A man murdered his stepdaughter and framed me for the crime.
I was arrested and found guilty by a jury and I had to do hard time.
He blew his stepdaughter's head off because she refused to sleep with him.
He tried everything he could to get what he wanted but she wouldn't give in.
She was a good girl and she would not betray her own mother.
He murdered her in cold blood, that's how little he thought of her.
I was the gardener and I had a crush on the man's stepdaughter.
But he set me up, he made it look like I was the one who shot her.
He hid the ****** weapon in my apartment.
When the cops found it, jail was where I went.
While doing hard time, the thought of getting even kept me from coming unhinged.
The only thing that kept me going was knowing that I would eventually get revenge.
Getting revenge wasn't just something that I wanted, it was also something that I needed.
But that scumbag died just one month before my release, so when it came to getting revenge, I was cheated.
I wanted to torture that pervert and when he truly suffered, he would die by my hand.
I wanted him to beg for mercy he wouldn't receive and I truly wanted to **** that man.
I'm thinking about committing suicide because I was unable to make him pay.
How can I go on when my chance of getting revenge has been taking away?

the more you're attached to your narration of life,
the more you are missing the comprehension;
which indeed can't ever be contained or explained.
we are the derivative of energies and ****** up chunk of proteins, which doesn't want to be a part of anything else but you. '

you're the biggest cover to keep and you're the biggest secret to reveal, to not the very world but very self of yours.'
that's the fixture you do with narration, you never hold it; you give up on it but what you can learn is the comprehension.

as her ladies paint
her blue blood on her lips
Cleopatra speaks:
“queens die like this:
with the theatrics
of the crowning ceremony
and the proud negligence
of the morning toilette:
the gods-awful magnificence
of a wrist-flick:
draw me my milk bath,
bring me my venom pills.”

It wasn't so much childhood trauma as it was a soap melodrama. But I wasn't the protagonist and I soon realised that I had become redundant to their narrative.

Part way into the 8th series I left to star in my own spin off at a boarding school set in the Chilterns where I had greater success. Oh, yes - there was the occasional well-choreographed cross-over, but nothing substantive; and I successfully developed my own independent brand.

Years have passed and we don't do cross-overs anymore, but they may turn up for the occasional, one-scene guest appearance.

I prefer it this way. It's not Made In Chelsea, but it's my own reality drama.

my untackled thoughts
quake miniature dramatics ;
cramming for the light
having fits for my attention

through each
I am irresponsibly born
and then hastily killed...
it is a wasteful process

from now on
I shall label them
as they surface
I shall call them Petty Mort
both a joke at their expense
and a simple dismissal

with this manner
I shall practice trimming them
from my chosen daily effort

we come to rest in peace awaiting answers and
I slip after to the land of Nod...

woke, for a joke, we hope...

we see dis
similarities, I am shackled
standing five ten before
a trio of judges

in wigs, Shirley Temple wigs.

I grow three feet, or about two cubits,
and I stare my judges in the eye

my chains expanded with me, as bindings,
worthless, I conclude.

I can just, if I wish,
walk out, chains and all, standin tall.

---
being holy is easier than being sane in interesting times.
crazy
un mented real ization in
matters,
such as these: do we rule or obey or is there
another way
,
would seem holy right, hidden, for none to see, save
believers
who have been bred to the task of telling this story

holy story, jots, tittles, pimples and farts and all
standin' tall.

---
Drama of dharma, don't we know more good than evil as we grow?

Who would hinder knowing growing good?
An evil being, or a lie believed?

The lie, right? I know, Easy.
Answers come so easy some times, we forget the questions
on the test.