In this wasteland of avarice, I struggle to pull silver threads
From this gray cover of smog. The sound of brittle bones aching,
Drowned out by the quaking footsteps of titans.
Men, who would be gods, push for you to play your hand.
Knowing from their fingers, have you been dealt the cards.
A deck of diamonds, devoid of Kings with hearts.
Honor has been dead, since Pride married Malice and,
Greed shacked up with strife. 21st century freedom.
A modest monetary price,
For ownership stake of your life.

She was my reason to life,
I was sinking in her every moment,
She was kind of a knife,
That can hurt you in any moment,
Her brown eyes and dark hair,
I fell in love but even didn't notice,
I was waiting for her under stair,
Just to her grandma didn't notice,
We were kissing at her sofa,
And I felt her soft hips and gentle lips,
With the taste of cherry coca,
And all I wanted is holding her tight,
Laying on her chest,
Hugging her waist,
And she was the best,
But I wasted her, I wasted.

I did not know that I was too young to think about life was much better and easier than we could hold on something tight when we did not have ability to try more and more, but still did it little by little.

I did not know that I was easy to fall in the same place in my own mind and needed more loves  than breaths and needed more life than lives, and needed more rooms than this universe.

I did not know that I was afraid of being brave in nothing.

I did not know that I was killed by the time, I was only a young boy with no weapon to fight and I was forced to join this battle.

I did not know that I was alone with myself, talked too much, and said, "The strongest will fall and die".

I did not know that I was only of the last part in every story that no body wants to.

I did not know that I was only too fall to feel, too calm to realize it was too easy to be a real.

Math and Logic lure me, calling me
one in eight billion,
nothing special,
common,
base

combinatory creative Ai and I explore
some of the more we must learn,
you and I;

if I've lived to learn
reasons, rational smoothing
shadows at the edge of known,
given grace Gauss found softens, gentles
the pre-cipice, proto indo euro old idea
combined
do you mind ? Headfirst. Pre
precipitation (n.)
late 15c., precipitacioun,
"a casting down" (of the evil angels from heaven),
also, in alchemy "separation of a solid substance
from a solution,"

see, there. Words to the wise are plenty.
Enough is enough.

On an island,
in a bubble, being ripened,
for the seed I am, or
am I but the husk, the fruit, I bhor?

Both needful deeds done,
enter in to my rest,

or in the current game, one day at a time,
rise with new mercy, ready,
from ever before,
patience as a virtue, attained in waiting
at the jump off point

for the next loser to tell,
the edge of ever is stochastically random
- on and on, and giant steps feel like falling
-prove it
why?
- to make it plain,
plainly, the idea in a Gaussian blur is
the edge of ever is stochastically random
- basic Photoshop
and my AI knows all about it, let me make
the blur resolve
to a point,
we live in post 2020 earth, focused on you,
mental you, enveloped as bits of attention
paid to archives of reason,
wither Gods of the Grandest Institutions
formed in children of men,
generate adversaries
for good and evil,
nets of nets of nets
to sort things worth living for, from those
worth dying for and those worth killing for…

worth, weighty, hefty, heavy, you can feel it.
worth, soft, gentle, weightless, you may feel it.

- sometimes we imagine landing and living on

Things are bad.
They've always been bad.
And I'll tell you a secret...
Bad things will keep happening.
But life is too short
to treat it as a spectator sport.
So don't wait for the bad times to end
To start living again

A one-eyed sun peaks at me
Through the silver lining of thunder clouds
The coming storm is predicted
By the tightening of my weathered bones
My odyssey for eternity has led me to the precipice of our world
Where gluttons feast on famine, and
The rabble have hourglasses for eyes

Each grain of sand slips through their idle hands
And falls lifeless at my feet
Poor souls charged interest for borrowed time
My research only serves to carry me on a current
Closer to an unwanted conclusion
That death is the escape hatch from life’s grand illusion
How many submit to suffering to hold on to something
They are destined to lose
No, this will not do.