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Graff1980 Jan 2015
I was made for rivers of pain
Not plain crab but red grass
Smoked inside an appled colored flame
Dazzling while I dapple in the rain
Stained like church windows
Ready to crack before I crumble
Ready to rock before I rumble
Ready to bleed before I am humbled
Loneliness and uncertainty
Are spooks that keep ******* me
Ghosts that keep haunting me
Camouflaged and hunting me
Longing for the curves of her spine
To touch that thin line
That creases her smile
But I watch from a distance
Keep the memory of a dream
Keep the lie of what might have been
Add it to my repertoire
Stirring it in sweet saccharin  
But bitter as black coffee
The same color of her luscious flesh
Another heaven that I haven’t touch yet
Another sorrow for the lack of
That makes pain in to artistic stuff
Graff1980 May 2016
Madness be my mistress
My lovely siren song
Satyr in the forest
Chasing naughty nymphs
Demon in the darkness
And monster in my closet
Madness be my lover
Manic movements
Caffeinated frenzies
Typing fast and misspelling much
Strange allusions to those who are touched
Voices in my eardrums
Vision in my breath
Madness be the scent
Of sweaty insane men
Bashing brains
Against their times
Killing quantum equations
That plague their minds
She was my first lover
She will be my last
And from sanity’s flask
I will not sip one sup of it
Madness be my lover
Painter of the stars
Be you jester, genius
Or merely who you are
Madness be my cause to create
Cause no other cause is left
Graff1980 Mar 2015
The makers make
Everything
From everything
Hands into the void
Shaping matter
Parsing out particles
Passing electrical
Synapses to deduce
And reduce
Experience
To the simplest rules
Then changing the laws
Of science
Not god
But humanity
Making meaning
From the chaos
Imposing order
Through logic
The saving grace
Of this human race
Graff1980 Dec 2014
Man I got years of practice
At making ‘em laugh at this
And that ****
Gas out my ***
Shakespeare references
Comic book characters
Foreign accents
Effeminate behavior
Always a loving labor
Smiles and chuckles
To ease or eliminate
The distance and uncertainty
Between those I appreciate
Graff1980 Sep 2015
We got all the wrong pieces
Start building these monsters
Detachment, call it apathy
Dismissive separation
Of our human nation
And our humane nature
Greed and corruption
Technological isolation
Which makes violence
Towards other nations
Easier and easier
As internet claws
Detonate video game bombs
Drones drop their nightmare load
And explode human tragedy
Making a mass grave
And a mad mass of American
Assassins
Mortal men and women
Transformed into
Maleficent murdering  monsters
Graff1980 Mar 2017
The rush of blood the face we placed
On every corner on every space
We raced to come to terms with life
With morality a facade for strife
Pointing to the pain as a promise for more
Pointing to old books that might restore
Dignity and respect for the living
While other possibilities are destroyed
And the destroyers are forgiven
Sweaty palms stomach ulcerated
And for the sake of the soon to be liberated
Let me explain how real morals are made
Not through musty scriptures
Not through verses that are immature
But through learning and coming to terms with
How everyone feels and experiences life different
Graff1980 Jan 2015
The rush of blood the face we placed
On every corner on every space
We raced to come to terms with life
With morality a facade for strife
Pointing to the pain as a promise for more
Pointing to old books that might restore
Dignity and respect for the living
While other possibilities are destroyed
And the destroyers are forgiven
Sweaty palms stomach ulcerated
And for the sake of the soon to be liberated
Let me explain how real morals are made
Not through musty scriptures
Not through verses that are immature
But through learning and coming to terms with
How everyone feels and experiences life different
Graff1980 Aug 2015
I follow the white washed walls
Strange hallways
That match the other strange hallways
With each angle and corner crossed
I find myself more and more lost
Working my way through
The internal canals of
This Village malls sized labyrinth
Graff1980 Feb 2017
I made a monster from flesh and bone
A real live horror harder then stone
I made a beast you would not believe
With the strength and cunning to deceive
A shadow of a man fading away
Bound to be a vampire who burns in the day
Dr. Frankenstien could not compare
To the genius of my own despair
I made a monster and though it is hard to see
I am far more monstrous then creation could be
Graff1980 Sep 2015
Her favorite new flavor
Is uninformed outrage
How her right to religion is
Being attack
By those who lack
Any real wisdom
Or logical reason
But the facts are
Way to far
From her position
Cause she impositions
The innocent victims
Of her hate rhetoric
Denying rights
While crying
That her plight
Is so painful
What a load full
Of manure
Graff1980 Dec 2014
You crossover the cutting board
Quick witted leather fitted
Eyes blasting beautiful rainbows
Muscle rippling with truth
Capes and cowls
Heroes and villains
Smiles and scowls
A league of Avengers
A modern mythology
Patterned after past pantheons
DC to Marvel
The same side of two twisted coins
The same lie that I love to enjoy
Fiction intertwined with philosophy
Violence intertwined with morality
Leaving me with these power fantasies
Of superhero friends and families
You’re on my tv, movie screen
In my comic books, novels,
And even in my dreams
Graff1980 Dec 2016
Maybe I should have
walked on eggshells,
kept my face down,
and only spoke
when spoken to.

