Drowned out by divas
It was comfort that left us unprepared for this
This being the circuital embibement of chores and books
A choice to unentangle the moth from the web
Leaves one with typical but still misunderstood disturbances
Dad is a peadophile
We had ***
And now they're naming me a newt
A wet creature, suited especially to specific environments
A sham executed from the musical tenemants is one thing
But a crammed into trailer park is just a shame.
what makes a butterfly float, when everyone else is drowning?
The eyeish eckelecktic rom capacity can be blown away
And the attitudes of specs can thwart their own terrain
But if a pen draws blood, there's not room left for anything
So tell me the joke, esplanade yourself beyond my reach
Coke yourself up, give a scream, patent this work as your own, cherish the tub thumping
Be a cherub though rather than an angel, excrete malignantly and door slam the foreign light.
But someone must decide if the light is foreign.

What author ever brought stigma
To the metal meat of argumentation
Based on green fly baking pies
With themselves in them

The steady guillotine raises the mundane
To the the top of the pops
As Capricorn is still seen as the leading star sign/

Boombox tarries the accolhaud of prim, caught
Out of the corner of the eye
smoking signs

While vampires need to throw their teeth into art
Where they discover black chalk
And as my mum says ' some pregnant women crave eating coal'
And Become narcissistic mothers.

In the rudeness of the magic however,
There is a burst of both lazy
Equally inspired
But with the correct resources never aggravated tapestry.
As the galaxy sighs.

To be a dew drop
would be nothing like
being the ocean

it wasn't ever meant to be
personified that way

more like the sound of relief
and the unknown
because you never know what is coming
at the time of the morning
at which dew drops appear.

cautious and well in reach
the badminton flying thing
unfolds into the air

yet props have commented on
without equity
upon the game and
sit
still while a grunge era
          
is reborn

and fallopian tubes
become the cause
of my paranoia.

Attributes of the walking stick
hung around like charity shop clothing -
bagged and ready to go

It was a switch that had truely altered time again
(\ - this is not poetry it is gospel.)and a shower which managed to scrub off a few inches of the ***** dirt

a sectre of a cultural conversation
that stands for nothing
whether i'm ***** again ot not.

The chip shop gave me free water, and i just considered myself lucky at the time
but its starting to make me more suspicious now

and not in the way that i've seen my whole teenage and further years as a massive xenephobia crime made to seem more convincing through dehydration

Into the vortex
The past swells like a baffoon
As if we had no right anyway
To be creative with a zoom

The circular circuit needs paradigm
And a drooling fish tank
To escape the bottomless rhythm
Of death on the inside

Profiling peadophiles etc, is it the one with the *******?

'doubt it, has even cooked an egg this morning'

oh what, the-e trout!'

'give those bincoulars to me'

'so we're stuck in a cartoon are we?'

'yeah and no but the structure of its pretty much based on mud'

'like the way this towns run?'

'well i would say it picks a few people out yes.'

To reconcile with lost enigmas of forethought and feelings that were always encapsulated in unknown ways I thaaaaaaaaaat still have not found the answer for.

the drip drap of the rain velociously continued, like a pony nipping her head out of a stable
As the right handed, fraudulent farm girl hid behind a baby porcupine like stack of hay bails that looked like they could fall at any moment
She must have assumed the farmer had  a hearing impediment as she was mumbling quite loudly to herself
'and aliens are green' 'and people are purple' and 'the queen is beige.'

This was why she was hiding, as the factorious, bimble, self serving others were all aliens.
Any time she went someplace new she felt like there was a steaming kettle of atmosphere blended with ideas carrying and following her from step to step.

And she had no answers that but simple truths.

'hey kid, get outta here!'

Her voice had increased from mumbling to screaming the word 'that'.

- And she was gone.

Churn barley
Hearts blame foragers
Doolies quate barging out
Of the queue
To fire up lovely views of
Damage done to words
The meal is not a choice
The kitchen and dining area
Are fermented with suicide
Bleach

Something there will be replaced.

My heart is like a cabbage
all soggy and curved
with some remaining sorry crunchy bits.

when someone kisses me, i fight them
in a bops left caramel escape

and if someone tries to hold me for too long
I stop liking that person

so I guess I can be forgiven for choosing drugs over serious relationships.

An opportunity tunes into
You
If you relay information intuitively
And go with the the flow

Indecision will be common
But as long as you
Listen to your conscience
Occasionally

Then the rivers of
Fortune will flow.

