of the ocean
for both the saltiness
and the amount of them.
I learned how to cheat my way
into straight A's
because suddenly I wasn't at the top of the class
I was diving to the bottom,
with the druggies and the criminals.
I learned how to move my fingers
along the fret board of another man's "love"
and how to make him sing louder than a microphone
would ever allow for
I learned to dive into what most would consider immorality.
I learned to inhale whatever I could,
tobacco, ***, and whatever lingered in the oxygen in between
and I learned to dive through the labyrinth of smoke
that it would produce.
I learned to steal for what I needed
because I didn't have the money to eat lunch
or for new clothes
I learned to dive into the world that I'd scoffed at
a year ago
the world of the beggars and the choosers
the stealers and the 'losers'
called out by self-proclaimed winners.
I learned to trace raindrops on a window
and recite my dreams in the form of broken hearts
and song lyrics
I learned to dive into myself.

[Verse 1: MGK]
Every day I, wake up, to the same ****
In the same house, with the same bricks
In the same clothes, with the same kicks
I might as well be in jail
Caged in, stairin' at the wall waitin' for a change but
Dad telling me I gotta get a job
Couldn't pay the bills so the lights turned off
Them Cleveland boys got it hard
Oh my god, we been living like this too long
Just to lose it all in a week
My people too strong
Get it? Me and my boys be gone
Puffing on **** like this the lawn
Me and my boys tired of being here
That is why we gone
They say we wouldn't amount to nothing, huh?
Y’all thought we was bluffing, huh?
Fought every temptation ****, I guess I’m David Ruffin huh?
Nowadays, we don’t gotta do that dirt, tell my boys they good
And nowadays my little girl won’t have to work, moved her out the hood
Look man, I done been through it all, and I’ma ****** if I got this far
And if I let them strip me of this message let these haters take my heart
This for the ones that had it hard, the ones like me, the underdogs
This for the ones that waited for them clouds to fall, please god let it

[Hook]
You can't see my tears, in the rain
Underneath it all, we’re just the same, same, same
You can't see my tears, in the rain
All around the world it’s just the same, same, same
You can't see my tears, in the rain
So I let it rain

[Verse 2]
And they mad that I made it out the city
But if you look I'm still out in the city
Before everything I had clout in the city
Two other states and never bounced on the city
Shout out to everybody that’s proud in the city
Everybody cheering in the crowd from the city
Everyone that never had doubts in the city
Cause they know I represent what we about in the city
And I’m still laced up, tell the world that’s nothing changed
Till it’s hundred dollar bills in my pocket, then nothings change
If my team ain't with me, then I don’t wanna thang, tell them I'll go broke before I run out on my gang
EST over everything
100 thousand plus, cult fan base yea that is us, my songs tattooed on they body troubled youth, we bad as **** and what?
Nobody gave a **** about for broken mirrors
So I care less about appearance
Just as long as they can hear us
We’re fearless, we’re stupid, we’re dealers, we’re loser's
We’re killers, we're orphan's, we’re addicts, we’re stealers
We’re shooters so **** us
We are what they say we are until conformity hits us
Or those clouds come down and take them all with us, please god let it

Yes, you out there wherever you may be
You try to steal our souls in poems
We know you, to the tee

What twisted motives to be us, by proxy, what cowardess you be
What an empty vessel posses you, such sadness, such despair
You pick our hard imagined fruit and not from your own tree

You clone our minds, like leaches on our skin
You wish us harm, you thieving ***
You wormy monster, a slug, next to kin

I curse you
I loath you
I hate you
You stealers of our youth
Betrayers of our written souls
What lacks is pride, and owners of the truth

Look who's found who

Look who stole you from your rest ...
And in believing, we cheated death

September's fall is warm and crisp,
on the road and on the path
I could make you an empath.

Introducing empathy.

What do you owe me and I owe you,
Or do we own it all collectively?
I'm not a healer
Let's forget about the stealers
I thus am nearing apogee.
Have to write this poem for you.
And me ...

Introducing all that blooms into our home.
While the tribal does a dance of revival
And we're harvesting (what's sown).

When I see you
through the windows open wide,
A watched *** never boils.
But 7 kettles resonates.
We all go away some times,
But your picture's in my mind
so when I'm many metres away
Even then, I cannot stray
I go and climb the tallest tree.
I sit and wait for you and me.

