The world around me
All this random stuff getting hurled around me
People getting burned around me
Life seems pretty hard… around me
I’m the observer, that fly on the wall
The observer, still on the wall watching everything around me crumble
Watching everyone fall
The one that’s unnoticeable, like the extra in a movie
A constant extra though, immovable… as much as these events really move me
I watch and wait…
And wait for what?
A change, I think
I think I’ll change…
And do something about it
But will it really make a difference?
My Input that is
Or, will it make no difference?
Would everything remain the same, with or without it?
I still sit still on the wall, if flies can do that, ‘sit’ on a wall
Considering moving over to the windowsill and watching this downfall
Of society, of the world around me
Financial downfall as well as social, not to mention moral
On second thought, maybe I’ll just hang back…. and do nothing at all
For if I have learned anything from our leaders, it is that
Any input is…
Not to mention conditional
For to do anything about this without any profit or benefit in sight…
Well, that would just be plain impractical.
His lips a tantalizing tingle of electric satisfaction.
I needed more.
Fingers explored each groove of his spine,
Farther down to the worn hem of his jeans.
As we closed the gap between us.
He smiled when our faces touched gently.
Pools of blue chilled my blood only to boil when skin brushed skin.
There was no scintilla of hesitation maneuvering underneath.
A willing victim of our ardor.
He smelt of sun.
His hands caressed my face as we continued to intertwine.
I thought of teasing him with a light lick.
Bit him instead.
We progressed further.
His voice like cream as we whispered into each other.
As my head rested upon his chest listening his heart pumping faster.
Such comfort in falling, you forget when it hurts.
And just when I think that this struggle is too hard,
When I think that my Lover could not possibly want me back;
Just when you've spoken enough of your old familiar lies,
And JUST when you thought you'd won me over…
T H E R E. H E. I S. …my True Love.
"Finally!" I say. I am out of breath due to you smothering and stifling sentences. "Some Air! I can breathe," and I breathe You in deep.
Marvin O’Hannigan Fillimigroo
Crossed his arms and frowned.
The thought of eating
Did not at all seem sound.
The entire Black-Eyed-Pea idea
Seemed rather frivolous
Why, he would never eat
A Black-Eyed Pea,
Not even in its pod.
He’d stare at them
And they’d stare right back.
Their eyes narrowed
To shades of black.
He’d see their fangs,
Their glare, their claws,
And he doubted even
Would approve of finding,
As of late,
Upon his plate.
Marvin O’Hannigan Fillimigroo,
Never did anything
He did not plan to.
And on the list he’d compiled
Of things never to try
The Black-Eyed-Pea ranked
Just the name of the pea
Caused his stomach to churn,
His right eye to twitch,
And his nostrils to burn.
The hair on his arms
Would all stand on end,
Something young Marvin
Could not comprehend.
So he waited, and waited,
Then waited some more,
Just to clarify things,
And perhaps underscore
The fact that
Marvin O’Hannigan Fillimigroo
Had no intention of ever eating
This Black-Eyed-Pea stew.
Eating them was probably
Like eating pasty pumpkin eyes,
Without the benefit or joy
Of old fashioned pumpkin pies.
To hide their taste with butter sauce,
Or drown them in a stew,
Seemed impractical, illogical.
No! Black-Eyed Peas
Would never do
The taste they'd leave upon his lips
Would numb his very fingertips,
And make his ear lobes prick and twitch,
And the tip-top of his nose would itch.
But since Marvin was but
Only seven years old,
He usually had to do
As he was told
“You’re not leaving this table, ”
Said his Father, displeased,
“Until you’ve eaten every one
Of those Black-Eyed-Peas.”
But Marvin was stern,
And he had no intention
Of ever eating a recipe
Of this concocted invention.
“If it’s as good as you say, ”
He stared up at his Dad,
“Why don’t you eat it
If it isn’t that bad? ”
And his Dad crossed his arms,
Looking down at his son.
