I am sorry, and you are sorry, we can make up in the morning, wake up in our torment, go back to bed and do it all again, before the storm hits, as it's the fragile moments that make this what it is, and it's, beautiful,  ~ whatever it is.

Drunkenly, i fumble my way home, hoping for something warm, but always waking cold, waiting for something more.

The hole.

Its nefarious arrogance, that's scaring grandparents, but its in the air and I'm airing it, as we are seeing all the signs, but just staring at them.

Somehow there is safety as an arian, where we are safely alien to  Americans made in sapient sanitariums, shooting you first for glaring at em.

So what if i'm Dolling up my delirium for a serum to cure them all.

I am awol, from my call to duty, recreating movies, for serial groupies, suiting up to slither a delivery of a soothing sour piece.

I am stalling to clean the secretions from hostel sheets from the screamers being eaten, by Cretans, with beaten dogs at bay, staring blank at the fanfare from a cage.

Im burning white sage, under pages of poetry anointed by a stoical spleen, tuning out the dreams, of lesser beings, until complete.

A zoo within a zoo within a zoo, i barely know you now

Barely know how, to know you as a model citizen with baller trimmins, fixins, and a life with others wives, in the rough diamonds of the bluff, before the door opens just enough, to look through and confirm what you already knew.

Love is the stuff dreams are made of.

And through you..

Im through.

Pleading, to seed the need for repentance and with reduced sentences, bleeding the demands on stances of chance, in costly cants.

I am convulsing in the congruence, in which I am influenced, by my afflictions of depictions in my head

I might be addicted to the dread of previously said decor, in my adorable horror show afloat, deplorably denoting the nopes of logic, and the slippery slopes of khangi, that spring off me when i'm coughing on my green tea.

You are wrong to stop me in my dislogic, dodging the narcotic mocking of toxic strong arming, in proxy alarms, setting barns ablaze.

I praise the poetry pushed on me, dauntingly haunting me with savant like ambiance, from the have nots, having things as far as the eyes can see.

Ask me
Sass me
Harass me
Fasten me
To your dichotomy
In lasting
Fasting
Blasting
The beast away
But appeasing
The lingerings
Of darklings
In your skull
Just
Take it all
Or ******* fold
Too old
To scratch it out
Or tear the flesh
To laugh about
The torn mesh
Just
******* shout
In the
Moments made of
More than you
Moments made up
For you
Moments to live
Despite you
To spite you
In spite of you
It grew
Through
And through
And threw you
To you

Earths aura

more beholden
  to a fortress
for a foreign sort
   of torturer

held back
  by a molten sphere

Told in tales of total delves
  into toiled shelves of ice
that whisper nicety
  while hiding
tragedies
  in rings
per

  slice

Frozen finites
  forgotten twice
while
  sliced

in two

Temperate
  dichotomies
cradling hues
  into truths
that,
  one day

bestow
  un
to

~ you

Where will you be?
I'll likely be
In my ******.

Repetitious failures capped with a singular victory.

It makes me.