Hazy
Hard
to
see
through

.

Clouding
your
vision

.

Unable
to
think
through

.
­
A
gas
that
if
left
on

,


can
and
will
burn
everything
down

.
­
All
it
takes
is
a
spark

,

and
your
life
is
gone

.

Corrosive petals lingering on stems
                              of faltering breath.
For the air smells sweet,
underneath the carcass of pollen.

Three words held in masks
                        of suffocation.

Innocence stands there,
         would you like to smell
                              our flowers.

Hollow eyes, hiding smiles
            within breathless voids.
They pick them for the scent of death
is always sweetest before the demise.

The size of our suffer
Is relative to each other
Like gas between walls
It evenly falls
What fills our breath
Doesn’t seem to matter
Because between sickness and death
We choose the latter

With a raffling breath
I sate death neatly
I am now in trust
Dead
And being played into new life
There's a swelling of new strifes
and wavings from within
Heats of organisms
Worlds accelerating
Pulsion
Gases waste and gases invitations
take place where I have been
A celebration
A bedding
If only The Humans would leave
the 'Dead Body' be
Just when I am finally achieved
They make a bother
I'll make out a doner card
No, a placard
"No Preservation Upon Death !
Corpse Rights Remain !"

I’m stuck between impatience and time moving too fast.
If only certain moments could hold off and last,
Yet let me be the first to set the record straight.
I know that, in the end, it will all be worth the wait.
I’m not here because I want to relive the past.
While times have been perfect, the idea is too vast:
To stay where you are, red, and not look for what’s ahead.
However, why is the future an idea i’m urged to dread?
While this time is exciting, and often inviting,
I see the circumstance filled with crying and spiting.
No, I’m not scared, or maybe I was.
I’ve learned that I can’t live that way, only because
I’ll suffer that way in this current time I’m in,
And living right now is already hard enough to begin.
I’m not here to sulk, i’m not here to brag.
I’m just impatiently enduring the drag
Of time, of now, wanting it to slow to yellow,
While I’m eager, insisting on life’s green light, “go.”
Time, a constant thing, still looks me in the face
To say, “you think you know it all, but I will set the pace”.
No matter the task, the toll, the race, I’m in it for the ride.
Meanwhile, I’ll tell my impatient indecisiveness that it’ll have to subside.
Maybe time is like traffic. “Do I gas it, or hit the breaks?”
Either way, I’m afraid of collisions, so that’s a risk I just won’t take.

I sit here whistling Dixie sitting down ,
                  a concerto of noises sang out.
No smoking signs loiter the walls,
                  for obvious reasons it has
a picture of a posterior with:
              "No naked flames allowed"

Then there is the score board,
               Beginner,
                            Boaster,
               Legend the hardest to claim.
For that score you have to clear out
not only the downstairs, but wake
those upstairs from slumbering sleep..

Me I'm a boaster, that's when the doors
shut, and all I hear from the sitting room
down the hallway is:
                                    "YOU ******"

Let me just tell you that air freshener
                               is not in my home.
Do you know the smell of both mixing,
lets just say never spraying that again.


Some sit and think, some even sniff there stink.
Me I just read a few pages of a novel on page 163,
we all have our routines  but me I mostly
sit here whistling Dixie sitting down,
                             as concerto of noises sing out.