“I’ve eaten my Black-Eyed-Peas,
The whole lot. Every one.”
“The big ones, the round ones,
The flat ones, the tall ones.
The brown ones, the black ones
The fat as a ball ones.”
“I have eaten a rather
To ever take count.”
So Marvin thought, and he thought,
And he considered a plan.
After all, Marvin was special,
He was his own man.
He looked up at his Dad,
And he let his eyes shine.
“Dad, if you’re still hungry,
You can always have mine.”
Copyright © 2010 Richard D. Remler
Marvin O'Hannigan Fillimigroo 101014/4
I don't want success. I want significance. I yearn to touch everyone. Explore their deepest fears, darkest secrets, most passionate desires, and beautiful weaknesses. My heart cries to save us all. I can't live for science. For math. For facts. I live to watch you breathe while you sleep. I live to stroke your spine and reassure you that it will all be okay. I live to trace your scars with my fingertips and leave my swirling prints on your skin forever. I live to give you hope for the present and future even though the past still glimmers menacingly behind your eyes and threatens to tear you apart. You are imperfect, and to me, you couldn't be more perfect. You have a purpose. You are beautiful because you don't believe it. I want you to know I love your every flaw. I love your every failure. I will go to the end of the world to rekindle your inner fire, and that is all I need. Now I know that success will never make me whole. I only crave to kiss your wounds and make You while again. I ache for you to understand you are significant and I want to touch your life in an invaluable way that resonates in your dreams, thoughts, and hopes. I am intelligent, that will die along with my appearance and worldly accumulations. What will survive? What will distinguish me in this infinite circle of life-ominous and inescapable? I live to discover my purpose. I will fight to save you from a mortal fate six feet under, and that alone will save me. It is the greatest thing I could ever ask for.
Darkness will fall but we will not. I always thought my most destructive fault was my obsession with fixing the broken, but now I know it is my only chance to overcome the monotonous pattern of life and death.
I went to church today
I don't know what I was trying to find
Hopes? Dreams? A figure to follow and some worthy morals?
I wanted advice, I wanted to feel alive
I left there with these words resonating in my head
"Homosexuality and suicide are abominable"
a short phrase that sums the fancy and elaborated speech of the preacher
Only the sinful suffer, and I guess that's why I am troubled.
I've thought of suicide jokingly and seductively
more times that I could possibly count
I have kissed girls and I am openly attracted to them
I am not afraid of saying it and with respect, showing it.
According to the bible;
Lesbians and gays was a punishment for not obeying God
Suicide is a way of controlling your faith
And the only one that has power over you is the Lord.
God gives you what he thinks you deserve
He knows you since before you where born
and because of that he is more responsible of yourself
than yourself itself.
Your brains are too small
how dare you to contradict the all powerful one with such disturbing thoughts?
He created all and everything, all and nothing
He knows what he is doing, and in no way you can try to question him
I felt more small and insignificant than ever,
How did a invisible figure matter more than my logical arguments?
Can't I decide what I want? Isn't it my body and my emotions the one in play?
There's other 8 billion people and you try to guilt trip me because I want to end it all?
Sinners will suffer only the prayer can save you, you can't save yourself, God will save you.
Isn't it better to try to put myself together? Wouldn't I be learning more with that experience?
Instead of repeating words of prayers, shouldn't It try to save myself or solve the problems?
How dare you to contradict the all powerful one with such disturbing thoughts!
If God chooses to give you what he believes is right
Then why am I the one in so much pain?
Why good things doesn't happen to good people and to the bad ones bad things?
Is it because the bad ones will always pray?
I went to church today
I tried to find support,
I wanted to confess
"Hey, I want to kill myself"
I thought that well...
If so many people could feel happy by worshiping
I didn't loose anything by trying
I instead ended up gaining: guilt, trouble, and a feeling that I will burn in hell
So I apologize before hand. I will try to make it better and post the improvement, but it's late, I am tired and this is more a stream of consciousness experience after church.
I hope that at least my point gets across...