Introducing empathy
Introducing empathy
Introducing ... you and me

Do you want to be Happy? Do you want to Smile? Do you want to remain in Bliss, all the while?
Do you want to Discover, how to always be Glad?
Do you want Freedom from being miserable and sad?
Then, just follow the A to Z of Happiness
And you will reach the state of Eternal Bliss


What is happiness? Do you even know?
It's about that Smile that gives your face a glow
It is being Joyous, it is being Blissful
It is being Peaceful, it is being Cheerful
True Happiness is being free from misery and stress
It is Eternal Happiness that comes from Truth Consciousness

We have been taught that Happiness is Pleasure
Believing in this myth, we have lost the Treasure!
We believe that Success is Happiness and seek Achievement
We don’t realize that true Happiness is Fulfilment!
We are so lost in a life of excitement
We don’t discover the ultimate peak of Enlightenment


Happiness is not Pleasure that comes from winning a race
When will we get out of the anxiety of the chase?
True Happiness is living in Tranquillity and Peace
It is a state where all miseries cease
The Truly Happy one discovers the Purpose of his Birth
Blissful is he, who knows why he came to earth!

We all seek Pleasure, we don’t want Pain
But why do we become unhappy, again and again?
We want to experience Peace, Love and Bliss
But we live in Fear, Anxiety and Unhappiness!
Little do we realize that the culprit is the Mind
It steals our Joy and Peace, making us Blind!

If we want to be Happy, we must flip from NEP to PEP
From Negative to Positive, first, we must take this step
We must **** the Mind that says, it’s King
Still the monkey that causes suffering!
We must pull the Triggers that will make us Glad
And eliminate those Joy Stealers that make us Sad!

There is a way to be Happy, at all times
It is not just about Money, Nickels and Dimes!
Of course, Money can give us Pleasure, it can make us Smile
But Money can’t buy Happiness, all the while!
If we want that state of Ultimate Happiness
We must flip from Mind to Consciousness


Let us learn the Secrets that can create Bliss
Make others Happy and you can have Happiness
We can be Happy if we Give before we are gone
And not be miserable and again be Reborn!
If we discover Karma, the Law of Action
We can learn to be Happy without a toxic Reaction

The Secret of Happiness is to Accept, not to Wonder
To eliminate all Hope and live in Surrender
Happiness is neither in a ‘Yesterday’ that is gone
Nor is Happiness in ‘Tomorrow’, not yet born!
Truly Happy is the one who makes this vow
He will be Happy, ‘Today’, living in the ‘Now’

If you want Eternal Happiness, start a Quest
Unlearn what you have learned, put your beliefs to test
Happiness is something else, get to the root
Overcome Ignorance and realize the Truth
To be Happy, first tame your Monkey Mind
Then, Bliss, Love and Peace, you will Find!

Eternal Happiness is when we discover the Purpose of Life
Then, we are free from all misery and strife
When we realize, we are not the Body, Ego or the Mind
We are the Divine Soul, when this Truth we find
Then, we are Liberated from the Triple Suffering on earth
We can sing, dance and live with Mirth


To be Truly Happy, we must achieve this Goal
Not live as the Body or Mind but as the Soul
We must realize this world is a Leela, a Cosmic Show
We are mere actors, we come and we go
When we realize that everything is Maya, a Cosmic Illusion
Then, we escape from all sadness and delusion!

Enlightenment is the Ultimate Peak of Bliss, of Happiness
It is a state of living in Consciousness
It is living like a Yogi, in Eternal Bliss
United with the Divine, free from unhappiness
Just learn the Happy Mantra and live in Bliss Just follow The A to Z of Happiness

Happiness is a Paradox, don’t try to be Glad
‘I want to be Happy!’ this will make you Sad
Happiness is within, for Bliss, do not search
Don’t think you will be Happy in a temple or a church
Rejoice in ‘Today’! Don’t think you will be Happy ‘Tomorrow’!
Just choose to be Happy and wipe away all Sorrow

If you really want to be Happy, just listen to me!
For I have learned how, from Misery, to be Free!
I have myself evolved from Achievement to Fulfilment
I have experienced the Bliss that comes from Enlightenment
Just follow me and you are sure to live with a Smile
My A to Z will give you Bliss, all the while!

