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 Jul 2018 alwaystrying
Marguerite
Here it comes again
--the acid creeping up my throat
Reminding me that the motion I perceive with my eyes
Does not coincide
With the motion of my mind.
The fluid in my ears, I find
Being steered by forces hidden behind
A curtain blinding my sight.

When I was six, the sickness would hit
When I was in the backseat going down winding streets.
The pain, I claimed, came from my jaw
But it wasn’t long until they saw
Splattered across the back bench of the car
--I was motion sick.

As a teen, cleaned from this curse,
Steering the machines that once made me squeam,
I thought I was free.
Until vertigo creeped into my seams.
Clear sight, but a spinning mind!
A crystal displaced in the skull behind my face
Would trace every turn through, as if it was reality who had forgotten to move.

Now nausea creeps in again as my mind perceives a reality that once again, my eyes can’t see.

All of my hopes
and dreams

so real to me…

But when my eyes look out to reality, they are nowhere
to be
seen
And it makes me feel
So
Nauseous
The closest thing, I've personally seen, to the truth
is that I am fortunate just for the walls and the roof.

Everyone in the United States loves to *******
as they all try in vain to dissuade their innate guilt.

How much a better person will I become for
all of this good that I have done?

Corporations buy lakes to upsell life like
William Gibson thought they might.

Where is the sunset in flame through the eyes
of a younger Ridley Scott like we saw?

Let's start a fire in the heart of the woods.
Everyone will ignite, equally ugly.
Dance through the night with me.

What's your strain?
Would you care for some LSD?
We could die at any time, obviously,
So why not live up to the destiny
Implied by the monarchy?

Peasantry, peasantry.
Nihilistic pleasantry.
Peasantry, peasantry.

I used to think I was
Selesnya, Boros, or
Azorius, but now
I know that I'm a Jesuit--
Or something?
And so belong to House Dimir
Or to the Cult of Rakdos.

Peasantry, peasantry.
Nihilistic pleasantry.
I should start carrying fruit in my purse
First I should get a purse
After putting in string lights and wine
I need to add fruit
So anytime I feel like I’m going to
Put my foot in my mouth
I’ll eat the fruit instead
Giving me time to ruminate
While I masticate
Silencing my tongues need
To move without thought
In this life with woes joys and strife
You cannot tell others how to live
Kept prisoner by your values in life
All one can do is best to give
Even if ones your wife in life
She's one thinking your another true
If she is none sexually loving and you are
All one can give is honesty through
Never been a cheater never lied
You've kept no secrets of how you feel
But she's one way your another way
As far as needing love for even moments real
Years of empty emotion and loving care
Although you love her for being who she chooses
You might be feeling somewhat finding life hard
An 80 .. 20 % marriage some wins some loses
Your friends think at times your hard
Any other man gone long ago by now so true
But you've never been a quitter at any time
And have always seen the hard times through
A good woman but stubborn as a rock wall
Thats just the way things are unblessed
But thats the way it is for you in life
Might be a greater test in life confessed
But lonely you feel so in life as is
Many think your fault is only yours
Always been a good man kind genouress
Theres walls but there is not any doors
All she has you gave her always did
Between a rock and a hard place are you
Someone up there want me on my knees
Wasting their time its true
You can't tell others how to live their life
Selfish I've never ever been
Only ever been a giver as best I can
Sadly my fault is how I'm seen

terrence michael sutton
copyright 2018
whatever was written,
and became delated.
O Dear Heart...or pancreas...or some vital *****...

When I gaze into your ear canals
And cuddle you in my comforting feet
Oh, yeah, I wanna hold your earlobe
You make my sella turcica skip a beat

Your nostrils are so very soft to the touch
Your toenails are like silver-pale moonlight
Your elbows smell like roses in the spring
Your hair follicles are so sunrise bright

And when I meditate upon your liver
Cupid shoots every arrow from his quiver!
Your ‘umble scrivener’s site is:
Reactionarydrivel.blogspot.com.
It’s not at all reactionary, tho’ it might be drivel.
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