It’s not like
she broke my tooth
or cracked a bone.
Even if
the shirts were ripped
at least she didn’t
make me bleed.

If I gave her
the satisfaction,
if I had been meek enough,
Instead of wanting
to laugh and play
buying comic books
when I got paid;

Maybe if I understood
her rage
I wouldn’t have been
slapped in the face,
had my hair pulled,
Or been hit with the broom
the mop, the dust mop,
the brush, the boot,
the belt, or whatever
she could use.

Maybe, I deserved the bruise,
the welt, the agony,
the isolation.
Maybe, I shouldn’t have been born.

It must have been my fault.
It had to be my fault
or else it doesn’t
make any sense at all.
Graff1980 Dec 2014
Not with a blade
Nor with blood on my hands
But with wisdom
And compassion
May I be tyranny’s end

With poetry and prose
With the ink and the rose
With an inkling to know
Just and unjust
Right from wrong
May I be tyranny’s end

With love
Not a bullet
No bombs to blow through it
No glass shattered or metal disfigured
This is what I figured
May a revolution of words
Be tyranny’s end
Graff1980 Feb 2017
Not with a blade
Nor with blood on my hands
But with wisdom
And compassion
May I be tyranny’s end

With poetry and prose
With the ink and the rose
With an inkling to know
Just and unjust
Right from wrong
May I be tyranny’s end

With love
Not a bullet
No bombs to blow through it
No glass shattered or metal disfigured
This is what I figured
May a revolution of words
Be tyranny’s end
Graff1980 May 2016
Memories, segmented strands of my history
Etched on my cerebral mess so deep and chaotically
Impressions and sensations linking past and present
With futures contemplation the calculations are not so evident
Memory a powerful brew stewing in my mind
Bittersweet lover that frequently looses time
And only relative realities are left to find
Lying with distorted and partial truths
Loving with my long departed youth
Memories will die
As will you, as will I
Graff1980 Jan 2015
It starts with a needling sensation. Pink ****** poking around the back of your mind. Consciousness receding in retreat as something else overtakes your brain. Placing time at its’ own weird intervals. Fuzzy projections like tiny porcupine quills sting and stain your flesh as you try to recall. It is one sensory input after another linked by some unknown band with its’ own elasticity. Memory is not immutable, but a soft and fleshy permeable thing, changing with the rearranging of your current identity.

       Identity is a sea of broken lines, experiences forming disintegrating and reforming again. Changing ever so slightly or ever so drastically. There is sadness in the losing of solid beliefs, in coming to terms with the transient nature of your memory. Even when soft connections are made, when emotions seam to tie you to old memories there is still sorrow. There is still an aching, longing for something better, or a baleful pain gnawing at your gut like an angry cougar. Memories attempting to devour you in its’ strangely reconstructed past.
Graff1980 Mar 2017
They never play the same song twice
Through the night
The music boxes
Spins round and around
The little ballerina in the pink dress
Repeats herself
Like stolen time
In a pirouette
Two to twenty-nine
And beyond
One song
One song gone
One recollection
The next one lost
One smell
And one scent I forgot
But it never stops
Infinity
In looping clocks
Spectacles with bifocal spots
Melodious
Beautiful
Enchanting
Painful
The memory of music
Graff1980 May 2015
Slickened skin
Slightly moistened
Glittering
Scales
The swimming queen
Of thee Atlantean
Glowing iris
My mermaid
May bite
But she glows
Oh so beautifully
In the oceans at night
Graff1980 Mar 2017
Check out the lights
Let transcend the heights
Of my own imagination
Past garbled salt water
Part boiling mermaid daughters
Asinine aliens
Magic beings
Mystics and monks
Praying to
Diaphanous demons
A Virile and vain vampire
Dating a sparkling tree spirit
A wretched wizard
Hanging with Witty Warlocks
And Witches in weird wardrobes
A Wicked werewolf
Courting
Alluring angels
Naughty Gnomes
Teasing tiny
Pretty pixies and
Frightened fairies
An Unlucky unicorn
Being chased by
Dangerously daring dark dragon
Greedy goblins grabbing gleaming gold
Goofy Gargoyles
Glad handing
Gorgeous goddesses
And a cranky Kraken
Staring at a sickeningly sultry siren
Sitting on a salty sea stone
Trying to eat an enlightened elf
A leprechaun laughing
At a ***** hobbit
Who is trying to ****
A hairy and hostile dwarf
All stream lined in time
Put on a perfect pause
Cause they don’t do anything
They are just fake figurines
Cardboard cutouts
Pretty poems and portrait
Painting in my mysterious mind
Graff1980 Mar 2015
It’s six to two
Then staying till close
It’s overtime
Trying to find
Someone to watch the kids
It’s broken down car
When your job
Is out of town

It’s trying to decide
If you keep the lights
While eating Ramon tonight
Or if you eat something
Just a little more tasty

It’s a bottle of no doz
Cups of coffee
Twenty four ounce soda
Energy drinks
That rot your teeth
But falling asleep
On your aching feet
Isn’t an option

It is exhaustion
So deep that you can’t think
Tension so painful
That you can’t sleep

It’s a frustrated boss
Taking it out on you
No matter what you do
Because you are there

It’s grease so thick
That you can’t wash it
Out of your greying and receding hair