It might sound a little trite to say so
But the tiniest specs
Keep on appearing to me
Might I add without guise
But always unexpected
As if to say to the largeness of the world
Hey, back off!

Ferocious faculties  enact the velocity, polarity and barometry of facts.
can't take one in
can't put one back

I'd rather carry a backpack
full of thing i'll loose
because regardless of whether I remember
them or not
i'll know that they were true.



Excrellent God!

broccoli allowances are sparse in the amenities of heightened bulk
now is that what we humans need though?
a lessening of powdered salt and a grainful of speech perhaps instead?
these are just questions.
powdered salt like the caustic membranes which chuff at the insides if out outer innards making us inaccessible to each other and sorry, but a pile of dough. For them to knead, so why should we hear their pleas? that thaaaat thaaat thaaaaaat that. thaaaaaaaaat. yeah ******* authorities.

[ Plus the box ]
Plus the box
It was only until the metaphor and anecdote came rolling around again that
The metaphors disappeared again

A flat bed of polystyrene was the twist, and as far as my mouth could gulp there was no ending.
.
Flow the soldiers proclaimed
Be a dullness upon the dance
Because it's wits are greater than your width
A suppliance of song
Get it wrong
A playful parson
Living in the sticks
Revealing everything to make a stand
For what had been

Take our woes the public said back to the combat
Truth, trust, a reason we need to carry on
A headful of birthday cake was next
But like everything it didn't prevail
What carried on is not to be trusted
Not how I would have explained it
After the birthday cake

Snow bound, brainwashed
Looking for the cost
As much as the wash
Reiterating mouldy ceilings
There was a lot of false grieving
Hands as big as mansions
All searching for a phone
Laughter issues from slithery lips
It's a mystery
God knows the real word
Something like slippery
But more orangutan
Puzzles fall apart
Thats part of the art
And as the meanness recedes
It only grows
Forfeit they did and will again the army
But forget about the songs
They're the only things I care about
Like prophecies I've learnt I Can entangle
Myself without

An eagerness encumbered by too much
Philosophical thought
The lie though, miraculously
I've never bought
A garage door described in
A certain state of mind could change the world
A purpose loaded (pun intended) with suffering
Can animate the industry
Leave me feeling guilty for a bunch of my real people
Still being left on their knees
But progress is key
The game goes on with a plea
Working out x
And stealing the rest
Although I can write
This is no kind of plight
Reasoning with the devil
Will not get you anywhere
Too much love lost
Big lack of interference
All quizzical faces
With no results.
Poonanny LORD.

As a writer you are supposed to look at a computer keyboard and feel inspired. there's a piece of writing in me waiting to burst out today but there's too much manipulation against my creative instincts going on. Amen God.

The fixation of brown on toast
Is basically inviting to a host
As the thought insertion perversions
Drawl on and by
I'm through with what could of been the last line
I've lost my focus
And am reliable enough
To have my rights
Out of time music echoes through the device
A triathalon of apparent excellence
That is if we could see it
It never becomes personal
May as well be a tree
Just because you're thinking our loud to me
Does not mean I have to rely on you
And please do not rely on me anymore.
The intellect itself is enough for articulation
It is an epiphany laced with ghosts of fullness
Many times

The evil baby syndicate are trying to avail
themselves of their gregarioiusness again
poindexters pilgramage all go and gaining control gradualy
easy does it, says the father
who, uninspired as he is caring flouts his tracksuit in the sun
crumcling repetition, where is there a data sheet hat will fir in autonomously into my own standards of existence?

there must be more than data....

I am crushed without diazepam and ritalin, and my writing is still in the stages of being panicky because i;m not guaranteed a whenever permanent prescription for it. Halter tops. Joining hands. i have no memory of my comments on gun violence because of the alien living in my body. franchise. bulbasour the pokemon. patterns. heinrich manoever, buttons. loosened. torture. lust. chocolate. *****. nirvana. dumb. television. networking. fat. rolllerblades. first cut to my wrist. gang signs and prayer. juvenile detention. sorry posters. ****. laughter desucked. gone. phone heart. alien attached to it. sauce. peti. not a criminal. seeking justice. loving. Amen God.

This is not  a part of the data, it is a part of overcoming the world of the data system. And it's frequently beyond criminal, often money and power seeking consequences. i just want to keep to myself with diazepam for autism constantly, ritalin for ADHD constantly. And get on with my life the best I can while feeling without -(these legal by the way medications)- feeling paralyzed, fearful, dissociative and stuck and unmotivated and just generally not living my life. let alone to the full, for instance being trapped in a mental hospital without eevn any hope of unescorted leave. well guess what, I don't need it, I need a constant supply of ritalin and diazepam. Poonanny Lord.

