I cant escape
My life’s ******
My mind won’t take a break

And broken
Is all I feel
Wounds and scars
That will never heal

Feels like I’m drowning
While everyone’s breathing
Gasping for air
While everyone’s looking
Reaching out
And no one is helping
Fighting for my life
All I know is this suffering

No handouts and no savior here
I see emptiness when I look in the mirror
I see this life as a reflection of self
No home no heart
Cant relate to anyone else

I know I’m not the only one
With his finger on the trigger of a gun
I know I’m not the only one
That’s felts this way and wanted to give up

You’re not alone
Let these words be your home
Let this feeling help you to know
We all feel the same
It’s all part of the show

Why is life ****** up like this
Worse and worse
Is all it gets
Like a sick joke
Made at our expense
One day we’ll win
And it’ll all make sense

I was lying in the dark
the floor was cold
the water pool marked
not only my clothes
but also the moment
in which this is told
the moment in wich
my small life got poled.
I was told it would burn my eyes
I was told to open them
but the gap I created
was not known to man
that liquid brought sharp pain
pain like acid tears, no like acid rain
hitting down my eye globe
whipping down my sight code
ripping down the kicking dawn
that was just my inside load.
Now I see a light tho'
I think, when I see fights, "go"
Because running  away from
day to day insn't right... no...

she gets you
always a rattle before she strikes

vitality
immortality
in vitro

wisdom
intrinsic
are you starting to get it?

Gaian
getting high in
something not in short supply

the serpent’s vine
so divine
initiate

awakenings
transmutations
and healing

sharpening intuition
bringing to fruition
and feeling

fire medicine
vulcanizing
dimethyltryptamine

a single entity
going round and round
seeking peace

the snake of life
she gets you
always a rattle before she strikes

Everything
Is
Alive


Words Of Harfouchism

Cosmic serpent
Flies in circles
Orbits earths
Visits vessels
Stings and wrestles

Prowls the plain
The desert arrangements
Faces fire no fear
Takes one look at the spider

Sees through the fire
Undresses the only envy
The necessity plenty
Of spiraling ascent

To meaning manifest
A plunge into the nest of the fortune cookie prophecies

Fate pulled from a hat
In the terraforming visions of the seven breasted harpy speech devours itself
The visioneer’s ouroboros precludes ovals of assimilation clinging tight to the exoteric
The vessel rejects the half digested
An ammonia laden upheaval

Dispelling folderol with blinding reverence
Inviting tragedy with nostalgic foresight
Wet nightmares
Logic abandons the visioneer ****** into the opposite of static

Truth be told, I was skeptical.
Was this worth the cowry shell equivalent?
My mind was a dry skin covered foot caught on a fleece blanket.
My tongue, lined with the taste of that earthy bile.
Distant isles between Alaska and Ayahuasca,
but it all comes rushing back. Jungle visions.
-
I
        take
                    ten
               ­              sickly      
                                          steps
                ­                                     toward
                                                          ­         the
                                                             ­              teetering  
                                                     ­                                      ethereal
                                                        ­                                                  edge.
-
She's once again lined with that finespun glow.
I'm once again letting the little things go.
She's letting me know for the very first time.
I'm struggling to find words for the very last rhyme.
-
                                        Trudging
       ­     tip-toed
through
                                           ­                       the
                  nonlinear
      narr­ative;
                                       elegantly
                                                       ­     elephantine.
-
Lick your wounds, traveler.
Set your eyes to the pale star's gleam.
Dogma unraveller
with an elementary scheme.
We are nature's instruments.
We are watchers in the night.
Softened slightly by the dissonance
of the dearly departed Wight.
-
He's slipping in and out.
Orbium linguam avium.
Labra lege: hic sunt dracones.
Let us dine on cremated elves.
-
     m sw ll   w  ng sw rds   nd st rs.
R zn hdzooldrmt hdliwh zmw hgzih.
I a         a  o   i          o      a         a  .
I am swallowing swords and stars.
-
.ecnatsbus em evig dna eniltuo ym nekraD
.savnac eruza siht otno seye s'ti tsac dluow nuS eht hsiw I
?suhpysiS fo redluob eht I mA
.noitcerid gnorw eht ni gnilbmut no peek I
-
We're sailing on the calmest of waters,
but there is not a drop to drink.
Bad news for the boy who only rejects omens.
I will not hang a dead bird around my neck.
Retrace the lace and my hazy days of habit,
then let me know your honest opinion.
Exhibit an execution by exsiccation of the most exuberant exiles.
Or am I the only one who's thirsty?
-
                                                      ­                      Who here is the ghost?
I know **** well it's not me.
                                                             ­                            Who said that?
I know I did.
                                                            ­                                        Didn't I?
Couldn't be.                                                              ­            
                                                    ­                                                    Am I?No.                                  
                         ­           Hopper, this isn't sinking in.
I am not a liar.
-
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01101111011­100100110011101100001011011100110100101100011

011011010110000101­1000110110100001101001011011100110010101110011
-
I was supposed to be writing something down.
Some kind of secret; some kind of rune.
Can you help me find our primal core?
Your carnal truths are mine to keep.
Weren't you supposed to be going somewhere?
The flea burrow, no, The Doubling House.
For in those halls of mold and paper walls
your memories were uneagerly forged.
It's time to shed your summer skin
and begin to eat with your hands.