It’s numbing your spirit
All week long
And hoping you don’t get called in
On your day off
Cause you can’t turn it down
Cause you’re so far in debt
That you might as well
Be six feet under the ground

It’s a ticket
For something you didn’t do
Based on a bus drivers
Bad attitude
Five hundred dollars
And it also costs you

Your license
You lose your job
You lose the lights
You lose the water
You lose your house
You lose your kids

Cause you are always
One bad day
From total devastation
Graff1980 Mar 2017
I am tired but not so tired
That I can’t get inspired
By A stranger’s smile
Wrinkles in the skin
Formed around the mouth
Dimples in the chin
Slightly obscured by
Two week worth of growth
Beautiful
Hazel eyes
No scent that I can catch
Slightly receding hairline
I wonder if the ****** fluff
Slides down to his chest
I smile back
And it’s mirrored
By a man I hardly know
I turn away to check for lint
And his lent matches mine
I guess it has been sometime
Since I stared into his eyes
I shave the fur from his face
And my friend is restored
Here is the man I knew
Graff1980 Jan 2015
I am tired but not so tired
That I can’t get inspired
By A stranger’s smile
Wrinkles in the skin
Formed around the mouth
Dimples in the chin
Slightly obscured by
Two week worth of growth
Beautiful
Hazel eyes
No scent that I can catch
Slightly receding hairline
I wonder if the ****** fluff
Slides down to his chest
I smile back
And it’s mirrored
By a man I hardly know
I turn away to check for lint
And his lent matches mine
I guess it has been sometime
Since I stared into his eyes
I shave the fur from his face
And my friend is restored
Here is the man I knew
Graff1980 Dec 2014
She opens a vein
Red roses explode
Split petals bloom
Fractured rainbows of gloom
And doom

This is as close to the kisses
Of the ones she misses
That she can get

To forget in drowsy hours
Those dripping red flowers
Like the red queen
Her love was just a dream
A holy holiday
Of her lips to her lips

Because society resists
Wouldn't allow her to exist
Since she doesn't fit as she is
She decides to exits this ****

A radiant girl
A beautiful woman
Cruelly dismissed
No one knew
Her inner lighted truth
So how can she be missed?
Graff1980 Mar 2015
Moderation
Is for drinks and painful pleasures
For cancer causing goods
For guarding against the chaos of
Violence and dangerous behaviors
But do not cut the chord
Do not drop discord
For the sake of comfort
For in her eternal and cosmic glories
In her spatial and endless stories
The raptures and wonders
Are made for wrapping us up
And letting us go
Collapsing into the new dimensions
Of our various art forms
Graff1980 Jun 2015
If it bleeds it sells
We need greed to feed ourselves
To fill our shelves
With popular stuff
All sugar and fluff
No content of value
Celebrity garbage
Cause trash is more fun
And we are wallowing in it
Stewing in a sewer of pop ****
The population is loving this
Mass media content
Social networks
Comment commentators
News trolls

The digital age offers us
A great chance to change
To seek greater transparency
To counteract corrupt agencies
Requires vigilances to help us see
We have the tools to become
Truly united and finally free
If we just learned how to apply them
Properly
Graff1980 May 2017
The red eyes
And snot stained
Sleeves

The shudders of
Emotional agony

The cement stones
Standing in rows

The tears of strangers
Without homes

The raggedy man
With years of grey growth
Holding a sign
So you know
That he needs help

The elderly man
Spotted skin
Wrinkling
While people
Keep forgetting him

The climate changed
Species displaced
And people running away
To find a safe place

Me, begging you to see
The suffering of humanity
While you just ignore me
This was written for specifically for prompt on tumblr.
Graff1980 Jul 2015
I am a shadow of my own impulses
A token of spoken affections
Derelictions and broken intentions
Spent too often to mention
Because I get bored far too easy
Have to slip sideways out the door
Usually hang up the phone before
I or the other person can say goodbye
I say goodnight more often than good mor
I am more reactionary then I claim

When I abstain it is on a whim
Or from lack of opportunity to commit sin again
I am as whimsical as the wind
When I swim in what other men bend in
Or break for

Arrogant and insecure
Impure and spiritual
The dissonance of me is expansive
Without trying I am lying to myself
More often than naught I get caught
When I claim to be rational
The truth is I’m really not
dissonance
Graff1980 May 2015
I never cared for the old days much
Reminiscence is for the lazy romantics
Spitting phrases like
Life was so much better then
But history remembers
Hungry eyes
Starvation
Consumption
Poverty that would shake a romantic’s soul
Dysentery
War
Poxes
More war
Madness
More War
Greed
More War
More War
More War
Maybe times haven’t changed that much
Graff1980 Mar 2017
I remember a story from long long ago
Even though it has been years since it was told
The tale still holds strong to myth and mystique
When people told it in dark corners cause they had to sneak
From shadows to shadow in whispered tones they would speak
Pagans fleeing from the Christian scourge
That sought there destruction and wished to purge
All of their beliefs from the face of the earth
And trample their children down into the dirt
I remember each word and though I am scared as well
My heart and mind demand that I tell the tale
Of the greatest lover man has ever had
Who was gentle, passionate, angry, and sad
We have forgotten she who bore us first
Scarred her flesh, polluted her blood and done much worse
Denied her existence so that instead
We could profit from her suffering and desecrate the dead.
So even as in rain she weep for us
We are lost, wicked and unjust
Thieves of life, time and wealth
We take and take to help ourselves
Plundering the world into the abyss
Forgetting what we lost and what we should miss
However even in our darkest hour
When man destroys and covets power
I can hear her silent voice as she makes her appeal
Begging her children to love not to ****
To mend the wounds that we all need to heal
And raise each other up  if we should fail or fall
So remember these words and please heed her call
We her are children united one to each other
So let’s make peace in this moment from here to forever
2010
Graff1980 Sep 2018
A small pale faced figure stands, enshrouded in darkness, while a hauntingly sweet song softly echoes through the cave.

