In a distant universe
In a distant galaxy
Around a distant star
On a distant planet
In a distant house
With a distant mind

Someone feels the same as me.

I can't put my twisted finger
'Round the noxious fumes that linger
Like hungry flies around my shaggy head

When the sun arrives at seven
My funk will scrape the heavens
God will shutter at my potent stench

There's a devil in my chest
Sporting snakeskin leather vest
He's the venom in my needle teeth

We sailed the trash of Tennessee
To reach the land of winter leaves
Where life has long since shriveled in the chill

With gaze upon an iron tree
Whose leaves excreted somber steam
We hatched a scheme to steal his yellow eyes

Just inches from the solemn oak
The devil sprung out from my throat
And made off with the amber gift of sight

I stood before the blinded plant
A humbled and defeated man
And laid my weary limbs upon the ground

I climbed into my grave that night
Aided by the lonely light
Of a pair of glowing orbs on the horizon

because this experience I cannot relay to you

cards being shuffled by a trickster

it repeats/ it repeats

control was never there

with a flick of the wrist he made me aware

that life is but a joke,

so ****** it we shall

and the only thing that really matters to this *******

are the cruelties of the bottom line

but don't worry, i will transcend

i will get the last laugh

if the will is the way then he is me

and i am not enslaved but instead

we are at each others throats

fighting over a **** parking spot

every

single

second.

When I walk I’m deep with my senses, clearly drawn to people’s alluring glances.
So lucid they think, their eyes show the interest far from extinct from my stance in this world.
I feel that I’m respectively speaking, to say so the least.
I’m not recluse or a beast always wanting to feast.
If I had to say so the least, I’m as calm as the tree with the leaf, that stays calm when the wind turns to burn, while everyone goes with the turn.
Because it’s what the tree made them learn.
But back to the point I was making while you are sitting by this tree,
looking at me with such glances pointing at stances,
blaming the cause which in you is aloft,
making you soft to pretend in this wind,
moving you and the others to part sways in the matter the wind is racing.
When simply it’s all about the peace calming transparent flow,
less transfiguring your stance in this warming sensation. . .

When I stroll, I feel deep in my senses, just life of the sound I’m within.
I feel you friend, no need to misunderstand because I’m the kind,
only of a kind, truthfully speaking since the world is ordinarily laid but so many minds sillily played.
What’s the reason to hastily be placed?
Impatiently wasting the self through calamitous wind around you in its ways,
pulled of your senses to part in its flowing admiration to help you feel its position not what the tree has been foolishly placing.
The sternness of impeccable word, just blur through the blurry frustration fostering to break wind from word communication.
But back to the sound that’s within, that plays for me again.
I say its sweet in this miserable place full of faces with eyes that stick with assumptive cases.
I can sense uneasy feeling of their spiritual mirror, lost in their glance even unheard, why did **** **** **** such lovely bird?
So you see what I’m saying, as angry ***** would be saying.
All the angry ***** this part over will be playing. . .because even words turn swiftly by the wind, gripping around the calm of your leaf.
You feel yet what I feel?
Practice with the wind, don’t amend to the blend of practicality because some want one option for you to be planted to grow all over this world as attired.
Only feeling whole after past your time being retired.
How in this sense could we live in such life time without sharing simple joys that some used to uphold,
but then life changed with a fold, all you could is forget and be sold, just like I was.
Funny story, but no worry, I’m no worry for you to worry.
One day I’ll share with you this story.
Plenty time don’t worry. . .to those who die I’m sorry, but there’s more joy in this story,
your story then the idea they abhor to make you feel this squally worry.
Although your dead and won’t hear my story, life will tell you after. . .
But of your self that I've been listening trying to feel you in what you have been missing.
It’s funny to words I have been retorting to, to explain exactly the calm of the self, when the word can never touch on such imperfection as to why the word is always leaning towards this misdirection. . .
hidden deep down in its simple complexion, when its all misdirected with the imagery that comes with projected. . .that’s why ***** get angry at my use of such satisfying word deep under their ego -blistic wants. . .
never relenting their simple misfortune of always trying at preventing the complicated feeling of but resenting what’s to them so complicated. . .
for a feeling they never awaited, stopping into churches thinking its something one day be recon-stated, but when silly as a church where they put you under at your birth, without a will to simply choose the path really most tend to loose. . .instead sticking a mat under your body as if its going to be the least your life can embody. . .and your parents so meek to realize from beginning as it it’s meant to be. . .life of being peaceful, instead disgracing you later for your aspirations. . .in any way possible manipulating your gracious. . .Even this comes as a misunderstanding because some choose to feel my words out of tune in miscomprehending the essence of my stroll through this wind. . instead resentment in the form shows up in assumptive waves with negative impression of your ease for my self I could give **** less when from you I hear your impression, since moi it don’t displease. . .but I keep on strolling with my full senses at life’s mistaken glances shadowed down on the branch caressing with pretences, in which all jump into with a **** full of stances. . . .with my outmost respect I have for everyone in any sort of the trances. . .

Hate is flowing through your veins,
as you slowly grasp your gun.
Who do you expect to live,
no one.

Look at what you've become,
just a product of war.
You don't want to live your life,
like this anymore.

The fire in your eyes,
shows you want to stay alive,
you are just trying to survive.

But your just a product of war,
trained to ****.
Begging for more,
more to ****.

You weren't always like this,
a product of war.
Once you were a kind and humane person,
now you're a life taking *****.

Your moral rights, are wrong,
you **** people to **** time.
Fighting for what you think is right,
letting those ******* lie to you is a crime.

The fire in your eyes,
shows you want to stay alive,
you are just trying to survive.

Trained to ****,
a product of war,
and nothing more.

It's Blue
      But so are you.
Not that sad Blue/
                                Reflecting from T.V.
But that happy Blue/
                                    That with you I see.

All my life I've dreamed of Pink.
Never written/
                          I don't dream in ink.
But it was happy/
                               I always said
I wanted to be Pink when I was dead.