There once was a girl called Addie
Who liked to take away the faddy
An insetter upon poverty
She had A glass like certainty

And never wished for anything
That she could not achieve

Amen Addie hampton

Maybe it's best to be just this high
No marriage of heart and mind
A conceptual morgue of a literature lost

- otherwise redeemed

Amen M

As the morphine that's for standardized depression, and unimaginable giftedness that causes depression in hospital environment and generalized anxiety and autism symptoms labelled Ritalin kicks in... It no longer seems to matter so much that I'm wasting time. I've never got to do that in my 30s, and I must do it efficiently, effectively and comfortably so to get on with things later on, whilst still maintaining my Ritalin prescription. Poonanny. I don't feel like writing anymore, I feel like chilling out and listening to some new music that's actually worth listening to,but I doubt it's there,on Spotify I mean. Amen.

Trouble ensnaring my depths like a fool
To outgrow the cost would be to er on the good
Side of my soul but my heart doesn't say that I should

Rely on my heart then, so easy to say
When it hasn't felt love for the longest time
Without tricks at play

To Garner it's wisdom again would take fire
A blazing picture of past vivid emotion
And, still aflame, in the present sincere.

For what looks upon the restless soul
Is (- to make -)
The heart, and willpower alongside it
Means everything else is stolen art

For true transparency, check the dreams
Of a hundred different sways
That the branches of the trees were doing
On Adam and eves first/last autumn day.

Abstaining becomes a maverick
Bluffing gets me going stopping being insincere
They pose a question every time
But why does it have to ******* rhyme.
If insecticide was iodine in a breath
And our egos were only temperaments
And (I know what your thinking)
Imagination was diplomatic
I mean to say it didn't have to be an act
And just vibration equalled peace
Well for those who do that weird **** with ease
And an encumbrance was an afterthought
But one that never touched the sky
(My dreams they are collosal and I wish the world knew why)
If sliding on grass wasn't simple
In the way that the C.I.A is
If we infected our children with a bit of disease plasma:
to stop those ******* getting to us.
If we knew the underside of new knowledge
Getting to the facts...
If there was not an act to cover for another fact!
If the reality of the situation matched up to our dreams
If we were not subjects of honour able only to shed tears.
If logic didn't exist just love did so none of us ever choke
If there were several more songs to demonstrate how just today God coped
If there were ants who lived on our shoulders
And dogs that didn't know the meaning of love
If there were melodies that could do more than ****
If confusion was an inner bout of cancer making the outer one obscene
If martyrs wore accolades in honesty
And didn't have to stall
If these aliens were dead
If unicorns bravery opened up portholes into the universe
Where evil will only wait
Or the human beings and others can invite them right on through
And adjust themselves to the time.
If we perceive what is not there we can get the typing too
Rigged through an escaping rhythm that always without tempo recedes
But I don't upset the rhythm
You wouldn't even know what it is
So, I'm an alien am I?
Is that why I'm living in a special zoo?
The angels are fake and I know this on speed
God is real though
And Jesus Christ is our Savior
So for him he begs of you to provide.
Poonanny god

The plasmic screen at least of course trained us into rebelling against ourselves
And as ineffectual as it is, the technological or constant onslaught of misidentity makes them slaves to not only themselves but us.

This is just my spiritual knowledge
But of course as a human being, none of my experiences regarding the generosity in communication of/from others (as real as they may be) has been very spiritually rewarding.

However, well, this is all I have to say about it.

Let's start vaping in the communal area again shall we?
And smoking *** legally?
And congregating as unique beings?

Or surely the war in ghaza, Israel and the shut that the elite do to people in escape rooms will get worse.

Hell, let's even wake me up from my coma.

May the holy spirit be with you all.

If you choose to see clearly.

Amen chariots of the gods.
Poonanny Lord. Dancing God. Daisies! And rumbrgh woods in that tent, (truely magical until I abandoned it to the insects... I wonder if they were real or not? And if that's changed til I last/first saw my parents as holograms?) now let's break bread god. Or eat some noodles. Or be Parry to the envision of one long basic metaphor. Amen God.