“There’ll be days
precious moments
see them sunning
by the bay
till, the sea
sees the star light,
blinking angels
dissipate.”

Somewhere in this sightless void a larger form slumbers. Moans of agony pass this man’s parched parted lips.  Tears moisten his painfully swollen face. The stench of sweat, *****, feces, and fetid breath fill the air around him. An alarm sounds as the last battery from the compact heater finally dies. Sloan shivers as the temperature within the cave begins to drop.
Mother mercy watches with a well-practiced stare of concern. She slides a thin, torn, and brown stained sheet over Sloan’s shuddering body. It does little to comfort the sick man. His ragged breaths slowly shift to slightly less raggedy breaths. Mother Mercy watches for a few more moments to make sure that he will not die, then settles down in a corner for the night.
Electric dreams of long ago float in the forefront of her mind. A bone thin boy of barely teenage years stumbles into a broken-down building that was once the Canadian Gazette. Stray rays of light from an overhead window brighten the small room, illuminating gun black filing cabinets, and dark wooden cubbies, colored with well-worn grey paint, which hold crumbled bits of old newspapers; One of the papers read, “Mass Methane Leak Poisons Ground Water and Air”.   Each step stirs up dust causing him to cough. Mother mercy can hear the congestion in his cough and see the fever in his scarlet flushed face. His eyes are a rabid red flitting left to right, searching for any sign of danger. A loud noise causes him to flinch. Mother Mercy moves forward, trying to speak to the boy, but like a doe sensing danger he prepares to dart.

She finds her voice. “Please. Do not leave. I can help you.” She pleads mechanically.

He moves forward, tentatively attempting to touch her. She can see a sharp scar that runs from under his right eye down to his thick dry cracked lips. He tries to speak, exposing his yellow and browning teeth and the many gaps therein.
Suddenly, daggers of light push past and through his young body. He does not cry out, but merely succumbs to disintegration. Then……
Then Mother Mercy awakens to a new morning. Waves of light bring the cavern to life.
Sunshine moves in and across the cave to expose uneven earth, and a dirt encrusted cave wall, which is oddly void of any insect life. Her hazel eyes quickly adjust to the oncoming onslaught of daylight. Once again, she checks the man to make sure he is alive. Sloan’s chest rises and falls in an unsteady rhythm, which is all she can really hope for.
She slides dark brown locks of long hair out of her eerily symmetrical face. She brushes the dust off her tattered tan coat, and her holey faded jeans. With a couple of rapid sweeping motions, she removes almost all the dirt, and pebbles from the breast of her inner shirt.
Off to the left of the cave, and still covered by shadows a small machine awaits her inspection. She examines each tube, cord, and gauge with a military proficiency. Then using the jury-rigged straps, she places the machine on her back. Heading out of the cave, Mother Mercy stops, picks up the batteries from the small heating device, and checks Sloan one more time. Finally, with her bare feet fully outside she sets off for the day’s labor.
The sky burns a bright orange interrupted by barely perceptible vapors of methane, and bluish grey cotton clouds. Despite the splendor of the morning there is nothing but silence; No dogs barking, or bees buzzing about their honey making business. There is no life to be found except for minor patches of multi-colored fauna that are randomly situated along her route. So, Mother Mercy breaks the silence with a song.

“There’ll be years
yarn unspinning
as we stumble
towards our graves,
but the seconds
in-between breaths
are what make
this life so great,”

A few miles along the way, she stops singing, and begins to check the tiny traps she has planted along her daily path. Each carefully constructed device is sadly empty. Three or four more hours after that the silence evaporates and she can hear a small stream of water running. She stops and stares down at her bare feet.

“There is something I forgot to put on my feet.” She queries to herself while continuing to walk.

A few moments pass as she puzzles out the minor mystery. Once she makes it to the edge of the stream, an awkward smile fills her tiny round face. Mother Mercy removes the machine from her back, letting it fall to the ground. It makes a loud thud and sinks several inches into the slightly softened earth.  In a movement so swift human eyes could barely perceive it, she jumps up, rising several feet in the air while crossing a considerable distance, and finally lands in the stream. Soft sizzles sound from her bare feet, as she slowly grinds them into the mud. Then Mother Mercy sloshes sloppily out of the water wearing a thick layer of dark brown mud on her feet.

“Of course, how could I forget. I need mud to cool my feet.”

