The trees are where, it is, I ought to be
-away from all people and from society;
I cannot, possibly, become what it is that she
-wants for me to be. Thus- I, ever so, silently
-head over t'wards those bushes out back
-with a fully stocked sack- or pack with snacks.
I head out t'wards those bushes out back- and hack
-down some brittle trees into a quaint little shack.

I was never one for grand, stone built castles;
- I've always preferred staying safe in my den.
Then, these eyes hit your kingdom & bedazzled
- I became. Heaven will be the seconds when
- you lower that towering, old oak drawbridge
- allowing me to enter the center of your palace.
"You bear a blade, dear knight, I have seen this-"
"Yes, your highness, I'm armed- but offer no malice
- nor malicious behavior. You see? My busi-
- ness is with you! A whisper, I've heard through
- the trees.. and it has lead me straight here to thee.
It said, 'you bear some gloom, look kind of blue;
- down this path is a beautiful queen-to-be and she
- is not happy. Why don't you go and chat with her?'"

A private passenger jet flies on by, and past,
- leaving lethal chemicals, so, high up in the sky
- to be breathed in by your' and my own gasps;
- it causes each & every one of us to, slowly, die.
It's all been decided by some ole' greedy guy
- sitting in a golden office, so, high up in the sky.
An' he has an air filtration system, of course;
- for, he doesn't need his throat feeling hoarse.
Though, it seems it's fine if it's you or mine..
- oh yes; he's guilty of such a dastardly crime!
He kills all our mothers - and kills all our fathers..
- oh yes; he is, truly, such a sinister monster!
He'll **** all our siblings and **** all our children;
- his mission is a cruel one of killing off millions!
We have no way to stop what is being displayed;
- he's a master of evading all those he betrayed.

The Creator scribbled out Gaia when she was young;
- she'd never expected what Earth would become.
I don't think she'd imagined the fists being swung
- and I don't believe she'd imagined all of the bombs
- exploding in markets: killing children & moms.
I'm sure she's not calm, looking on- at all she created.
She screams out, "No! No! It needs to be repainted
- with much more pleasant colors and moods!
I never thought my lovey sphere could get so crude;
- should I do nothing: all these species are *******!
I must act prud-ently."
Little does she know, she no longer has authority;
- her creation has began to breathe
- and has the ability to get up and leave.
All She can do now is grieve
- and wish that she never did believe
- she could create something pure
- in a universe so obscure.

The sound of a key
sliding into its lock.
The old wooden door,
heavily, creaks open.
Two figures stumble in
though they are so close
that thy may perceive them as one.
                    THUNK
The old wooden door shuts,
with such shock.
Their primal temptations,
they begin to elope in.
Thoughtless mumbling:
who is it that knows
who is running across their minds
during this sensual fun?
Skin tingling from a serenade of chemicals.

Phillip O'Crowley has fallen down dead
- and I dread- the part that comes next.
Yes! It leaves me feeling quite perplexed;
- thinking it may be my soul- which parishes next.
I begin to build my bush covered, hidden home
-in a lovely, solace place that no one has ever known-
as their own. Yes! It shall be mine, and mine, alone.
A place where I'll grind down stones and bone
- in order to construct my magnificent throne.
Yes! It'll be more immaculate than Cologne- or Rome.
You see- I've just seemed to have outgrown
- this world.

I opened my eye
and such familiar faces,
  suddenly, look odd.

I'm a Big Orange Cat,
needing something to knead.
Mislead me, love, until I recede.
Worry not about hurting me;
I think this might be the way
my heart was meant to be -- flat.

After sipping down, another, two ale--,
I seem to walk straight-
yet I still, internally, stumble about.
I possess a clumsy brain
with a face so pale.
--Or... was it stout?
A mind commences crumbling
while he wearily watches.
He writes down his mumbling
& waits for them to mock his
cognitive dissonance
& sensitivity.

Which words could I say to accurately convey-
- the thoughts behind, and within, my mind?
Yes- tis' true! I wonder: how to portray, and rhyme,
these not so kind thoughts enshrined- in my mind.
Never mind; I'll get around to it another time-
- once I'm adequately inspired by a bottle o' wine.

