How Strange.
You long for change,
but you are loath to redo.
And thus, loathe yourself.
And this loads on you,
on your coarse course.

Preventing the Metamorphose,
and forces you
into your torturous fortress.
A cocoon,
that protects against monsoons
but not the typhoon raging inside,
waking Typhon,
and blowing out
Prometheus's fire.

Oh how Oedipus Wrecks
the tedious good
until spiritless.
But never hopeless

Pandora's box is open
but Sparta's soldiers
will close it and guide you
from Tartarus to Olympus
and change, you will.

Shed your mortal grossness
for immortal happiness.
No common sense
that this recklessness
has consequences

When you do realize
What the Fates's foretold
it will be too late.

You can't separate
the actor from the character
they're not mutually exclusive
but brutally intrusive.

We put a little bit of ourselves
into the roles that we act
extracts of our souls
dripping out
slowly bleeding our hearts dry
from acting out our parts

Pouring everything
into faux characters
to engage with our rage
while onstage
unknowingly
constructing our own cage

We think no-one can see
the lies we tell
when we wear our masks
but our eyes betray us
with irises on fire
arises our desire
from the words we yell

Burning eyes behind stone masks
that shows them our hell

It's an animal beastly thing wrapped up warm in stigmas headlines daydreams sleepdreams ice cream headspin. pain.
Sirens call in my upper chest or my abdomen, maybe. a ****** sea. fish of mens' hooks eels and seaweed wound around aorta blood pumping mind squeezing toes cracking new blister dried fluid. cracks and flakes a flushing cycle, not over the **** yet.
salty eyes heavy chest silver parcels unending quest not shiny particles. Head spin crack of dawn hey look the moon is gone. observed the craters they were my neighbours a hole in my heart like the one......
Don't play mean i try and try green bean carrot pencil brush pen, still here? Run! too hard. Curdling scream turns sour on my tastebuds my tongue has been dissatisfied. Add it to the list! lately I know these things should not have been acknowledged. Bed. No. Kitchen work? Yes. Hurts me through and through and I know it's because it is me and it cannot be handled but it settled in the pit of my stomach and it made itself a happy home. I HATE IT.

BLOOD:
juice
gore
cruor
claret
hemoglobin
sanguine fluid
clot
plasma
vital fluid

why would I ever use blood?

Porous salt bruises help mind chooses slugs and moths but i want insects like ladybird bees. Keep me weak and feed me lies because not once did you see me you only looked right past me. how does it feel, little peach, to be dishing out bowls of dinky lies. i ate it you were trusted you were good there's just so many people coming.

when the moon rises and the sky twinkles lights about you its easy to be sad but its time for you to *blossom