She dances in the red light,
looking to find a way to fill her emptiness.
She walks in the deepest of ghettos,
messin' with the dirtiest fellows.
She knows she doesn't want this,
but she thinks it is the only way.
Meaningless love, a meaningless kiss
is all she gets at the end of the day.
She goes home,
she shouldn't even call it a home,
her pimp supplies it
and occasionally calls her on the phone.
Is this what her life has turned into?
Surrounded by men?
If her life were put on repeat, would she do this again?
Just to get her name know,
she walks around in the skimpiest clothes.
But no one truly knows her name,
they call her obscene things,
only admiring her nearly naked frame,
but hey, it's what this life brings.
She thought this was the easiest way to get her money,
to give her freedom.
But don't think this life is freedom,
Her life is owned.
All her life consists of is to give men pleasure
This life of hers is dirty,
and she is not the only one.
Walk down Van Buren
at a certain time at night,
2 hours before the sun comes up,
you will see replicas of her,
getting in cars,
losing all respect,
just for a pay.
Stay away from this life,
Don't ever become a Mistress of the Night.
What do you do when finally you realize what death is? You have so much planned for the future, but never know what your fate is.
You finally realize how people would feel if you actually did it. But you're so sad and buried ssooo deep into your problems you don't give a shit. You don't care what they would say, how they would feel. It's all just a mess waiting to unpeel. You can't dig yourself out, you feel it's the only way. Cloud of judgement, jumbles of depression planted in your brain, you can't get out. Its deeper than being able to just shout. You think maybe its a disease? Maybe it's a dream? But it's real life and it all hurts more than a feen.
You start to wonder who matters and who doesn't. Put them in a list. But no one's on the list.. It doesn't make sense, you can't comprehend, so oh, go along, it's your mind after all. You follow along because you think it's normal. You suppose everyone goes through this, it's just a phase. It could be more horrible.
Cloud of judgement, memories erase, jumbles controlling your mind. You lost your chance to get out, there's no more time. You worry, stress, fight, deny. But that does nothing but fills up more jumbles in your mind.
You start to think too much, you cry inside. The thought of it all is too intertwined. You stand up and try to chop the walls down, but here comes ANOTHER thing, and turns it all around. You search for ideas, look deep in the mug. But all you can think of, are new types of drugs. You resist as long as you can, but eventually flip open that illegal ban.
You mess it up more, JUMBLES GALORE..
Suddenly...you become empty. You get so confused, all of the jumbles have finally fused. You start to feel nothing, it all becomes numb. You want nothing, than to just be done.
So you plan, plot, think, think, and think. That's all you ever do, it's what it's come down to. You're so sad, you don't have a clue. And that's all it ever is, you're just depressed, so lost in the mess.
She was in Mexico visiting her father
whom she hadn't seen in eleven years.
I was at home,
falling in love with her
about three weeks after we had begun to know one another.
She called me before she left.
I could see her on the other end of the phone,
sitting on the corner of her bed
in her half-lit room,
pondering over an open suitcase.
I spoke to her every truth I knew,
every caring thought I could think,
as fast as they could be born.
By the time she got back,
I knew I was in love,
even if I couldn't quite find the words to explain it
We had spoken once about our obsession with birds
when we were younger.
So I prowled around the day before she got back,
in the woods behind my house,
through thickets, brambles,
up the sides of leant trees,
in the remnants of abandoned nests,
for a feather
She got back from her trip,
and we sat in my car,
before the modern saloon where
I told her I love you
She said wait,
I have something for you
And she pulled out a long, brown quill.
Her cheeks florid,
beneath the thin light of the street lamps
that leaked in through the window.
and she grew redder.
Then I too produced a feather
and I saw in those eyes
something I could not possibly explain.
And even if I could,
I'm not sure I'd want to.
I always thought I could, "Turn that around"
But I always said,
I don't want too, at least not right now.
I'ts been runnin me, into the ground,
But that's just it,
I'm on the right side, of a ship going down.