not  the prophylactic kind,
nor the rubber kiss road tire kind.

but the rubber of bodies
old and young,
tired and tense,
young and flexible
migrained, played & splayed,
pain paralyzed,
soothed by cherubic
fingertips
oiled with,
anointed by,
a-custom cream
of tenderizing aloe
and gentling, kind loving
quieting & shushing

tho mine own temples,
raging, feverish,
combobulating
as words spill as *******
and then

she
sleepy whines:
why did you stop rubbing me?

and for
a sleep deep,
she leaves
me,
going unanswered

but happily
nonetheless
boy be typing
**The End

i've bin wilting in the wings of half life
some kind of tinsel of decay
making chattering bids for attendance         but lack and fail                       
pimpling   and then deflating          
                                    
    tiny chasms visit me
chittering little wheezy ******* of creativity  spazzing                    
and then weary organisms spatter on the micro lens
gutted    they were shoddily made    they're to be  examined           
                   (after all that genetics..... what did go wrong ?)                              
a probing at discussion and decisions
tend    now     to a humiliating life                                                      
then  a step up   ; a weak and easy one                  
    followed by     ambition !         one to lift and give life
reactors in the gut with macerated heavings gunged our way
incisors and incisions rudder me
and  together with my nouveau umbrella family
betrayed from our hammocks, hummocks and  nooks
we queue on up   for 'the things'        
           in accord    with good society
self reprimanded   in defeat ?

Some people are born to be succesful,
Some people are meant to be losers
Some are born to recieve everything the others give them
Some are born to give
Some people get love
Some people give it away
Some people take it as granted
Some people would do anything to get it
Some people have everything
While others are meant to have nothing.

This entire empire of dirt and manure is about to expire
I'm not gonna lie, between you and I, I wish I was a lier
My mind though is compulsive when lighting it's pants on fire
Nose long as a telephone wire, front and center like a town crier
And the shiit that I get from myself and the public stacks higher and higher
I know exactly what's about to transpire
Yet I always make it worse, never better
Like a water geyser to a grease fire
I'll forever be a fumblin', bumblin' reality denier
Faced with a situation that can only be described as dire
When you've only ever been able to hire a blind get-a-way driver
There's no chance of escaping this hell, life organically becoming satire

©2024

It takes time to erase
the mistakes
that I've put in my soul.
But to take one mistake at a time
is to make me whole.
To play a part in this game
is to play a role.
But to remove all my mistakes
is my ultimate goal.