Cigarette smoke sits, silently;
looming like a cancerous cloud,
caressing each & every corner
of this rather rainy region (room).
Sitting, slightly, similarly -
I sip my creamless coffee,
contemplating consciousness
and similar such subjects.
We sit dissipating in the darkness,
my thousand thoughts & I;
so strange and always astonishing.
Blinding sights & bizarre sounds
go seen and heard -
but never reasonably recorded.
There's constant communication -
but an inability to grasp
and produce the words -
- that feel right.
So, I sit - so habitually -
searching for signals
in the chalky coffee beans below
the last liquid drips of my mug.

One thing I've learned in my getting old:
'all o' these kings & queens only want your gold.'
Should you resist, and instead,
they'll want off with your head.
It's a dreadful story so- very- old;
& violent murders are the only way they can hold-
their strict power over you.
So- what is it we do?
Do we silence ourselves;
put our opinions on high shelves
where they aren't to be spoken of?
Do we just, so easily, let the gov-
ernment & elites win this battle?
"No- nay," I say, "we must rattle-
their heads and force them to retreat!"
The citizens they looked over will lead their defeat.

A sudden turn of events
in the cavernous minds
of ignorant, hopeful men.

All bridges have been burnt.

Complete halt in the reconstruction.

But - the brain folk need to pass,
(the path of least resistance)
so they enter the canyons 
 beneath their beloved bridges.

Suddenly the mood switches:
"These ditches contain riches!"

A vacation from the run-of-the-mill 
  colorless everyday crossings.

With destruction comes discovery.

All o' these old songs on the radio-
- make me reminisce on the days go-
- ne by. They make me want to cry-
- or maybe, in fact, they make me wish to die.

I do a lot of internalized talking:
into late hours of the night.
so I'm bound to stumble upon,
  (Surely, I just might!)
something substantial- sometime.

How I wish: that she were enthralled-
by the idea of spending time with me.

"This petulant peasant- this, so called,
man, or boy, who dreams of thee
before and after- he go to sleep!"

We must, each, protect our own:
- tis' one thing I've been shown.
For - thee kings an' queens shall not;
- we are but animals, caught, in their kingdom
- an' they'll, gladly, send out firing squads
- should we speak out o' our lack o' freedom.

I think that I might be better off in shades:
- so that my acquaintances won't see the way
- my eyes jot forth and back through the day
- and night. Hell; who needs to see in dim light, eh?

Roll up a scroll of
that green sh*t that'll make the
weak ones produce drool.

This big hunk of steel puts off carbon gas:
- as I sit here, parked, admiring Cass.
If I were to look away to remove the keys:
- too much time will have past, I do believe-
- since I had seen, & laid my eyes upon,
- this, truly, immaculate queen.
I do, indeed, hope that this angel sees-
- just exactly how much she means to me;
for- I'm her man &'ll always have a gleam
- in my eye- when I look to the right
- and see her, there, right by my side.
I'm dreaming her on the passenger side-
- because I, honestly, believe -
- that's where we were bound to reside!

I'm headed to take the St. Lazare pass,
to an empire of warm Silver beaches,
to an empire of greener growing grass,
to such an exquisitely calm region,
to the empire of Princess Cassandra.

To an empire where I would love to stay-
for, about, forever plus a few days.
To an empire where I would love to be-
for, about, an eternity plus three.

A place where thunder rolls over misty skies;
a place where I find myself lost- and found-
in her light brown eyes.

Eyes like: thee most fertile of all o' the soils-
& a touch of a beehive's sweetest o' honey.
Eyes that: shine like diamonds of the royals-
& couldn't be outshone by any amount o' money.

One where Sunshine reaches, so, far from east-
over the water- setting in a vibrant gleam;
leaving me with joy, happiness, and peace.

Surely- this isn't only an amazing daydream-
  leaving my heart with visions of apple trees.

So- here I sit, where the fire was lit,        
daydreaming about that ole' apple tree
- 'twas a September Ruby, I do believe    
-  if I've, correctly, remembered it.  -      

I'm hoping that with every coming moon:  
her highness will call on me- each 2nd of June
and allow me to shower her with affection.

Honestly- times with her are perfection.

We may not ever, truly, know
- where- after death- we all go;
I just hope we end up together-
- or I may as well burn up forever.
For- without you: I know not what to do..
& without you: I'll always be feeling blue.
Without you: the skies, winds, and the weather
- all seem to change frantically (like a feather-
that's been blown, thrown, into hot burning embers).
Without you: this life needs not my members-
hip.