Arteries at the
behest
A warranted regality
normed
By   visualisation of a
trashcan kind

A prophecy isn't something that necessarily won't happen if noone acts on it
Particularly the prophet making the prophecy.
Prophets are mystics,
Yet they give in so easy to the sincerity and standards of mysticism itself
Or just work blankly for the authorities
That they never make their prophecies come true
Clever prophets work it out on a screen or on paper, whilst engaging in their spiritual and health practices etc etc etc, and then they implement the wisdom they've received from that into a plan.
That
Amen flower,
Amen C.I.A
Peace out "Grandma!"
Sorry you're not allowed to take part human prophets

Bulbous tunings fetter out the cold wise looks
Of a dancer
Who even lost her grave
Either/or the menace in the deviation
Traces nothing back from obliviation
But forwards into oblivion
Where dust and scar are alike
And cannot attack the divine e

The outings were all bedaddled
By egg shells and the city of woking
Waking

To a cylindrical metaphor implanted tunnel of darkness

I have seen a lot of infinity mirrors on Amazon yesterday

But they all seem so bright

Yet PERPLEXING.

The colour was blue
Well kinda blue for
A bathroom floor
Anyway

The ceai pas groaned
That it's graces were not
Enough
To overcome vices

So labelled them
Disadvantages

Just like a weaved basket
Bounces gently off the side
Of its carrier

Rest, recovery and
Just generally the things
That most people
Perceive they can never have

Are at that moment perfectly
Attainable

So why not always?

Will the gods come and live with
Us someday?

What would they say to use
Mere mortals?

I don't expect they'd be too focused
On what we had to say

And just get on with creating
Lasting change out of their
Spiritual powers.

Sometimes I believe I'm a goddess

And I write as such

Often with things that only
The gods would understand.

prosper in wild times
makke acute the wildflower  to abait antagonism
and arrange your daffodils so they look down upon buttercups  because the architecture has spasmed in direction of the foursome
derailing the large from the sunset
with a new beginning
that larks like the hot moon
and laughs like christmas
telling tales on its goat herd
walking haughtily in the pastures of human growth
mumbling the sometimes which they all the time take advantage of

Amen, poonanny God.

Artists rumble and weight out the time
It takes to write the appropriate rhyme
Unless it is forgotten in a sea of smoke
Where towers and buildings they wished
Were a joke

Trap the embjambment, the pauper and the prince
A release it would be if he could just sink
Into his own thoughts
Where thus far only thugs dwell
Thrown out from the concept of peace and outcry

For safety he ***** instead of seeks
But a wrinkling meekness is still up on his
Cheeks

Where when he is cheeky he points to the crowd
But the singular ugliness in front of him
Is that which was vowed
And to which he is not allowed

The more he is silent
The more the cut off point arrives
There to disrobe him
And make his father proud

But a sure death lies in it
Where fathomed first turns blue
Is as clueless as the first spring bird
Hopping about on a city scene

But I've seen those cemeteries
And Ive felt their vibrations that that that that that that
And if there's not people alive in them
Then they're just animations

Which I highly doubt
As I see holograms everywhere
And they contain meaning
Even if it's just to scare

But dust arrives justly
In the evening
Where waiting on hand and foot
Another group of seagulls have learnt to sing

And carrying on as weavers they out share
Their grenades, parachutes, and worn out trousers
Just on the look out
For all this foul stuff.

Of course I had to make an imagination fuelled toodoo
By not writing uneducated instead
But maybe that's the issue

We try to be the people we are not
And buying in to our own identities is buying out
Like a rapeseed field remnant scattering under paws and
Wellington boots.

Never though, in the wind
For it retains it's emptiness and colorblind mauve
At all times.


Now, in my defiance
Comes the logical rant
But, alas, for now, I am uneducated


Amen Apollo. Poonanny lord. Good times Vishnu :D ***

As trees are set alight
The coridoors confine us to chestnut oak
And Greek symbology becomes irrelevant
As infancy in a tizz.

Many languages
The that conundrum of autism
The ****** of a mother of a saint in
Teenage confidentiality
But also confidence.

The ma in a name given to the self
To get rid of the schizophrenia diagnosis
And supported housing imprisonment,
...Autisma
Ma meaning mother
And as an autistic still quite unsure
Of the meaning of this

But no longer a schizophrenic
There's always the hand that creeps in
To stigmatize the cuticles.

And so as far as what can be deemed fact
So far
Ma means 'more'
Against the alternative meaning of mother.

