Her psyche inhaled and imbibed me in
As her universe is like a Monet of modern strokes!!!
I felt an electrical jolt!!!

I will not talk about my losses,
where I neither gave up nor tossed
in the towel,
and still did
not come out
a winner, the winner.

Maybe I am not built to compete, I have no grit
no edge to my way,
maybe life is fun,
and we are to just play?

Maybe when you feel sorry for your self, you lose,
your edges now, are broken bits,
that makes deep cuts into your pysche,
a vivisection of the visceral.

Maybe thoughts like this are best bottled up and
tossed in an ocean made up of the tears
that rain down and pour like a wash
filled with
every dream, every goal, every first step of last resort,
I ever had that never left
the space. the gray space above my ears, which heard
my cry and my eyes which see but have no handles to turn off
the faucets that they have become, leaking saline,
while I pretend to understand Einstein.

I write and that makes me a writer and a winner,
what pray tell, are you a winner at...?

I am listening.


©DWE112013

Atlas shrugged &
shook the brains  
outta Tuesday's baby
about noon
on a Kathmandu doomsday.
the Berkley Tribe,
all the like & kindly rivals
was all in an uprising
over the missing peace
& meanwhile
The Big Evil cavorted on
in the east
of everywhere.

and the They was distorting real reality
to tickle their own fancy
& pawn overpriced romance
novels off on the populace.

nevermind the **** ***
boiling over on the stove top.

foiled again in clover feilds
& the poison only yields
it never stops completely

**** for pysche
forcefield shield
of freedumb fighter
white knight
izard-*******
grand wizards

winner gets the glittery
7 minutes in heaven
with the blister queen
licking scissors
shiva shiver
ego wither &
sizzle in a cigarette flicker
**** a filter
my lungs aren't black enough                                                         
& this isn't the end

filthy tongued
french kiss misery.
    
he's that crass.
& he wants to be a *******, so
Charlie did himself in the chapel&
got laughs when the rats
came to have at the maggots
in his skin
he called em both his children
& loved em unconditionally.

Only figured
he address the issue
by ******* bout
the situation that faced
him & all of us
instead of
setting things in they place.

*have grace

Movement stirs within womb of thought;
spellbound in fluid sac, fetally curled in
warmth; neither blooming in mind or
heart as host is indecisive; concept mote.

mind blank; confused as...

dubious action causes shame, bearing of
birth unwanted; incestuous violations,
sexually abused as crimson feather blooms
within body too young to blush; thoughts
in flaming anger flushed.

drenched in attrition...

passionate disdain of horrid disgust; in hand,
hanger of mass destruction; a fetal demise
plays against familial distrust, inside mind
combusts; a finger pointed, says, young eyes
beguiled and flamed their lust.

innocence stolen..

in back alley clinic, I extract what is just,
aftertaste, body refuting life flushed;
pysche destroyed, used like someone's toy,
chastity drained from eyes; no longer angelic;
turned cold and coy, ambivalence to destroy.

devious ploys invade anima of woman-child,
turned frigid of emotions; used and abused,
even though given emancipation rights; making
fledgling choices; in voices, now foul-tongued.

still young....

dumbfounded within...

yet, fetally unsprung...

I bet you forgot about me
Hiding away in the darkest recess
Locked within your deepest imagination
Thinking you were at last safe from me

Well, I am going to come back very soon
When you are least expecting to see me
Attacking within your nightmares this time
Playing new games with your very pysche

So you better keep an eye over your shoulder
For that glimpse of movement in a dark corner
Because I had no intention of staying defeated
When I so many to new souls to play with

No scarred monk will ever get the better of me
The story will start again, deadly that before
Listen to that whisper on the coldest of winds
When I ask once more, *"Do you want to play a game"?

-Under the iceberg.

There is something I must get off my chest,
A few nights ago, I browsed the deep web.

Curiosity got the best of me,
I had to do it or Id go crazy.

I saw many things I can not unsee,
Endless horrors still living in my pysche.

I couldve stopped anytime, actually,
But instead, I chose to stay glued to my pc.

Now, even though I witnessed obscene ****,
I dont regret what I did, not one bit.

I take a pen

I cut my wrists and bleed

My life flows onto the page

Bright red, so terribly wonderful

The mountainous peaks and unending vales of my pysche

Stretch out in a flowing river of ink

Of blood

Of my immortal soul

Of me.

I paint the portrait with hues that can not be seen

And sing with the silent voice of trees that have since been felled.

I pull you in, I take you down

I want you to drown in an ocean of ink and paper,

To become lost in the borderless forests cultivated within my mind

I want to pull you into my skull,

So you can see me how I truly am.

I want you to know how truly alive I am.