A low-class man with a baby face took a smart pretty woman and made her a disgrace

He charmed her with his words; put her under his spell

Stole the sanity from her children and made their lives hell

Not a finger he laid on the broken kids but every word stung; the torture so brutal and children so young

A teenager already empty was beaten with the belt. She was confused but he didn't care when she cried or what she felt

The mother was his puppet. And he the puppeteer. The puppet was manipulated and her children lived in fear.

Her words were his and his word was law children try as they might his heart wouldn't thaw.

The puppeteer is poisonous and lives without a care.

He didn't work for anything... He just took what was there.

He lived with greed, the love for money and liked to scream and shout.

He took what he couldn't earn; seeking the easy way out

A loser who played mind games. Such an unhealthy mix. Flattering the vulnerable was one of his biggest tricks

The truth always surfaces. And that is what was done. When justice chased after him all he could do was run

Couldn’t grasp a report today… dear child.
My broadcast body tuned to this frequency
Wouldn’t turn the channel ‘mind so beguiled
Me and my ******* voracious tendencies
Like a blood clot in my brain these words are filed
This new sensation is my delinquency.

Let’s shut it off... and get away.
Flip the switch on my ten-pound nemesis
Can shoulders bear its weight day after day
So Long the time has come to finish this.

This child as pure as I am blight; Let’s both be free.
Don’t Plant the Red Fern angel, he has long to Grow
Son, here’s my soul, please interchange with me
Like the boy I wonder, “Where will I go?”
As I’m not so proud of my biography
Alright Jack, it’s time to Get on the Road with this show.
Hell is a library with only one book, The Inferno.

_TRF 12/13/16

He had a way
with a pen,
my friend
the part-time
con artist, full-
time drunkard
with twinkles
in his eyes
like stardust,
and wrinkles
from laughter
as loud as
a clap of thunder,
and it was
really a wonder
to watch him draw
his last breath
with such depth
like an outline
of a shadow,
a sinkhole
in the shade
on the side
of a dark ridge.

people walk past me,
not noticing the subtle hellos
no one knows the small,
fragile girl that sits alone at lunch
no one nears the girl who curls up
in the corner, avoiding the crowd

It’s your life. Don’t let anyone make you feel guilty for living it your way.

A dandelion allures an essence of the innocent,
Distinct from a ****, once puffed flurries offspring of homogenous descent.

Proletarian by nature, now **** without seed,
That puff propels my wealth and now I can lament.

Bees harbor resentment, “You can’t pollenate me!",
Enticed by sinuous poison and overlooked by the Bourgeoisie,
Cautiously creeping like honey’s viscosity in vain,
Synchronicity is cut short swiftly by A Coup de Main.

_TRF

Indulge in chaos with an appetite of tremendous conviction.
Hastily retrace your preamble that drapes the window pane like the silhouette of a cynic,
Divulge the albatross of plight to escape eviction
And lay waste the shambles that shape a widow’ s pain beset by a mimic.

An insipid eye for uninspired lies,
She forged herself an eponymous name,
Like holding a vigil for a pessimist when in Retrospect the glass is half full.
An under-dog recounts our demise,
Misfortune subsides having only the ***** to blame,
Lack of abuse is an act of kindness,
As Jan-Erik Olsson has no sympathy for the devil.

_TRF

Lost amidst the inferiority of adult life I strive to find the person whom you once met,
That fire I ignited has simmered to a shameful sullen faced embarrassment
My love , my might,, let us not fight
Let us ****** through the prefabrication that dictates
Let us once again breathe to be free
Let poetry prevail
Set the wind in our sail
As in the darkness of tomorrows hopes we forage
We shall be as one, we shall smile , laugh, and watch the setting of another sun

I am hurting my child,
I am weeping through the pain,
May be it is no big deal,
For me, I have lost my heart.

I am grieving for you my child,
Even though it was just four weeks,
I always wanted you in my life,
It was not just the moment.

I am hoping to see you my child,
During my life this time,
To hold you in my arms,
And look into your eyes.

I am sending you my child,
All the love I have for you,
I beg you to forgive me,
You too deserve the world.

I am waiting for you my child,
To call me your mother for once,
Even though my fate is unknown,
I want to feel your breath on mine.

I am fighting for you my child,
To live in this world of hell,
Because one day I believe,
You will be my saviour.

We will be united again,
because you already are mine,
From where you came and gone,
I am still yours, my child....

I hate to admit it, but I want to feel special.
I entomb myself in the reality of mundane dribblings but truly my heart is wrenching as it can smell the fantasy.
The thought of someone wanting to know my favorite movie and memorize it like their sacred duty.
I'm soft; a kettle brewing with pang splintered yearning.
I want the waves of people to pander to me surrendering at my feet collapsing with poised beauty whispering "you are worthy"
I want to feel special, yet I know that I am not. I am amongst the innumerable flesh ridden boats of existence buoying about in angst and desperation.
I am alone and am pleased in this pod of solace.
But a broad stroking mansuetude hand that may caress my face and help proliferate the love I hide within myself.
Well, I guess that may be nice...