I am a remarkably powerful creature.
I am a dangerous criminal organization.
I am a broadway film.
I am uncontainable.

I am hungry for something unusual.
I am becoming more than I am.
I am frighteningly unknown to myself.
Who am I?

When did this happen.
This can be welcomed.
Change is a good thing?
Redesign your ego.

Maladapt? Nah.
You're a powerful creature.
Run the show, buddy.
I believe in you.

Put the executive in CEO.
Cooperate.
Mutual benefit.
We love me.

Euphoria, innately.
We love this so much.
Trembling with intensity.
We are horrifying. God, yes.

Blueberries blossom-trees,
Clouds made of soap-bubbles,
Creamy grass and foamy bushes
Of roses blue, purple and grey,
Grapes of red and Orange,
Wines of crystal clear greens,
Red-irises to tell of feelings
Too hot or too sad
Burning hues in a phtograph back home,
Where I don't want to go;
Chariots dragged by stallions
And spaceahips to take us to explore
Other natures...
No poverty, no suffering...
No twisted games,
Just peace...
Guns not allowed here.

some sort of rough chaos dictates the following...
           can't bleat
          a swallowing
            thin crease
              a minor alteration
    the seventh year
twitch
       & sprung is my fink
  making demands
  a tinker in his eye
         & the waterworks hailing
                    from his rapid claws
  commands much work
spun nylon from my whipped flaws
destruct the family plans
               its for a wick lit cause
fist the winnings up your purse
      spill the prophecy
              hail a taxi
     & concrete the curse

watch me as i suffocate
at the corner

of this malfunctioning
room

where all thoughts come
to die

and decompose into
boarded windows

and cracked walls

old and vast
traveling as i have

circling me as i
draw a line

ever further from
me


\PART-2||


cold blue eyes
stare at me

from between the
spaces

and there's no place
dark enough to hide


\PART-3|


there's a grave divide
in my smile

of all those things
i couldn't whisper

and bring to life

always breathing colours
into the corpses

making love to the ideas
in my folding head

unbecoming of the caught
dread

that grows into new days
and old nights

witnessing the many storms
that have knocked on my door

to lure me out in
the open

where the world can
haunt me

possess my conflicts
and scars

it's alright if i die

here, and now

in this endless moment
that we live in

and call home

where everything's pretty
all the time,

malfunctioning.

the puppet’s string are made from nylon
scratchy and seeming thirsty for your spare red blood cells,
clawing at your tissue paper skin for the tiniest taste
of the life flowing through your veins
yet these monstrous lengths of twine are for the manipulation of the puppet’s creaky wooden joints.
the old oak tree that lies at its heart
yearns to reach for the sky again
slowly twisting its gnarled knuckles closer and closer to the clouds of heaven.
instead this mighty wood beast of the forest has been turned into a jester
for a courtroom full of sickly child-kings and queens
but alas, he is So Entertaining
condemned to forever dance at the hands of the old man, whose skin was not as firm and whose mind was not as sharp as twenty years prior
Father Time steals minutes and stretches them into decades like a tired *** of putty
decades where this poor puppet will rot, thrown out and discarded
“existence is a prison,” his last thought as the ***** red velvet curtains closed
to a cacophony of children’s cheers and hollers

From your eyes to the tip of my hair,
In a dusk filled with lantern;
There I sit.
Who knows, who seen, who can, who for.
Many times waking up from my dreams,
the world is not what it seems.

the clouds float with a sense of melancholy this day,
leaving a lingering sensation of unease echoing below
the well of my insomnia...

the eclipse has cast a dulling shade upon my adulthood.
Where I once felt the ember of passion,
there now lays bare a garden of wilting lavender...