Just the sensation of her fingertips
brushing up against my own
is enough to make this nomad
feel very (very) at home.
Oh, the taste of her succulent lips..
I'm deprived- my mind's gone mad.
Oh, the sound of her moan
into the depths of my ear.
Oh, what I would do to be near
her every single night- of my life.
How does she possess such beauty;
inside and out?
The nights without her
cause my mind to stir.
Hoping her heavenly heart
dances, delightfully, through my dream.

My orange kitten
- is ten times more free than me;
- this much I'm sure of!

As The Chariot arrives 
in the dead of the night,
clouded over eyes begin
to spit fire.
Clearly, chasing a lost cause;
pipe dreams.
This seems to be
a mislead fight-
for what is believed
to be right.
Taught his ways
by a wise, old liar.
For failure, deemed? 
So it seems.

All o' these people have become so lost-
and their peer's rights and freedoms are the cost
- of their willfully ignorant mind.
You can be as kind- as you wish
but you're still just a swimming fish
in thee elites luxurious fish tank.
I apologize if I come across as too frank.

Oh, the amount of irony
- in her saying, "she loves me,"
- when within, mere, weeks
- she's speaking with, "Cory."

Enjoy his tongue within your cheeks;
- for: you won't ever see me - again.

Your love and your passion are pretend.

I'll be in the trees- waiting on the world to end.

"But- my dear...
you, clearly, cannot see- how miserable
this world is when you are not near- me."

Oh, shimmering Jules!
What has happened, to your radiant glow;
and- why, dear, do you sound so sinister?

But- Jules, do you not know:
that some of thee most meaningful literature
has spawned out o' heartbreak and sorrow?

Has it not been shown: that- tis',
only, human nature to scribble scriptures
o' how we've lived beyond cloudy horizons-
and greeted each tomorrow with new wisdom
and a, truly, heartfelt smile?

  (A heartfelt smile.)
I hope to see one return to your face-
if- even- it takes a while.

Seeing you this jaded, my dear,
is causing my peace o' mind to begin fading.

I hope you begin to feel better-
and- a smile you can find in the mirror,
sometime, in this ever-changing year.

How beautiful each & everyone of us is;
- surely, you must be aware of this!
For- what, it is that, each of us are
- is the sparkling matter which fell from the stars
- a long, long time ago.

Whilst sitting- smoking- in a lifeless cemetery,
a thought passes my mind- so momentarily:
'Soon it will be me; that's for certain, surely.'
I wonder- if I'll know the luxury of being buried
or if the wilderness will feast upon my flesh.
I wonder- if my bits and pieces will be thresh-
ed into the damp soil beneath my corpse
by little teeth and a few heavy rainstorms.
At least I will feed the despised swarms
of maggots and resource recycler's of the world.
See- what else could this body be good for?

She must've been of the feline species,
because thoughts of her
keep coming back to me.
She purred, soft as a kitten,
when I had something to offer.
She bit like a lion
and told me to get off her- cloud
when I tried to say, aloud,
"I (k)ne(a)d you."
Alas, Lord knows, I'd be lyin'
if I said I hadn't thought of her
the very next day.
I disperse my time and effort,
attempting to ensure
that she is never feeling hurt.
I sit here, rhyming thoughts,
all the while a filthy dog
has his paws in her fur.
It doesn't matter though
because the cat came back
the very next day.
What can I say?
I've always been a sucker
for a hungry lion in disguise
as a lovely little kitten.

Surely, I haven't gone mad!
(Constant thoughts of her)
I'm a sad lad sitting alone in his pad.
(Constantly thinking of her)
Oh- I see this ending bad- ly.

It fills my eyes with tears
when I think of all the years
he spent treating you so terrible.
He acted like your heart was paper:
Tear-able.
He thought he could tape it up with lies:
Repairable.
But- tape is translucent,
& the cracks are still, visibly, strong-
so jagged and deep.
& though it's been so long-
one can still see it in her eyes.
I guess not everything
gets healed in time-
or not in the time period
that one would like.

If I may say just one thing:
You are admirable-
through & through.

