We are all eternally tired,
but it's not sleep we lack.
Your resilience should be admired,
but it's time to
hit the sack.

Cleverly-crafted crumbs created
Are fabulously fantastic when framed for framing's function,
But accurately articulated actions
Are better for freeing feeling's function.

Now I can see your
Creative crumbs are cause for chaos.
The creator capturing caring compassionates
With each wilful, worthless word.

I don't love you

but one fine day
I could

Mourn the Moon in the morning
for he had lost his night shift.
Let it be a warning
for the Sun shall rise at night.
Bright blinding darkness descend
on us, threatening to swallowing us
And every single star there is.

They'll be no wars,
just a simple surrender as
sunshine soldiers surround our souls
telling us our new roles.

What we thought we were,
we are not.
What we thought we weren't,
we are.
And if they say it,
it must be true

We act the polar opposite of ourselves
because of some solar energy,
some hot headed, gassed filled entity
has made us question our identities.

Is it our thoughts,
or actions,
that define us?
Our we confine to one,
or is the two combine?

I'm inclined to say:
I don't know.
I'm only learning how operate
in this world.

So many questions with no answers.
Just an obsession to understands
the oppression against us.

Doing so will hep us understand ourselves, right?

So send in the Sun,
mourn the Moon ,
and figure out the chaos born.
For soon it will be done with us.

Stink up the beer house with unadorned putrid self-thoughts.
Poppy-eyed and hating others is easy for blue bottled buggers.
A sweet thing for you!
A growing circle of six-legged empty.

Filled to the brim with puffed up space. A white brim with a shiny red exoskeleton.

Oh, what a dreadful sight!

Hair strewn across a face and hooked into the teeth of the blushy lullabied insect screech.
Clear liquid not blood, but blood all the same on an empty stomach with full vein-shot bones.

Not milky bones with calcium-love..

A dead, deficient, cracked, neglected, insufficient skeletal frame, limp.

Yellowed with hate-smoke and old book notes.
Splintered, crazed and buzzed through the gridded bulging eye-window of every single one of those insect like Self-Loathers.

Chosen out of pure sympathy "We should talk more"
.......To the sun, the moon and the stars?


Every star mocks,

Every beam scoffs

and every moon likes to deride on the pain that hides beneath the lies of human bug eyes.

A simply formed pound of vertebrate flesh leaks soft plasma on the scaly moth floor.

Oh how we are dusty and unsure!

Forestry consisting of a Sitka Spruce and of a Japanese Larch was a claim I made from the start.
Over gardens of attention arachnid lurking selfish bugs and even those half winged "friend people".
The bell has rung the scariest of chimes and with every soul wrenching 'ding' a furry fang digs at the blotchy eyed, softly fleshed girl.


Oh such a sweet thing to be surrounded by selfish bugs who spin webs with tear stained tissues!

A name can be home to many faces.
It conjures memories, feelings
and long forgotten places.
It's sad hearing yours, although I
still smile.
'Cause I was glad to have known you,
If only for awhile.