She walks back to the machine, pulls it out of the ground with ease, and returns to the stream. Next, she submerges the device. Waiting till it is completely full of water, she pulls it out, and begins fiddling with knobs and switches. She waits as the water boils, completely evaporates, filters, cools, and finally condensates back into liquid. Deftly, she removes one of the filters and shakes out all the unknown particulates. Then she opens a tiny compartment, and places a small sensor device within in the water to check its quality. After a satisfactory reading she places the water filtration system back on her back and heads down a different path.
The mud on Mother Mercy’s feet dries; Dark brown shades lighten, crust up and chip off in little flakes. Irritated, she begins to slide her feet through the almost nonexistent foliage to scrape off the remainder of the drying mud. With each small patch of grass Mother Mercy moves her feet faster and faster. Her left foot flows back and forth with incredible speed and strength. There is a loud clink and a chipped piece of rock soars across the air.
In puzzlement, Mercy stares down at her foot and finds that it has split open. Red and black fluid streams from the seam of torn skin, which expands and exposes metallic bone. As she moves, the wire insulation from within her foot ruptures, revealing cheap copper conductor. The hot metal sparks, lighting up the methane in the air. A scorching white, orange, and bluish outlined fireball expands with enough force to launch Mother Mercy up and back off her feet.

She hits the ground hard, and curses,” ******* methane!”

White synthetic skin begins to melt, shifting and swirling into grotesque shapes, and darker shades of red. Mother Mercy rises, unsteadily. Wincing in pain, she unloads her heavy water filter burden. Again, she checks all the tubes, cords, and gauges. What was once a thing of ease now becomes quite burdensome. She places the filter system on her back again, and resumes her journey. The red and black liquid continues to leak. Each steps becomes slower than the last. Until, she reaches her destination. Mother Mercy collapses next to a series of solar panels. With what little strength she has left, she detaches one of the charged batteries. A look of distress crosses her already agonized face.

“I’m sorry.” She softly sobs to herself. “I need this one.”

Mercy pulls a flap of skin from the right side of her waist. An intricate maze of wires, metal, and fake flesh pulsates. Her hand plunges deep within the slimy cavity, twists, and removes a damaged battery. It is bent, and cracked leaking a thick acid liquid which viciously burns her hand. She tosses it aside then slips the unbroken battery inside the cavity, twists it, waits for the click, then removes her acid, and viscous liquid covered hand.
The synthetic skin slowly starts to unburn, shifting in reverse till it returns to its previously pristine quality. Her foot begins to pop and all the parts snap back into their original place as the split skin slowly stiches itself back together.
Mercy harvests the rest of the charged batteries and places the used ones in their charging slots. Finally, with the days labors done she heads back to the cave.
Once she is at the cave she washes a stray rag. Then cleans her hands. Cradling Sloan, she slowly serves him some water. Once he has had his fill. She gently rolls him on his side moves his shirt up searching for any sores, then proceeds to softly scrub them. She rolls him in the opposite direction and repeats the process. Then she checks his inner thighs, and **** cheeks. Sloan winces in pain but remains quiet. She gently lays him back, and rolls up his pant legs, washing the bare skin which is littered with more nasty sores. She finishes by washing his face, hands, and his feet.  Finally, she sends him to sleep with a sweet song

“and the children
that we leave
littles daughters
full grown sons
are like blooms
that lose their trees
as our roots
wither and flee.”


Mother Mercy is consumed by an unnatural fatigue. She resists slumber for a few minutes, but inevitably succumbs. Everything becomes nothingness, then changes to nothingness with dizzy brown spots. Yellow sparks split from the tip of her consciousness. The darkness dissolves and becomes the cave again. Small streams of water worm their way in from the cracks on the wall, which seems to breath unevenly. Suddenly she realizes the cave stinks like sewage. Fresh wind works its way in then blows out a stark stench of rot. Each exhale sounds like a human moaning in pain. The last flickers of light die a long-protracted death.
A wheezing breath stirs Mother Mercy from her dreams. She awakens quickly to see Sloan gasping violently.  She rushes to his side, and sees a thick yellow and greenish gooey fluid mixed with blood sliding down the side of his jaw. With her left arm she flips him over holds his upper body inches off the ground, wipes away the disgusting fluid, and checks the abscess with her free hand.

“Spit it out.” She pleads.

Sloan continues to gasp. Tears swell but refuse to fall.

“Pleebees, helpep, me.” He struggles, coughing violently.

Mother Mercy cradles him in her arms, singing,

“Till, the song
that I am singing
becomes the song
that they passed on
and the love
that I was bringing
are the wheels
that just roll on.”

Sloan, gasps and wheezes for several minutes more. Tears and sweat fill his face.

“Mob where’s my mob?” He cries between gasping breaths.

Two hours later slumber finally reclaims Sloan. An hour after that Mercy gently places his pained body back into its original position. After another half an hour she to surrenders to sleep. She sees nothing.

A stern voice commands,” **** the enemy.”

Mercy cries in response, “There are no more enemies.”

Mother Mercy awakens to a new morning. Once again, she checks the man to make sure he is alive. Sloan’s chest rises and falls. She wipes off a spot of pus and blood left over from last night’s abscess leakage.  The swelling has slightly receded, but his face is still feverishly warm to the touch. She switches out one drained battery from the heater for a fully charged one then grabs the water filter, and heads off to start the day’s labor, singing.