In a desperate attempt
to find the right words,
he writes out spewed scribbles;
thoughts that need to be revised
a couple dozen times.
Disastrously, the pen erupts ink
all over his childish rhymes. 
"Oh, no! That was about two dimes-
  worth of thought.."
Ever so distraught:
a thousand thoughts
circumnavigate his mind.

Oh- you would not believe the things I've seen-
and you wouldn't believe the places I've been-
today. Yes- today!
Oh- you would not believe the things that I've learned
as I've walked towards the fiery sun and burnt- away-
today. Yes- today!
Oh- how the heat it stays- within my brain;
I'll never be able to fully escape the flames-
today. Yes- today!
No- you could not believe the times that I've tried-
to walk towards the super moon but died- on the way.
Oh- how I died- on the way!
and-- all of the monsters I have slayed,
that I have chopped down with the edge of my blade:
they'll never be seen. No- they'll never be seen!
Not today. Nope, not today!
But the pride-- it lives with me- and as far as my eyes can see-
I've won- I've won! I've become one-
with those thoughts that I hold dear.
Yes- the ones that I hold dear...
-ly: all the things that I have learned
and all the times that I have earned -
the privilege to live- within.
No- in history book, it'll never be written.
But I'll always remember-
the times that I was blue-
and all the things that I have been through-
today. Yes- today!

I am pining a princess
who has been magnificent
since, a time, long, long ago;

long before
  I made out who it was, I was;

long before
  my foolish, baby lips beared fuzz;

long before
  life smacked me upon the head,
  quite abrupt;

long before
  I f'cked, oh, so many things up.

  -

She is a mythical folklore
that I pray in the future, stored,
will become reality.

  -

Oh! how silly of me..

  -

I could have swore 
I had another pack of cigarettes.

-

I must've ignored 
how much I had smoked,
contemplating this life's regrets. 

-

In my dungeon, you'll find me choked-
up; wishing the day we met-
went better than it had.

-

I'm going mad.   --

On top of the world
  slightly unsettled
   uncomfortable
    angst/anxious
        numb
       Repeat.

Two joints & a ball point
pen lie within my jean pockets.
The herbs are a sort of ointment
to these squeaky sprockets
within my mind.
Suddenly, my head begins to shake
& it's hard for me to stand up straight.
I need to get away from this place,
away from these people -
for a moment.

Oh.. breathtaking Brandy,
  my brain often wanders.
  I spend time in, deep, ponder
  over whether, or whether not,
  I possess- have got - a spot
  in the back of your mind!
  You are like rain without the clouds,
  unexpectedly falling unto my head.
  I am so envious of the man allowed -
  to lie his body next to you in bed.
  But, I guess-
  I'll continue dreaming, for now,
  filling my stomach
  with liquids and pills
  that empty my head.

Should we have, fortunately, dodged this bullet,
I would like, very much, for you to abandon me.
This latest ordeal has left some frogs in my gullet
and that's, seemingly, exactly where they wish to be.
I'm so choked up- and I lack the proper fitting words
to make any of this any better than, currently, it is.
I intend to live the way that the deer and birds-
do live. I will no longer, ever, seek another kiss
from a Ms.; for- it only, ever, causes drear and sorrow.
& I know: you'll be, so much, better off tomorrow-
once you have, fully, forgotten my face and my name.
There's nothing more, here, to gain- except more pain.
You know that I'm no good and I have never been.
I may seem jolly- but it's all, just, a grand scheme:
one to convince the people of this world that I'm sane.
Only I know, though, what's scurrying in this brain.
It would make all o' thee other people's skin crawl;
it would cause all o' the young children to bawl.
You see? It's not a very pleasant scene:
all of these woeful things that I do daydream.

There are drones in the skies with snoopy eyes
- that spy on you and I in our own homes.
They have their eyes on all our devices;
- take as a good example all our phones.
Cries of our demise are all I can write
- though-  I know it may be, oh so, useless
- for I may not ever alter the plight
- of the world that our master produces.
Yes, it's useless to even attempt it:
- the act of questioning their ***** deeds;
- but, even still, I get very tempted:
- knowing full well they'll put bullets in me.
They control every aspect of our life
- and they intend to **** us all with strife
- should we accidentally speak out of line.

Love hurts? I think not!
Vanity may be painful,
though, love: it is not!

