When fishing, sometimes it's not what you catch, but what one releases while there that makes the trip worthwhile...

My ex showed-up again today.
Although, she’s not been here for years.
I wish she’d go away.

I feel, once more, that stabbing bite;
That poison dagger in my back
that twists at thoughts of her.

Those certain songs I hear at night,
or in some random woman’s hair
re-lives when love went bad.

But painful memories will fade;
at least that’s what I’ve heard them say.
Time heals the broken heart.

I wonder when that starts.

Lately I haven't been communicating well. I'm stuck in a abyss with no one but me. It seeps down the edge of my field of vision. Engulfing me so the light can't illuminate me. I am left alone with claws and only my skin to rend. Left alone with my fangs and only my flesh to mutilate. Left alone with sharp things and dull connotation. My toxic thought process has flayed away all of the normal. All I see is what must be ripped asunder. All I feel is the joy of another's pain. All I am is what I have hidden. Step inside to see just how bad I can hurt you.

Apparition,
depise m3.
Always clinging onto
Dissonance.
It wasn't my fault.
The stresses stresses on
And nothing like it
Could ever begone.
It tears me.
You ever rip apart
The flesh of metaphoric
Truth?
Ofcourse not.
It belongs subjective.
Parallel and defiant.  
It belongs to no one.
This continues onward.
It discontinues.

A brownie being offered him,
the missionary cringes;

he's heard rumors,
messages have been passed on,
Sybils served tea and
chocolatte once fed gods
native to this chapparral where I dwell

with lizards and coyote, yote, like mote in y'eye

don't let the accent fool ya, said the preacher from his jet.
I say,

Wise ***** are not named otherwise, in The Bible, I mean.
SO,
lieve me being in the *******
is no missing of the message
wrapped
in Christmas ribs.

We've come quietly, adverbs being repre-ived,
at the moment
from stupid Tom Swifty readers, ****-flash

I hate lys, not because Stephen King does,
but be cause Herr Dunklesohn
mocked me
forn not recognizing a Tom Swifty as such.

Same guy told me Mrs. Malaprop was named for her
character-istic
intrusion of forced onset cognition ignition

the technic in fully articulated use of F and N in S
and M toned down to PG

when, gee, I think we're alone.

leaves us dangling near the source of Jonatan Edwards
actual
idea
the thread that holds us, for all we weigh in worthiness,

nada, right? so we ain't heavy. riiiight. bro. sos ye know,
this ain't me, we integrated, we crazy voices in the readers mind

we all sound the same so some same same-same
life goes down the drain

in one swirling direction from a solar POV, but bacwards,

not *******, blowing, in the wind, the answer,
my friend,

stupid chant an encantation from the substrata

think nothing
meditate
of it
sit

squirm and be a kid. You made it. This is the rest in the story.