“So, goodnight
little planet
precious place
that I lived on.
I know you won’t
miss me one bit
but I was grateful
to call you home.”
Graff1980 Jan 2015
Loyalty makes a loser out of me
Deciding that the overriding emotion
Should rule my reason
Allowing the cowing to familial bonds
I am stuck in a sour situation
Facing no hope for improvement
Leaving this life with no secret delusion
The confusion of right and wrong
Stains my last shirt
It hurts because I am stuck in a blender
A ****** of identity
Between my father figure and me
Wanting and doing something better for myself
Would make a traitorous liar out of me
The guilt would devour me hour by hour
The freedom would empower me
Give me time to build a better me
So how do I decide
Graff1980 Sep 2015
She didn’t light the fire.
She was so discerning
watching her city burning
in complete and painful chaos.

The political arsonist
was invested in destroying this
ghetto, one small city section,
didn’t give a ****
about any woman or man
who got hurt by his plan.

So, while the flames
kept getting higher
she crept with her metal wire.
That mad mass murderer
never even heard her.
He never even got
to shout out or gurgle,
as she strangled
that fat cat *******
who made a living
off the suffering
of the innocent.
Graff1980 Mar 2016
Your voice is a melody
A thousand choirs
Of angels singing
Body bringing
Sheets of love
And soul protection
When my heart wavers
You’re my life saver
Fingers that kiss
My keys
Touching the cords
Dropping the mich
To the floor
Before
Our melodies become one
Graff1980 May 2017
I got a friend
who scraped the
bottom of the bin
with his skin,
felt his flesh
caving in,
nearly fell
giving in
to the end,

But we can
rise again.

Cause when
I was depressed
and death pressed
his fingers in my chest,
when he walked me
right up to
the nearest ledge,
when I peered
over the edge
into eternal
nothingness,
when I wanted
nothing less
then to cease to exist,

You called me on my ****,
gave me something to eat,
then talked me up
and out of this abyss.

So, I thank you for that
and I hope someday
I can pay you back.
Graff1980 Jun 2015
The couch creaked in rhythmic fashion. Darkness permeated everything. There was music, as my mother bounced back and forth in an autistic fashion. The stress of the day working itself out in her movements.
I played with my tiny figurines. GI Joes battled at my feet. I could not see them but I felt them. How could I understand the level of her sickness. Her pain would evolve adapting and developing into darker reactions. The playful tickling mother would become a spirit of vengeance.
During the daytime we shared the music, dancing and playing. My thoughts were not straying. It would take many years for me to evolve as well. It would take many more than that to find a semblance of peace.
I cannot fault her heart. She did not have the tools to understand. She only had god and work. I had books and tv shows to show me love and truth. I had dreams of something greater. I saved them all for later while she lost bits of her soul. I am certain she swallowed her own sorrows to save me from starvation.
I am sure she struggled to protect me from life’s cold hard reality, until she became the darkness herself. I am sure that a better me could forgive her, and maybe given enough time I will feel strong enough and deep enough to do it.
But for now I am seeking the truth and strength I do not have. Plucking painful and pleasant chords; There is still music here and I will play it again.
Graff1980 Jul 2017
Cold black and slim
sinking in the ground
like the earth is all
mud and quicksand.

Flags stain the varnish.
Bodies just vanish
under the guise
of the lies
by those guys
disguised as patriots.

Some coffins shrink
to fit little bodies.
Some coffins stink
just like the **** that caused them.

Short and small,
to fat and large
I see them lifted
just so they can fall.
Nightmare boxes
one and all.
Graff1980 Mar 2015
We are not soldiers
But for every heart
That breaks yonder
Tears falling
Feeling loss
There are my brothers

For every mother
Aching with the pain
Of deprivation
Of sorrow for child’s loss
For anguish in imagined failure
To care for her kin
There is my sister

For every ounce of sand
Seedling buried in the earth
There is my mother

And for every shame birthed
That I took pleasure to learn from
In my labors and my leisure
There is my father

For everything
That is part of one
Whilst separate part of none
Riddles and riff raff
There am I
Related to everyone and everything
That grows green
Walks, crawls, slithers, or swims
Rots, falls, and withers
Therein all glory lye my kin
Graff1980 Jan 2016
Desire is the ocean’s distance between us
Ethereal fingers that long to touch
Lips of dust and smoky lust
Deep blue and green oceanic eyes
That gaze upon winters
Windy white and cold landscapes

Desire is wondering what words inspire
Knowing when eyes are not cast
Toward nature’s wonder
They are down deep dipping into other wordy worlds
Absorbing all their majesty

Desire is blonde hair falling past
Her soft and desirous shoulders
Curves that cut like a silhouette
Leaving a powerful impression
Of the feminine form

Desire is a daydream of
A stone fireplace that crackles
Keeping us warm while we read poetry
Uttering each verse to one another
Full red loving lips softly mouthing
Old odes of love, and philosophy
Closing the books with
Purple blooms as bookmarks
To remind my heart that nature is love

Desire is the unreachable
Fair skin and brilliance within
Imagining that what I am seeing
Could be close enough to touch
But knowing that what I want
Might as well be Mars distance away

Desire is waiting to read what she wrote
First thing in the morning
Hoping her passions have become
Another cold fusion Estonian sun
Full of the soft natural beauty
The grey roads, the foggy mornings
The white frosty plains that adorn her horizons