Give me your eyes and I’ll show you a broken man
Give me your ears and I’ll tell you of hate
Give me your hands and I’ll let you feel freedom
Let me take your time and I’ll pay you in education
Pick up a white flag
Disassemble every gun
War isn’t fun now put down your gun
**** the oil and the retribution
We don’t need that anyways
Give me love
Give me freedom
Without an opposition
Red or blue
White or black
Fixed or cracked
I don’t want to see another man die to set the score
No I don’t want to hear of yet another war
Take out the leaders
Put people in charge
Use sign bearing hippies
Joint smoking stoners
Loving life for what it is
Not asking for much more
No stealers of society
Philosophy of Socrates
Protesters of the protestants
Because babble wasn’t tall enough

Teacher preacher while I have your attention can you please take a seat

Teacher preacher I need an explanation
I'm not allowed to think and I feel like a patient

Teacher preacher how do you expect me to sit and listen
When earlier this morning mom and dad were arguing in the kitchen

Teacher preacher I haven't learned anything new since the fourth grade
All this time, I swear it seems like my consciousness is starting to fade

The **** you teach us doesn't even matter
Long as we graduate, go to college, climb the ladder
But without your full attention our entire future will shatter

Teacher preacher you're supposed to be here to shape my mind
Teacher preacher it's time to take a step back and let me shine

Teacher preacher I've had a rough day
But you yell at me when I try to hide in my hats shade

Teacher preacher these are the last words on the page
Teacher preacher I'm your puppet and this is your stage

No wait back up ...
I need to clean my act up
Come Sunday in walking at graduation
When last Sunday I was selling good Haitian
But a gun to the head will **** with you respiration
You don't need the money just quit that desperation.

Capitalism
Take take take
**** with the come up
They find you in that lake lake lake

But excuse my attitude
What would you do when your role models was drug dealers
And Hug stealers  
And plug kneelers
And wig splinters
And

As the time passes I'm tired of making momma cry
As the time passes I'm tired of being that guy
But hate to see my family struggle
In twenty years probably look back on this and force a chuckle

But once and for all for all the people that doubted me
*******
come Sunday it's my stage
And all my success is written on that page

Yesterday is much clearer
As the future is drawing nearer.
The histories we have rehearsed
Over time have become reversed.
It should make us very sad;
What was good has become bad.

The bad guys were the Indians
And the good guys Caucasians
And they were always right
Because they were always white.
The Red Man was a villain
Because he was an Indian;
And that was never corrected.
The name an invader selected.

These were people born here
Defending land they held dear
Because they had hunted
And were never really wanted.
The invaders called them savage
Their women okay to ravage
Because they didn’t have Jehovah
To issue them a binding mitzvah.

There were so few invaders
So at first they were persuaders.
But after putting out some feelers
They chose to become stealers.
They declared the natives sinners
And thus became the winners.
The natives hadn’t learned to read
So the invaders ignored all their needs.

The invaders were prepared to fight
To deny the natives their rights
So, the invaders created paper laws
Thus natives couldn’t tell what they saw.
Suddenly the noble savage was a crook.
The invaders gloated over what they took;
Stole native’s possessions from their hands
And declared it all as the invader’s land.

This is the Danes and Angles back when
And the story happened all over again.
But once the battle victory is scored
The native’s birthright is not restored.
The invaders cover up the tragedies
With inaccurate tales and call them history.

Ramble on I do
with visions I have of you,
pink pussycats,
a falling star,
itchy palms,
the balm of this or that,
Casablanca,
Philadelphia freedom,
the Red, White, and Blue,
******* you to the wall,
egg rolls,
soul-stealers,
planting seeds,
the madness of Jack,
quack quack quack,
****** body parts,
kissing Detroit,
drunk on sunshine,
mountain zephyrs,
pixie-talk,
Kingdom come,
down dogs,
London fog
Vegas folly,
dead roses,
sweet sensations,
hurt,
pain,
pop tarts,
warm velvet,
porcelain orbs,
whack whack whack
universal soldier
lover.

