To write what you live
and live what you write
is not a success at all..

It is a spiraling down--  
away from this world
and always always
in  to bitterness.

Most who have done this
have slipped away
in to  alcoholism..    
   or  eased back
with the weight of their bodies--
   tightening the noose;
They gladly  gladly  gladly    
leave the pain  of the gap

of every single part
of having to live here
In a world full of souls;

hell-bent on marketing,
    and presentation.


..But guess what,
my beautiful Lovesweet:

To  not  live what you write out
(just another form of creative marketing)
puts your head in the noose also
So either way,  you're ******

God bless the ones that can see this..
yet, still leave their mark..

    and then die,  
    with both middle fingers
    fully extended

Youre steady base,
Keeps my off beat rhythm
In tune.

There's nothing special about my greedy utopian dream:
I'm not off grid, or more ecco' friendly;
I still order luxury goods from overseas, hoard, engage in cliques, use the internet, dream about my own bit of land, claim any benefits I can.

I use the same drugs, minerals, roads, hospitals, banks, and I pollute the same air; with the same stink of self righteous elitism; because just like everyone else; I am unique!

(Off-grid irony)

All the time
I hear it
He said to me
Sweetie be a
Sweet thing
for me

Money talks

Truth walks

Green paints a new world

Blood red stains the profit

of pain unfurled

From those who seek its power

Above life

A sick patient

On the operating table

Gets the treatment

Suffocation in quicksands of poverty

You bleed to death

Inspiration appears to only belong to the wealthy and their benefits