If I told you my desire was purely ******
Than that would be a lie
My Eros lies closer to the other side
Halfway between erotica and love
Pushing me curiously towards
Wondering what a smile looks like
On that face

Desire is warm hand to rid myself
Holding her heartfelt image in my mind
I find time to cleanse my being
Of that ache full lust
Parting with ****** passion
And returning to calmer and deeper affections
Graff1980 Dec 2015
My faith is a wounded soldier
Ragged and bleeding
Sweating and needing
Begging and pleading
To leave this life
Blood soak **** stained
Struggling in vain
To recapture
The rapture
Of an old love

A doctrine
That fit like an old glove
Till the truth
Tore a hole right through
Leaving me
Leaving you
To stew in your delusions
While I eat my enlightenment
Like the bitter vegetable it is
Graff1980 Feb 2017
You suffered so I smiled and I offered you my hand
It is just a tool to lift you up and help me understand
Were you come from were you have been
Suffering without anyone to call to help your suffering end
At first your eyes were averted in shame and guilt
I think I can kind of understand how that felt
But I tried to help you to see
You are not alone because we are all part of the same family
I can’t offer you cash or a place to stay
I haven’t been exactly were you are or felt the exact same way
All I have is this hand that I offer you in love and friendship
And I hope you realize that we share this kinship
You are my brother in spirit and blood
You are my children in responsibility and love
So I give the best part of me that have
A hand to lift you up and a joke to make you laugh
Graff1980 Jan 2015
My heroes don’t wear capes or camouflage
Don’t snipe from sand dunes or hide behind mirages
Don’t shoot hoops in Nike shoes
Or praise Jesus while supporting corporate issues

My heroes hold hands on picket lines and tear gassed streets
Wear blood red wounds from aggressive police
Sigh and cry for the innocent
Try and try against impossible odds
Sing songs of freedom
Not the military type but the kind that social movements keep bringing

And they are still bleeding
And they are still singing
And they are still marching
And they are still dreaming

My heroes keep
Carrying children from the wreckage
Running into burning buildings
Bandaging wounds
Holding the hands of strangers who are in danger,
Sheltering strangers, feeding strangers,
Caring for the poor,
Singing songs of love,
Putting down their guns and refusing to ****
While they pass out water bottles on the battlefield

These are my heroes
And they are still healing
And they are still singing
And they are still loving
And they are still dreaming
Graff1980 Mar 2017
My inner child yells at me playfully
Hey did you go off and forget about me
I have been sitting here all week
While you were away at work
While you were brushing your teeth
Pushing those buttons or falling asleep
Why would you go out and forget about me
I reply in kind that I had not forgotten him
Life has become faster and faster than
I am able to keep up with
So there are thing I have to sacrifice
He pouts a bit and sob but why
Why I sigh because I am a man
And as a man I must do what I can
To make the world a better and safer place
For everyone in the whole human race
This means that work must be done
Before we make time for fun
Again he pouts and sob but why
Why because no matter how hard I try
There is always more that need doing
If I am going to get the promotion I must be a shoe win
What is a shoe win he says with a laughing grin
I meant to say a sure thing
But we both get distracted because it’s so nice outside
Graff1980 Feb 2017
My last dance will be an inspiration
Hands to hands tightly intertwined
Music deeper than any revelation
And all done in my own time

My last meal will be very delicious
Sampling a bit of all of my favorite things
And being my last, need not be nutritious
Humming with flavor cause you know it makes me sing
My last slumber will be the deepest I’ve known
Dreams will no longer come at all
My essence thus departed receding from how I’ve grown
So there will be no me left to recall

My last conversation will never be my last
Though my bodies may fade
Becoming only an echoe in the past
My words will remain to be remade

Revisited over and over again
It may not be immortality
But it is as close as I can come my friend
Words etched in the collective unconscious
Until humanity ends
Graff1980 Mar 2015
My love cannot heal you
Or save you from this wretched place
It will not save the world
Nor restore the human race
I am just a pebble
Pond’s distance from the end
I am just a droplet in the desert
Deserving a little more then
I began with

My love will not restore you
Or save you from the horrors
But in these softer moments
My love can hold you
Comfort not control you
Cushion you against the harshness
Give you time to find the self
So maybe you can heal yourself
Graff1980 May 2017
It is a lonely voice that cries out into the night, seeking its own echoes, longing for a shadow that reflects its mournful lamentation.  Are you there? Am I truly here? What is the point of this fruitless struggle if I am bound by flesh and destined to die? I cannot crack the code of destiny; though sometimes I can divine just a spark of hope from inspiration. I pay the steepest penance for my arrogance. While others can cloud their minds with the daily confusion, I am humbled by how little I truly know.                        