Amen god, and how I love you.
Hi C.I.A psychiatrists! Okay I'll put it in writing now
Not that I would say in my gut you didn't already know
But my family appear to me as having completely different identities everyday and i was unaware of this until I arrived here. I, frankly, dont see the point in sticking up for myself with them - because it I'm not <i>with</i> them emotionally. Or spiritually. And I'm not too sure what it is I don't understand, but it's a bit like understanding versus overcoming. and yeah, there's a short summary. Save me!

The counter intuitive action consumes the
Thorough blow to the chest
From icy winds -
We flee

Gusts of geranimo stall and cluck
Like fearsome dions
And freakishly or fittingly
The armour is won

A wooly hat, woven from a spider hat
The classlessness has treathed forth
Since the beginning though

And these days it's a matter of
Who catching whom
Or whom catching who

When it should be who catching you

As they perpetually spawn inside us
i suppose the music is a byside
a well crafted distraction, that keeps those reaching out for autonomy
to soon be tricked by and settle for
a balance isn't made of hidden control, and resistance
it;s made of in our face rock 'm' roll lets do damage to these controllers who hide. Amen God.

Preemptive askance the a(l(u)minationcrashed under deceived by craukflakes o'clock

Say it ain't so
She finally got the speed
But it's all so paradoxadized
And There's a memory trick
And a peti riff

And another take on free will

To entice the slice of listening grip
Tiny plastic cat toy ***** must
Orbit around the earth
Never wishing for more poetry
Instead instilled with a memory.

Cloud 9
Disposing or my disposition
Can do it
Like a pair of marracers
Held by both their cheapest
And most expensive lovers
Following you around.

signed Amy Elizabeth Stares
Amen God

As the correctness debeckons inaction the collective body sets in
There's no contradictions as far as I can hear or see
But within the living is a semblance of verociousness and vehemence and
Vicariousness dably panicking at the park which contains all things
The corrosives are backed into a corner and the voices in my head continue.
Good boys don't question a lady's wishes or value anything intricate that doesn't concern them. Amen God. Jesus was everywhere Amen God. And fun foresting went no further than doing away with the system, being a hippy, therapeutic nirvana for Autisma, and then universal psychiatric etc etc success for Jesus Christ. Amen God.

To do a dance
Permed via biased time
Ie manipulation trying
To take effect before time
Is pondering upon the effect
Of an until
Opened up by the aftereffects
They'll never be done
And for every reason there is
They want to tear apart the fabric
Of life
Whilst ******* me off
And loudening the unoccurences
Of current events
Whilst playing dumb
About all the dumb stuff

Amen Arknawr
Amen God
For the truth has been written

Listening is like an acronym
When people are listening in
Do thoughts flow anyway?
What is schizophrenia?
Where do the loose ends come in?

Is an exception to the foreign a cradle?
Or a rule?

Amen.

The cuckoo chucked her bridal wares
O'er the fire grate,
Arming it's chuckles with renditions of
Cluck cluck cluck
That else
Was a closeted affair

How is the sheen? A farmer said
Do you mean for cleaning or tidying a grotesque milliard asked
Well it's a consequence of the chest of drawers where the hiding never takes place
Except for when the chuckling takes place


I don't get it the farmer concluded.

So you think you've got it worked out do you?
Like the spinning in your heads stopped
And the tapestry has already come undone
But you had your eyes closed all the while
And so your dreams aren't even visions yet

Put a little song into practice
Stop moving the chairs around
And wrap up your hair nicely
And get gone

Amen LORD

Deja vu is like a robot who is a child just trying to play
As sunshine fades la cracks in the wall of bricks unswell
And a long due favour of formulation springs into being
Chastising for an already fought battle in the name of taking a shower

The long or short straws of uncivilized rule making and trickery
Blase as it may feel to those experiencing major distractions or difficulties in telling what is really going on
To you I say this
Look at what has been going on for the longest time
Considering my, as a goddess's dynamism too.

At the brink of expulsion
There is a disdain
Which covers the cut

From excrement to excellence.

Amen God.

If Grandma had a nanny pack
You wouldn't even want to hear the rizla crac...pop....blam.
As profound as a paper trail
The rest of the rappers were left blazing up
And switching their language from om to ominism.

All in an evil (cos it's unnecessary) way.


Think I need cultural slang to weave words and make them look clean?

Believe in a lower existence where confusion inverted by a party or group or host is intelligent?

Think we're brought in by what you're not brought in by?

You're wrong.

Poonanny Jay z. Poonanny narcissus. Poonanny Zeus. Amen Lord. Poonanny other gods and godesses.