It took me seven years
to realise
the words in my mind
were too deep for
my mouth to dig up
I thought it was easier
to open my skin
and let the truth
pour down my arms

It took me seven years
to realise
nobody should be allowed
to touch parts
of your home
or hold pieces  
of your heart
that you don't yet understand

It took me seven years
to realise
I will wear these scars
forever
I'll carry them
through every smile
every kiss
every concerned gaze
I'll carry them
to my grave

It took me seven years
to realise
the pain carved
into the walls
of my castle
etchings of
attempting to disappear
are not a story of weakness
but a tale of
how I survived

Death told her
           her life should end
and he was her friend

Calmly, she stole my gun
     she walked outside in the sun
pulled the trigger, set the mood
barrel to her head to conclude

I saw her head come undone
,,, Reached down, for my gun
Eyed the chunks in her hair
Now to my head |
                               |I draw a rose there.

Amidst the smoke and light and laughter
Along the smiles and cheers thereafter

A sound is bled, wrung free from strings
It bounds and treads and wholly sings
Inside each song, a secret’s moved
Not right nor wrong or frequent proved
The message dances from bow to ear;
A coded trance of love and fear
From left to right the story rings
Of death and light the Cello brings
The covert tale engulfs the room
It vibrates truth to those who loom
The Cello knows for why it’s played
Its secret lost, both gone and stayed

In the smoke and light and laughter
Music lies and cries thereafter

the colon is not used to make emphasis, rather: crafting a collateral ratio argument... capitalism is finding it hard to compete, in that it's left with only self-competing, it has spawned: out-competing itself... which is perhaps why it had to invest in a.i. technology; but in furore it's still dismass regarding the prospect of a success of hybrid-communism in the case of china... oh, don't we look oh so pretty pretty with our amazonian looks, of a diverse "earnings"? capitalism is in a stage of rethinking socialism, it can't live without a genuine antagonist, as much as it can't antagonise itself: also called the reversal of detonating an atom bomb.

it's hardly about building an
actual wall,
     or believing in a geography,
let alone a border...
   perhaps i was born
   in a place that was
considered *red ostrowiec:
      a sharpness of well
i.e. ostry (sharp -
denoting a male pronoun
use -
     ostrość - the quality
ascriptive of a knife -
         sharpness)
        and więc,
            i.e. well?
                      that's inquisitive...
  because, most of the time
  (as i rather not say: sometimes)
             "things" become hidden
to allow for a coagulation
                       arcade;
digression aside:
        these people are a wall...
whatever border there may
          be on a geography map,
              even with or without
a border...
             that's genuine to
translate 20th century german
existential concept of
          volk: a people -
               it's almost sad seeing
people with tattoos...
when the actual tattooing is
done by history...
  cognitive, sure,
         but far more apparent...
    i may live in "exile"
   just like a toy with
                made in china
is used in "exile"...
                but these days you
can translate german national
socialism into polish, with?
                       volk: a people.
like an abandoned father
with a brood of younglings...
  watching from afar...
there was no need to build
an actual wall...
       the people morphed into
one... like a phalanx formation.

orthography implies: a word, yet diacritics implies letters, and ιota is the perfect example of an unnecessary diacritical misapplication, notably observed in a language that observes orthography: which is non-existent in english: which is still to untangle from the latin graphemes ae & oe; english hasn't untangled itself from the grapheme modus operandi: which is why LL TT NN OO GG PP: pull fattening manner pool bigger popping - invite the stutter!

- a word is worth is its orthography -
    yet there is absolutely no need to indicate
the letters I & J with a lower-case diacritical branding:
because suddenly one of the letters disappears!

                        i.e. with i = ι, j = ī

  a letter disappears!
             and people thought that quantum
physics was bewildering...
         because there is no ****** reason
to apply diacritical marking on a phonetic
mark that's already a "solipsistic" unit...
         a saying revealed by:

                     ιota = ιgrek in the north...
               | = . because what is 1 squared?
1... what's 1 cubed? 1. what's 1 to the power
            of 10? 1.

glitches glitches glitches glitches
glitches glitches glitches glitches
twitching twitching twitching twitching
glitches glitches glitches glitches

- only yesterday i was in a supermarket
      and met a fellow traveller:
a distant kin, whom i might have
    shared a native conversation with...
point being: i could spot a language
behind the "faςade" of accent...
   call that quasi s?
   a word sprang to mind -
                  ziomek,
a slang among immigrants denoting:
a fellow of shared roots.
yet that morphed into an:
orthographic anomaly -
      why does the i and j need diacritical
marks when there are
exceptions to be made: otherwise?
   you know how easily
  you can write *ziomek
   differently while still retaining
the word and it's meaning?
                        źomek:
because the diacritical mark ****
of ιota is just that...
              the unholy umlaut of
i & j...
               | and .
                          are already synonymous:
they're not inter-sectional akin
to the illiterate signature of X...
why was it so hard to make a mark by
a mere I... instead marking
a count to 10? ah... in Kantian terms:
0 = negation...
                well: the 1 is to be denied.

the shock
of bodies—
a sound
rippled in
cheetah lightening
to wings of blasted
flowers taught
red
yellow
lavender sky—

butterfly wound
festering pollened
breeze to
where your
mouth
is opened
breath
tongue
and twisted cord—

opaque bee
twirling with
opaque stamen
lit
in a wall of
rushing
waterfall—a
perfect contrast
of forgiveness