They say sugar is sweet,

  yet it is, nowhere near as sweet
  
  as the residue upon my cheeks.

Her thighs clamped upon my ears:

oh, how I've wished this for years..

My thumbs have been bouncing,
back and forth, from the backspace
button since Friday evening.
Gazing upon my words in disgust;
going nuts- insane:
because I think my plane
has just derailed.

Noon: Her heart spilt out.
Six: Love from her to him... drought.
Midnight: Solitude

"All of the deer upon this sphere
- fear when they hear me coming near!"
- a, very, old & fat man made clear.

"Is it the time of year- to spear
- all, us, deer on this prairie here?
Then, we must, silently, disappear
- out thee eyesight of these pseudo-plainsmen!"
- exclaimed thee wise, old deer- ever so blatant:
- attempting to commandeer the harmless herd
- but, unfortunately, some of the herd never heard
- his words. Thus- they will be pelted and the birds
- will fly from the trees as the gunpowder bursts!

Feeling so empty;
I attempt to fill the void
with smoke of all varieties.

My addiction, very, may -
well cause all sorts of charades.

I hope you remember me..
Though I know it might be best
to forget me altogether..

Quite the broken and frail man --
but- supposedly- an amazing lover.

Is it unfair of me
to make your body quiver
knowing I won't be able to deliver
any of the long held dreams in your life?

I'd love to make you my wife
but it'd be unfair to you.

Essentially, you're a perfect ten..
& I'm a broken abacus.

I feel I must set you free
because I know you love anchors
but I do not wish to be one in your life.

What is there to say
at this stage?
I, too, hate certain aspects
of my personality.

& you're going to go far, kid.
I don't want to restrain your potential
with my addictive personality
and possibly bipolar brain.

What can I ramble on about:
- that hasn't already been said;
- and what can I scribble down:
- that hasn't already been read?
It seems, as though,
- it's all been done and seen.
Is it useless to hope to create and inspire;
- have I been-
- chasing a long lost linguistic magic?
Oh- how tragic;
- if that is, indeed, the case it to be!

I speak not, in the dreadful dusk.

Upon questioned why, I respond,
  "It is simply not a must,"

"How will we know what's flowing
  in that rust- ed skull of yours?"

  "One thing is for sure,
    my words upon paper,
    you can trust: if you wonder-
    how, it is, that I feel. "

My voice fades off
into the dark of the night:
it's not, at all, by choice;
it, merely - away from me, takes flight:
like a blackbird singing
in the abyss of this- evening.

Oddly enough,
no grieving- has taken place.
I, simply, waved farewell-
and grabbed a pen - violently:
it's bleeding!

The ink shall bleed
one, single night:
and then to the trash,
with all my might-
I shall toss this bloodless pen!

As the mallards do quack-
he falls over: into below, the rough;
attempting to find the oxygen he lacks.
In a collapsed state of mind, and bones;
he stands back up, trying to look tough.

As the finches do sing, and cheep-
he stand there shaking, in solitary,
because his figure is too frail- meek-
weak to weather these Wednesday woes.
"Oh! Wednesday's evermore weary."

He can say- cry to thy, as a fact, that
his head stay virtuous through it all;
though: he cannot help, the fact, that
his nerves may tremble, frequently..
in the spills, anxious spells, he befalls.

"Oh, I would be so enthralled
if you would embrace this estranged elf!"
Falling; to the muddy waters, he slithered:
to see if he would- could vividly, see
the face- nature of his true, inner self.

But- the muddy waters bear no image
and he begins to wonder if it's an omen.
He gaze, into muddy waters, in grimace.
He begins to believe, he should listen
to what it is they will tell- show him.

But- he has always been pigheaded-
& will likely keep wowing on Wednesdays.
"You oughta view where y'r life b'headed-"
pointed out passing pastor: eyes, a, glisten.
But- he's never been the one to pray.

He peers as the pastor saunters off
and from a, near, brief bit away: he hears,
"For that young soul, all hope is lost!"
"Oh! But the pastor, himself, is lost!"
he projects back at those zealous ears.

"Blast'd pastor has ****** in my puddle!
This puddle in my mind, he's splashed in!"
Godly guys grieving his soul does befuddle
- his soul. He'd avoid that, at any cost.
"Now it'll be weeks, before I can bathe in
- my puddle of mud, comfortably."