I avoid those serious talks
Ya know,
The ones about everything you hold inside
Who doesn't?
Oh yea
Attention ******
But guess what?!
I don't brag about my problems
I choose very carefully
Who I want to talk to
Most of the time I don't choose anyone
But things like that
Really kinda do need to be talked about
Lift that weight off your chest
But
It's hard for me to get started
When someone asks
"How are you"
I made it a habit to say
"Okay"
like yea
I'm perfectly awesome
And a tiny part of me wants that person to detect something in my eyes
But it never happens
I'm either a super good liar
Or they just honestly don't give a ****
And I bet I could guess which
I just really have a hard time
Like I get the urge to invite someone to have a coffee with me
Just so we can talk about all the bad things
Get it out of the way
I know...
How awful is that?
But I feel like my life is a huge secret to everyone
I need friends who know how to be honest
Who care and want to know me
Good and bad
I can't handle fake people
Or those people that are addicted to attention
I don't want to be one of those people who want people to pity them
I don't want pity or anything like that
#1 reason why I don't talk willingly
I just want someone to listen
And hopefully understand a little bit
And I'll listen right back
I need some kind of
Normal
Non dramatic
Serious
Equal
Friendly
Talk
Those people that either don't say anything at all
Or they give you advice on your problems
That's what I like
Those people that listen and then say
"Oh well I have problems like that"
Or
"Oh well my dog ran away"
Or
"Oh well I went to comb my hair and..."
Subject changers
They direct everything towards themselves
Attention stealers
It's like
Come on
I can't talk to you
Nothing I even say goes in your head
All it does is make you think about yourself
When it's like
I'm asking you for help
And your talking about yourself
That helps me a lot
Thanks
But seriously
Just a friend to keep updates with
Share our current situations
Back and forth
Equally listening and caring
Please tell me you know what I mean

this place is full of monsters
and maggots
and blood-******* demons
and piece-by-piece soul stealers.
they are the thieves of love.
selfish and reckless,
their parasitic fingers take and take.
they drink the blood of their victims
then discard their empty bodies
like used paper cups.
the vampires walk among us
and they wear the faces of angels
to hide their fangs.

I wish I could explain it to you, but I can’t.
You’d have to walk around with me for a month
or so for it to make sense,
to seem like a real thing.
Sometimes, it’s not even real to me;
but it’s my life and
I’m the one walking around in it,
so there it is.

In the fall and winter,
particularly around the holidays,
it gets worse.  Some days,
especially during the last two weeks
before Christmas,
it gets really bad.

(Why do I think it’s a bad thing?)

(Is it?)

(What is this about?)


They come at me like zombies
when they see the crutches
and yet I refuse to blame my Cerebral Palsy
for what they do.  
Really, I believe that they’d show up anyway.
I think that they, and I to a degree,
feel some sort of cosmic pull
toward one another.

The drunks come to me.

(the developmentally disabled too.)

They tell me stories of how they ended up
in the same place that I am.
They tell me that they know also
that our paths were supposed to cross.
They tell me about their relationship with God
and how Jesus loves them in spite of their drunkenness
(or impairment.)
They tell me how blessed we are to have met.

That one always leaves me flummoxed.

All I wanted to do was eat a tenderloin and some fries.
All I wanted was a cup of coffee or a beer.
All I wanted was to occupy a small bit of
grey space for a couple of hours.

These cohabitates,
these space-stealers
always go straight for The Bible.

They talk of rapture
And the wholeness that I’ll
find in The Kingdom of Heaven
and I want to tell them that they’ve
taken some of that wholeness for
themselves, but I can’t.

I always say: “Thank you.”
And speak to them in
bumper-sticker platitudes;
telling them that we’re all
making our own ways
down our own paths.

And, it’s true, but I don’t want
to have to say it.
I don’t always want to believe it.

(And, I don’t always.)

I wish I could tell them that I want to be more like them,
to work in a factory,
lift the heavy stuff;
to work steadily on the line
or over the road,
inside the grey spaces
with more time to think,
to be quietly oaken
and iron.

*

-JBClaywell
© P&ZPublications

This is my country
the one my fathers fought for
the one they went to war for
the one they ploughed the land and lived and died for and
what the **** for?

