Over and over,
this smooth sound is going through one
ear and the other, the settle sound
of the rushing of blood
flowing through my ever shedding,
ever alleviating body, by nature? NO.
Still accompanied by the "truth," my human
parts being made without molded clay,
all of them free now, a part of something many
find "naughty."
You can find similarities in the mountains,
in the various hills arches, like the back, the neck,
the lift of the full volume of your chest,
You reach for the toothbrush, the comb,
ashamed; your hair in tangles, of the teeth that decay,
though one time you shall see how the
chest is so filled with pain. Nevermind.
We all don't care about that pain until it happens that
eventual day. This human body made "without perfections,"
it continues to smell, to pleasure or suffer, to be hungry,
to find itself wrapped up in it's sole need for ***.
We must remember to be clean for inspections.
No exceptions, no matter what is being said.
It will keep clawing, keep scratching, until it finds it's
way out, once it escapes it's metal cage.

He came back to me in vicious cycles
He knew where I lived, and where I learned
No matter how many times I screamed at the top of my lungs in his face that his power was useless,
My screams only tightened his grip on my throat
I knew I couldn't be free
I had to end the vicious cycle

-E (c) 2017

Monotony is the key,
To my own Insanity.

Many moons pass by as i walk toward the edge of the earth-
the sun shines hard
my eyes squint for a shade
a strong salty breeze twirls my stance for a dance
as my eyes stare at rocks with unfamiliar faces sail towards me
and a door swifts open- a gentle cloud welcomes me to see what this world has left me to be

@memovithana

Another day in the life
A shadow cast upon the earth
Cold atmosphere caresses your skin
Warm blood is the gift of birth
Iron flavor coats your tongue
Swallow the ***, for the next of kin
Begins again, and again, until
You learn life's final lesson.

Some just begin to rise
Others begin to fall
People's sleeping changes with dusk
Heeding the night's call

The early bird tucks in for sleep
The night owl wires up for fun
As people continue their daily cycles
With the disappearance of the sun

i thought i knew about
the waves,

i thought i knew about
the melancholy

of how the moon cycle
did curse the seas to

fold in and fold out
on command until

everything did pour out
onto the beaches;

exhausted.

a slave to cycles, they said!
well, the sea and a woman

they were always equal,
in that respect.

i thought i knew
about the internal

sense, how we do
anticipate tides of

distress to greet us
every so often by moonlight.

i expect it now; to
come home and weep,

but only by harvest moon,
and only by God’s hand.

so, here it comes,
the big one.

hormonal, chemical, awful
sickness; i wait for it.

no surfer skill could keep
me from falling prey to it.

nervous, so nervous
about the sea, pounding.

tricked into thinking,
that foresight was valuable.

that if i knew of its arrival,
i could yield, taste grass

instead of sands, coral
craggy beaches

where i am stranded
until spring rolls in.

so,

here it comes,
the big one.

One to twelve, one to twelve,
clocks on the wall, one to twelve.
Circle circles, cycle cycles,
chains of time on the mind, stuck in this hell.
Back into the light, you've came here so many times;
deja vu flashes clues yet you still can't tell,
how we used to be able to reach thirteen but they've got us stuck in this cycle of one to twelve.

Swollen knee,
          Come the night I fell;
          Rail iron and blood wrought whiskey.

Swollen knee,
          When the light met me ‘fore the tunnel;
          Far from warm, but a frigid tucked.

Swollen knee,
          As the paper bag whispered the other’s wails;
          I’d imagine my mother crying come dawn.

And the once sullen autumn leaves,

Like my once swollen broken knee,
          Rush ahead for my wishes of spring,
          Bloodied, my palm, and in wait for something new.