lying, deceitful liar    panting live in the steamy mongrel of my slummy hive / marksman, deficient marksman   rake out my mortar - the body laughter - criminal grime  ; an absent partner /  

kissed ; what a frisky view - the sky seems so keen
from here   it's howling downhill  fire i breathe
so sweet to greet the menial hereafter

                                                - [manic laughter]

her eyes her eyes her eyes
are exquisitely annoying
what she would do to have that gone
and it is a rash and she is acting rashly
but she hates it and it keeps going on
her eyes her eyes her eyes

So one day this rash shows up on your arm after you go for a walk
You assume at the time no big deal
Just be careful on walks

But then the rash never leaves
It just kind of festers and grows
Until it's gone from a patch to an outbreak

You try getting more sleep
Maybe change your diet
And you stop taking walks

But the rash still grows
And it grows
And it becomes uncontrollable

It take over your life
Prevents you from going out
From enjoying life

It keeps you as it's prisoner
And you hate that rash
So you try to banish it

It's no longer a mere accident but a full infection
So you look into it some more
But there are so many things that start out as a rash

You figure maybe you just have dry skin
But what if that's not it
What if you have a disease or worse

So now you both have a rash and are afraid
You don't know what to do
So you try everything in your power

But the rash remains
You're without options
It's time to bring in outside help

You ask yourself what it could be
And as much as you think you might know
You have a hunch and you're terrified to have it confirmed

So the question remains
While ignorance is pain it is also bliss on the soul
Knowledge heals but not without bringing about an often ugly truth

That is what having a mental disorder is like
It's not beautiful
It's not easy

It's like a rash
But it's inside your brain so not quite like a rash
But also very much like a rash in the way it mentally controls you

And it eats you away begging for an answer
And answer you'l never have
At least not without some pain

people don't talk to me anymore
eventually, I am trash
my help is not help anymore
eventually, I am rash
and I will forget them, the existence
and some will be forgiven
but the me, the confused me
I do not understand
why I'm always left behind
and a friend was all I ever asked

A warm summer night,
The moon winked at its reflection on the still lake,
A lively  crowd,
The music blared,
A barbeque party,
The smell of delicious grilled chicken made my stomach rumble,
Hurriedly I grabbed some with chips, yanked open a coca tin,
And sat down on the grass with friends.
I had worn shorts,
That was a grave mistake.
The mosquitoes were excited,
A pair of young fresh legs,
What a grand banquet,
They headed straight for my legs and arms,
"Ouch!" I cried after several stings.
"Delicious," they hummed aiming at my legs again and again.
"Hey" I don't give out  free blood samples" I hissed.
I swiped my palms on my legs.
Several lay dead.
I had killed their parents.
The mean mosquitoes took revenge,
They landed on my face,legs and arms and stung fast and furious.
I yanked a tube of insecticide repellent cream and spread on my open body parts.
"Now have your feast and die!"

Ol' Mr Rilash
the authority on panache
and once chef of Ben-Ash,
had neglected to trim his tash.
It itched and made him scratch;
Unhappy on upper lip.
A plan, a plan it hatched.

...then one time in the kitchen
on a snoozing Mr Rilash.
His tash did something brazen,
or silly or quite brash.
It pulled away and dashed
crawling through plates of mash
and hopping over paprikash
it made it to the window ledge
via the crockery left stashed.

Was it brave or was it rash,
the escaping captive tash.
Leaping and waiting for the splash,
It saw it's trajectory down below;
and landed squarely in the trash.