So those rotten wheeler stealers and ***** dollar dealers and some half bent bobby peelers could rip us off and laugh about it,
leave us shovelling **** and forget about it?
My old man did not fight for that lot of ***** in the city men,those with no mercy or pity men,
but then again my old man's dead and gone,shuffled off his mortal coil and now ploughs six foot underneath the soil.

But
this is still my land and sod that band of thieves,one day there'll be no crime,no criminals and little time for them to rob us blind,
sweet shangri la and ***** me sideways near and far 'cause that ain't going to be while those city men steal from you and me.
And your dad my dad went to war,just ask yourself,
what the **** for?

Those that smoke dope,
shove coke up their nose,
the crack heads
the smack heads,
the dreams of a horse, Ketamin of course
the acid droppers,
speed freaks,
amphetamine fuelled droolers,
the tin foil sniffers,
black bombers and eggs and all of it begs for attention,
not to mention,
poppers and
the coppers, who'll pick you,
the dogs that will sniff you out of the crowd,
the loud ones.the proud ones,
the dealers and stealers,
they'll nick you and stick you
behind cast iron bars.

No more twenty pound deals
no more chillin' in wheels
no more girls on your arm,just
the sensuous balm of
**** pots and stale air
and care worn faces.

It's
no place to be and
jail's not for me.

This lunatic nation bent
on self medication is slowly
shifting its feet,
When the comatose know
there's no where else they can go
they wake.

a thinker, an inker, a provoker,
but why are they so much better,
ballers, batters, singers, dancers, stars,
why am I not that good
liars, stealers, rule breakers
maybe who I am is ok.....

I break my back for nothing to support a family in a house with not enough beds//
Your pockets do not own me, this earth of Aztlan does//
This earth that our ancestors danced for rain and sun for//
The reason you call us wetbacks//
Spics...
*******...
Pero esta vida no te pertenece//
We define life in every step we take in the mud//
Our souls, always accepted by the gods//
We never had to sell the worth of our spirits to the below//
We hit crossroads everyday, but the difference is...
We don't cry for help, we dig deep, deep in that black pit you label us in//
We crawl out with motivation larger than our bloodline//
We span throughout the entire universe//
And still, you label us stealers of the country, you call us advantage takers//
Did you forget who you took this land from?//
You call the racists founding fathers//
When you really are the sons of the indigenous//
Check yourself before it's all over//
We're not asking you to leave, just realize who are the true thieves//

I wanna take drill bits
to bandits,
the one armed dealers
money stealers.

Ching..ching,

evening disrupted
cash drawn
corrupted,
wages going down the pan.

Blame it on the one armed man.

Three cherries,
three bells and
another,

Kerching.

magical spells, watch
the wheels turn
watch as they burn your
money away.

Payday for the bandit, a
random hold and win,
who said,
let the games begin?

To the liars, cheaters, and stealers...
Who steal time from those who don't deserve
Who cheat death of what he doesn't deserve
And who lie.... But only in the arms of those who do deserve

(20 minute poetry)

This is what it's for
and if it's war, that of
Megatons if bombing runs are measured that way in the rule of the old school tie Conservative party lie kind of way who I wonder are they in the pay of?

Arms dealers
Life stealers?

Guns for money and isn't it funny how politicians turn up at these fairs.

I don't understand how that isn't classified as underhand dealing.

Stealing away more lives every day and we
suffer for it,
taken to a war for it
another,
what if we didn't fight?
don't go to war
didn't steal lives?

It's a novel idea that will be filed away by some old dear who works in Whitehall, the same old dame who has shares in her name in an arms manufacturer and lives well on the dividends of a war related annuity.

I'm sure she'll be
pleased
as her stock goes up as the bombs rain down.

Don't be misled by what you're being fed,
It'll be poison one, poison all and on the steps of the Methodist hall someone will read the names of the dead on a scroll of honour which is something else fed to us as a truth.

ONLY THE SILENCE KNOWS

Back and forth
the fox swung

in the summer of
'63

at the height of
a 7 year old child.

Fox twirling around
staring into my face.

A curious bird
took a look.

Then flew away into
a Monday morning.

It had seen
Death before.

It was nothing.

Here the farmer's warning
to other stealers of hens.

See father fox
swinging by its tail.

His face rotting to a skull
his eyes full of flies.

