in an old
old house
there are corpses in the cradles
and an old
delusional woman.
it's reeks of flesh
and baby powder
piled with blood-stained clothes
a "husband" lies
cold in bed
with parts
from "almost-perfect" men
the floor sags
and the stairs creek
the walls echo
with the cooing
cracking
voice
of an old
delusional
woman.

He's not just a man
He can fly, he can fall
He can run, he can protect
He's a superhero

He fly, he's on the top of the world
Touching the white clouds
With his hand unto his soul
Feeling the cold spring breeze

He fall, he's covered with mud
Like any man, he can stumble and fall
But he didn't mind the cold mud
And continued to walk with life

He run, he's faster than speed of light
Though it's hard to believe
It's true he can run on water
Everything happened like bullet shot ahead

He protect, he's an invincible man
Like any other super heroes
He's strong and will protect any one
To make this world a better one

Because if you're in danger  
Like dust flying swiftly in the wind
He'll come to your rescue
And bring justice with his pride

He tries harder and harder like crazy
Fighting with effort to save the nation
With his blood, sweat and tears
He deserves a praise like of a Superhero

Though he's unaware of the realities he does
He's living in his own sweet nightmare
As he continues to bring out the best of him
And continue to save the people around him

Yet, beyond his own utopian world
Comes out the truth of his existence, he's no superhero
But he's a man, someone who can't fly
But a man that can stumble and fall

The people around him can't deny anymore
As they look into his eyes, there they knew
Everything's wonderful, but never true
And that he's held captive to his own illusions

They saw beyond his superhero behaviors
He became someone nobody knows
He only knows himself through his perception
Because he's held captive to his own illusions

Like a maze where no one can get out
He'll remain there without help to escape
If not helped, someday it will bring his end, because He doesn't need someone to save but himself.

She plays him
With her finger
A few movements
Seconds

Hundreds of miles away
She lifts him
And then throws him

Into tears he falls
A feather’s worth his pride
Full of doubt

The butterflies on his face
He doesn’t notice anymore

The antelopes in his steps
Only mountain mules

All the little birds
Who whisper his presence
Chatty little fools

He does not hear
The flowers bowing down
Nor the leaves and petals
He everyday walks on

He loves a dream
A nightmare to him
He plays the game
Straight into oblivion
And calls it love

While she...
                      Won’t pick him up again

That is generous of you
to
request my insight on what you write,
please review my response with an un-ending mind.
So thank you but I must decline...
I read so much but mainly I just write.
I fear if I read your work, I would only find myself discouraged once again.
Understand that writing releases some of my inner pain,
It doesn't matter who's pain, why or from where it came,
I just have to let it out all the same.
It doesn't matter if it's for an injustice done against me or against another... I feel it all the same.                                        
For 1 example;
if the pain is about an injustice done to another then I don't question as to why they don't speak up. I figure I've had peace in my life, more than enough, to make up for what other's go without.
So see, I build up a little confidence, from time to time. Falsely convinced that I've talent in my own writing's & fooled to believe they would actually be of some help.
Then the blinders fall off when I start reading another's work,
revealing to me what, TALENT,
really means.
Then I put my pencils and my paper up along with my diluted ideas that I can help.
The emptiness swallows me when upon realizing, my words will never be read or heard.
They're not good enough. I write hoping to make a difference. So, I ask you, "what's the use in trying raise awareness for any purpose?"  
So yeah, then the depression coils within me turning into a knot,
it gets so tight that if I don't bounce to write, I might as well die.
In spite of trying to hold it in, my veins ink the blood out,
forced pulsating feelings and raw emotion's splatter into words.
I do feel that addressing one injustice at a time helps this world to be little more kind, if only for 1 at a time.
So, I'd rather stay on this same mirago round and not get off this time. I know once it stops, the pain resolves. But not really!
Only long enough to settle before it sour's
into depression. Recounting in my mind, I'm worthless, a fool, thinking my words could make a difference. At least not in this world much less for 1 person treated unkindly.
The mirago round stops and the world's the same. Nothing's changed so no, thank you... I'd rather spin deliriously, believing that I did 1 right thing, even if it's changing just 1 person's state of mind.
So instead of getting off to stand,
I'll stay on my delusional ride, unlike you at
least I'm not pretending to take a *ucking stand for what's right!
This is my answer in poetic form.
May God forgive for the profanity, at least it's not hypocrisy! Right? Oh I forget, the one's that
are in a postion are the ones who forget about serving for a mission,
they lack moral vision of what's right!
I guess then I bid you night.
#VenjencieArnold #SacredInkedBlood
#MyDelusionalRidewrittenbymeon
True!! I hate feeling this way. God forgive me if I'm wrong and help me to stay strong esp if I'm right.

Blessings, Venjencie © 4 months ago, new edit by me on ©09/23/2018 SacredInkedBlood

Have you ever had a fantasy boyfriend?
The kind that thinks that you’re
A couple
Despite the fact that
You don’t have their cell number
Nor their name,
often
You never had *** or traded spit
They don’t know where you live
They, in fact, know nothing about you

A little laughter shared
Perhaps
A momentary giggle waiting
for the bathroom door to open
And bam! Like Zeus.
Without your ever knowing, you are a team.
A team that never engages
but together none the less. Solid.
Ride or Die.
Then one day
You have an ugly break up.
You never saw it coming
What did you do, you wonder?
He won’t speak to me!
He’s mad. Filled with resentment.
His eyes are on fire. I am hated.
He will show up the next time we see one another
with a woman
And that’s when you finally know for certain
You just had a Fantasy Boyfriend
How did you rupture?
It’s an eerie realization.
Like understanding in an instant
that neither are you the ventriloquist
nor the dummy
But somehow
you
go back into the box.

Better still, have you ever encountered the sub-species
Fantasy Bad Boyfriend?
Or Fantasy Abusive Bad Boyfriend?
They are perhaps the worst of the lot, naturally.
They don’t call.
They date other women.
They sit in their living rooms assured that you’re waiting at their front door.
In the rain.
With flowers.
Over and over the bell, ring though it might
It pleads on your behalf.
And yet they will not answer
And I was not standing there.
I was at the beach
watching the rain fall upon on the water.

You never called
so when they
disappear
For
Days
And return unannounced
You’re just now finding out that
there are serious cracks in your relationship.
They used you
They played with your heart
They apologize for the treatment of which you are so very undeserving
They never wanted you.

Yet you never spoke.
Never popped over with
Flowers
Nor cookies!
Never sat in your car waiting
You were out town the entire
Time.
You two did see a movie once.
That is true.

But now you’re over.
And he’s moved on.
And suggests with his absence?
that you do the same.
You can tell.

Some days your paths cross.
He stands still as Jesus
At the Hollywood Farmer’s Market.
With his wife and new baby
Or
Dog.
She looks at you with suspect eyes while you think about the tomatoes.
Someone wags their tail and hopefully they will quickly move along
en famille.
You hold your tomato plants and shudder.
You walk over to the double blossom peppermint tulips.
Tight little babies ready to unfurl.
The ones you never gave him.

The ghost of the night,
Out to get me in plain sight.

Can't stop,
Stop,
STOP...

Pacing,

Back and forth
And back and forth.

Standing at the sink
Looking up to see
Something I cannot believe.

He stares me down,

Taunting,

"You're only a little boy, who I've been wanting."