step one is think but not too much,
think only enough to move the body,
think only enough to guide
but not too much.
allow the mind
the time to find
itself before you
let it take control of you

step two is think but not too much,
think only enough to still the being,
think only enough to still the urge
but not too much.
allow the body
the freedom
to fall
in forms
it feels
but don't forget
to feel your way

step three is here
you must instill
in order to heal
you must adhere
in order to hear
you must not chase the thrill of rush
but long for sakes of betterment.
what is concealed will slowly reveal,
just follow the steps until
it's time to breathe . . .

step four is breathe,
and breathe as deeply
as the atmosphere allows
and let the astral air
assemble your arousal . . .
Carl Webb II Nov 2
“at this pizza place, all they got is cheese with no crust, a little bit of rust mixed in from every bolt and every nut, at every table is a **** that’s ready to . . .”

grow up . . .

“serving hard knocks with a side of familiarity opens up a path for the freaks, or something like that . . .”

throw up . . .
spill guts at tables, overstuffed, not able to feed themselves, unstable, and to the stables they wander . . .
must be food time again . . .

“whatever fills me up with what I lack is what I’ll indulge in, praising him/her to stay above ‘sin’, o’ here I go again . . .”

throw up . . .
spill guts at tables, overstuffed, not able to feed themselves, unstable, and wandering . . . and wandering . . . unable to stop and . . .
grow up . . .
serving hard knocks with a side of familiarity opens up a path for the damaged, or something like that . . .

I really shouldn’t talk, while I’m eating
Carl Webb II Oct 17
the way that I'm treated when I can’t seem to understand makes me feel like less of a man. with outstretched hands I'm handed nothing; without a chance I won't be something.
who takes a stand behind
“the man who has no plan”?

I still see no one . . .
Carl Webb II Oct 17
why look to the sky for answers
when life is all around? why even utter a sound, when the only person that really needs to heed your words and hear your thoughts, is you?

what do you do when the only thing left for you to do is pray?

you say your prayers
by writing them down
and live your life a better way.
Carl Webb II Oct 4
~
somehow, I've ended up in this basement again.

this dreary little basement. it's my comfort zone, apparently.
each time I leave, I tell myself I must escape, to get away from comfort.

to get away from darkness that I've known my whole life,
I push and push my own body up these steps,
far too steep for fondness.
push, my self out of that comfort zone
over and over again in pursuit of light
to touch my skin and bring my pigment back,
to bring a little color back into sight . . .
I push my body to some limits it has never known
to break it free from this contentment.

step by step, go one by one;
that's the only way I'm able to keep this spirit moving forward.
slumber caused some stalling way too long.
I take it very slow now;
that's all that I can do now. . .
that's really all I do . . .

drift . . .
in and out of light . . . or maybe in and out of darkness . . .
losing consciousness . . . I'm no longer under surface.

this is foreign land.

I shy away to come right back inside this house,
I left my home to see this other side, and it . . .
just scares me, to be honest.

I'm shaking bad now,
but not just in my legs from lack of energy,
my whole body is quaking,
I'm withdrawing, falling back into this basement,
falling back into this comfort, falling back into this slumber,
going under . . .

and I don't even care
that I am no longer aware of my surroundings . . .
that other side was just too strange,
too far outside my boundaries.

perhaps, I'll try again, tomorrow,
if I get up

~
Carl Webb II Sep 23
sitting on a bed of coals,
I'm on my knees.

in ****,

I yell.

inhale,

I scream
up to the surface,
hear me scream,
and hear my purpose,
know the meaning
don't desert me
I have died
and I am burning.
hope returning
won't be out of reach.
the flames get nearer
Carl Webb II Sep 23
responsibility isn't my strong suit.

take care of me, please, so I don't have to
make my own way. I'll adapt to what you say
never say a thing, myself,
the consequences are too dire.

if you'll help me retire and tire me more,
the more I conspire, the less I perform,
the less I inspire . . .
the more I deplore . . .

responsibility isn't my strong suit.
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