            However, I remain if just for this fleeting moment a mortal attached to the plane of matter and energy. Life holds boundless possibilities beyond my ability to imagine. So with my limited faculty I imagine something better. I picture love transcendent, Love that feels without desire, Love that lives without want of ownership. I give you, the world I adore, the greatest gift that I have to offer. I cannot send you cash nor will I conceive to write my feelings with the way of war and bloodshed. What I have is in essence what I am, so I give you love, and hope that you cherish it. For this love is fragile and precious. This love is the best of me and now it belongs to you.
Graff1980 Jan 2017
The struggle is futility
Patient people play the part
Of impartiality
The wiser are restraint
Castigated for their intelligence
Castrated by their class
A classless struggle we abide
Poor children barely manage
To survive and seldom thrive
Not given access to the tools
Of excellence
But we wield the sword of obsolescence
Antiquated ideas put on the same level as
Modern machines and moral philosophies
Broad language discarded for
The disinfected nature of stupidity
Our language is censored
And free thought is crippled
Thus to succeed we must
Write to their level of understanding
So they can understand it
Which means we do not expect grandness
From the masses
That we underrate what they are capable of
The papacy’s power is palatable but detrimental
The Popes presence sends his parishioners
In to servitude as they submit to the
Sublimation of their identity
Unable to identify the truth from the lie
Unable to separate the flock from the I
I become the villain
For stating these things
So I drop names like Darwin and Thomas Paine
I wear the scarlet letter of poet and philosopher
Of Supplicant to science, Of literate romantic
I the son of Percy Bysshe Shelley
The son of Twain and Poe
The Son of Shakespeare and Baudelaire  
The son of logic and poetry
The lost ******* of peace, love, and understanding
I leave the eve of man’s ill behavior
To see the seething corps of corpses
Rise in ignorance strive for pestilence
With hopeful hate in their eye
To perpetuate the self-fulfilling prophecies
Of all types of apocalypses
But in the end it will be I that am despised
Thus if I must be hated then at least
Favor me with this tiny justice
Like Galileo, Giordano Bruno, and Copernicus
I will wear chains well earned
There is so much knowledge to be had
So learn, live, love and then learn some more
Graff1980 Nov 2014
The struggle is futility
Patient people play the part
Of impartiality

The wiser are restraint
Castigated for their intelligence
Castrated by their class

A classless struggle we abide
Poor children barely manage
To survive and seldom thrive
Not given access to the tools
Of excellence

But we wield the sword of obsolescence
Antiquated ideas put on the same level as
Modern machines and moral philosophies

Broad language discarded for
The disinfected nature of stupidity

Our language is censored
And free thought is crippled

Thus to succeed we must
Write to their level of understanding
So they can understand it

Which means we do not expect grandness
From the masses
That we underrate what they are capable of

The papacy’s power is palatable but detrimental
The Popes presence sends his parishioners
In to servitude as they submit to the
Sublimation of their identity

Unable to identify the truth from the lie
Unable to separate the flock from the I
I become the villain
For stating these things

So I drop names like Darwin and Thomas Paine
I wear the scarlet letter of poet and philosopher
Of Supplicant to science, Of literate romantic

I the son of Percy Bysshe Shelley
The son of Twain and Poe
The Son of Shakespeare and Baudelaire  
The son of logic and poetry
The lost ******* of peace, love, and understanding

I leave the eve of man’s ill behavior
To see the seething corps of corpses
Rise in ignorance strive for pestilence
With hopeful hate in their eye
To perpetuate the self-fulfilling prophecies
Of all types of apocalypses

But in the end it will be I that am despised
Thus if I must be hated then at least
Favor me with this tiny justice

Like Galileo, Giordano Bruno, and Copernicus
I will wear chains well earned
There is so much knowledge to be had
So learn, live, love and then learn some more
Graff1980 Jun 2015
I got a friend who finds her heartbreaking
Even though she is breathtaking
Perfect flesh made for the taking
Of love of air of hope and dreams
It seems that screams haunt her heart
The lines built in her skin
Are threadings of the once him
She has lost a light that I never knew
I never had the pleasure to see it shine through
Only now do I get an inkling of her truth
She is a violin in the cemetery
A wolf with bat wings yes she is that scary
She is a writer like me a dark art beauty
Whether she will ever know it or not
She is a beloved dear friend
And I will treasure these moments
We shared till the end
Or until my Alzheimers kicks in
Graff1980 Jan 2015
Check out the lights
Lets transcend the heights
Of my own imagination
Past garbled salt water
Part boiling mermaid daughters
Asinine aliens
Magic beings
Mystics and monks
Praying to
Diaphanous demons
A Virile and vain vampire
Dating a sparkling tree spirit
A wretched wizard
Hanging with Witty Warlocks
And Witches in weird wardrobes
A Wicked werewolf
Courting
Alluring angels
Naughty Gnomes
Teasing tiny
Pretty pixies and
Frightened fairies
An Unlucky unicorn
Being chased by
Dangerously daring dark dragon
Greedy goblins grabbing gleaming gold
Goofy Gargoyles
Glad handing
Gorgeous goddesses
And a cranky Kraken
Staring at a sickeningly sultry siren
Sitting on a salty sea stone
Trying to eat an enlightened elf
A leprechaun laughing
At a ***** hobbit
Who is trying to ****
A hairy and hostile dwarf

All stream lined in time
Put on a perfect pause
Cause they don’t do anything
They are just fake figurines
Cardboard cutouts
Pretty poems and portrait
Painting in my mysterious mind
Graff1980 May 2015
Cloaked in clouds of night
Facing off against the morning light
She is lunar beauty
Beckoning me
Celestial
Exquisite
Elemental mistress
Who molds the tides
With her gravitational will
Corn red
Blood phases
Full smile to a quarter
And if she should ever depart
My orbit
Well, the result would be
Cataclysmic
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