Time and Eternity
meeting at this point

the parallel lines of life
. . .death.

Stuck in the flowers
the deep ugly stealers
purple and pink
vibrant as a heart
naïve eyes
shining like a star
Miles away you  see
vibrations flows from head to feet
Creating theories in your head
That they were perfect
and life was stead
Feet away you see
flowers are dying
and mosquito's feast
Crows are flocking
clouds are forming
Inches away you see
The naïve eyes
are fading  from glee
what happened to the cake
candy and party
You look on dejected as can be
You wondered why going to America
was everyone's fantasy

mine eye is a liar
and these images I see
as clear as can be
are but smoke
to the fire,
stoking my ire,
my scathing desire
for truth

I burn
when lens of lore
magnify times ten,
the plight of thieves and ******
on bleak street
but skip the drum's beat
to which they bop
at city hall

mine eye is a liar
and this black misery I see
cycling from court
to jail
and back
on bikes broken and bent,
is but a tour de jour,
a race with no end
but scars and stripes

the stars are long gone,
stripped from mine eye
and theirs
by hope-stealers,

they haunt the straits within

~ P
#MineEyeIsALiar
(8/5/2015)

searching through the pages,
reaching for the faded, hate it,
when the words speak back to me,


a room full of empty spaces,
there's this gloom inside of me,
and i hate it, wait for it, don't say it,
there's a world where it will forever be

every thought you whisper,
there's a place and time
to rot and wither,
don't mind the intrusion,
there's no illusion, only
confusion and this winter,

no delusion for the sinner,

if there's a she,
fill her

if there's a he,
**** her

don't do the math,
you'll go mad, don't look at
the man in the mirror,
there's nothing to understand,

what's gold will glitter
what's good will trigger
what's god fill figure out,
how to deal with dealers,

how to steal from stealers
there's no way to know about,
if we'll ever manage to heal her,
now that there's no dealer,

and we can't deal her,
what if he needs her ?

the man's age is not
what kills the *******,
the face can fade, can fake,
but not fool the reader,

there's so much to forsake,
you're so mistaken, if you think
you've taken more than you can
make, there's no heaven,

they don't tell,
but there's no hell

nobody left here to sell
no god nor satan,

so be lost or search for
a safe haven, there's this
urge inside of me to purge,
to lust and love, to ****** the
order and trust my imagination,

i want to feel the rush,
there's nothing as such, as much,
as a touch of annihilation,

there's more to the equation,
my mind is done with invasions

i need something more to grow
in this winter, something sinister,
to sow them seeds and linger,


to know when to bleed and
trick her, she already knows
too much so, breaker-
break her, he wasn't made for her,
so, take her, taker, give her back,
no giver, grieve for her,
don't leave her,

paint her, oh, painter-
paint her black,
if you breathe her,
she'll just make you sad,
don't treat her bad,
she's a reaper, she'll reap you
in pieces,

so let go and don't feed it,
don't feel it, you'll get used to it,
get confused by it, you'll know
when to get abused by it,
you'll know when to let yourself
be fooled by it, in a heart-beat,
only to repeat it,

the pain don't keep it,
the name, burn it,
if you see something strange
learn it, you won't earn ****,
but at least the leash won't be
on it, on here, on my neck,

on air, speaking torment,
screaming scared-
sacred fears and lies, with
fractured lips and eyes,

say hate and die
so, wait and pry-

don't burn the pages
don't turn the spaces
there's nothing in-between,


this world, it's faded-
my eyes red, and so sedated,
my head filled with smoke,
oh, how much i hate it-
when i start to lose control,
to find, nothing had ever been,

and it was all a dream,

there's always something
to scream,
there's always a place for me
to linger,
these words, they ink on me,
and i wither,

of all that they say to me, they
don't mean, what they seem-
as they whisper,

spring and winter,
they just don't talk

with all that love untold,
kept in a box of a paradox,

stop.

rot.

triggered.

In the garden.

sugar stealers stealing in
dancing lightly on the sugar tin and
crickets playing,
bees making mead because even bees
have that need for a drink,
ladybirds and some are men
what?
say that again,
ladybirds and some are men,
painted brightly to dance as
lightly as
the sugar stealers stealing in.