When your eyes lie
And your mouth tells the truth,

I will believe you don't love me anymore

But until then, I stay

I've heard it for hours
Played it on end
Helped me when in need,
On it I depend

This verse still ringing in my head
The bittersweet memories attached
Motivated by its heartfelt words
But it feels like I need it detached.

"I want you to know: with everything, I won't let this go
These words are my heart and soul
I'll hold on to this moment, you know
'Cause I'd bleed my heart out to show that I won't let go"

I love you
I really do
But the year has passed
My need for falsity
is gone.
You will be missed.

Yours truly.

~for my naturalist, Victoria~

the poems all end up in midfield,
yellow carded, the game a *******,
0 - 0 unsatisfying affair, all the shots
way wide of goal as I search
for the perfect phrase to capture my

twiddling and twaddling,
fussing and haranguing,
harrumphing and bemoaning,
my very own Brexit,
postponed, the hard answers terrifying,
the soft ones, humbug and *******

incapable of lifting a mighty pen,
or a fully worn down pencil scrap,
seen better days, but now,
all leaden ashes, all fall down,
my natural pointer taps only gibberish

in my plain manila actuality folder,
the cut off dates, ignored, so they
cut me off too for good measure,
plenty good bills to due in there,
plenty good ‘orrible poems for company

the pile of to do’s forming a party,
social, democratic, and
anti-septic or skeptic or semitic,
perhaps all three, as they are two jowls
or two cheeks, too many to the windy

all this shilly shallying, or is it
dilly dallying,
is quite simply to say that
my rooted U.K. naturalist
a Sherlockian moors, traversing specialist
cuts to the shortest quick,
by jove, there it is, succinctly red beeping,
in my garden, awaiting a good boiling

I too exhausted from all the
“scrabbling with the day to day”
she so easily summarizes,
though my poetic ego demands an
Ameddican textual emendation

“hard scrabbling with the day to day”

or

just an all encompassing globalism

“ditto”

ah, Victoria

The bibleoclasam(destroying the spirit ceremonosely)you experience is a dichotomy to me.Your atraraxia(freedom from fear) is your falter point. The pother(fuss)you give life is a beautiful mellifluous (having a rich flow).My anger phobia (fear of getting mad or angry)is not a Apple-knocker (ignorant or unsophisticated)I hope.Your smiles lights up the room and my eyes go alight. Every thing comes very pady-sticks(very easy) to me in general. I'm going to be very Gullas (bold and daring).All human action's have one or more of these seven causes, chance, nature, compulsion, habit, reason or desire (Aristotle).At his best man is the Noblest of all animals, separated from law and justice, he is the worst. I count him braver who overcomes his own desire then he who conquers his enemies, for the hardest victory is over YOURSELF. Every adversity, every  failure and every headache carries with it the it the seedof an equivalent or a greater benefit. It has become apparently obvious that are technology has exceeded our humanity..(Einstein) TO be able under all circumstances to practice five things constitutes perfect virtue. These five things are gravity of the soul,,sincerity, intelligence kindness and free everlasting love. If you break your kneck, if you have nothing to eat, if your  house is on fire, then you have a problem. Every thing else is merely an inconvenience. In adversity remember to keep an even mind. Sometimes the arcasia(lack of self control).I feel in dealing with your emotional set. Your  enantiodramia(conversion of something)into the accismus(into the opposite).I can't always use euphonious(pleasing soft words)to quell your misplaced fear or anger, or unexplained science to you. I will not be glaikit(stupid ,foolish, or thoughtless)in my words. I will not try to be fagacious(transient or fleeing)explanation. But will base what I believe is a truth. My eyes twitch open as I breathe in the smoke. My mouth starts to water, and my emotions feel broke. Still I look up to those glue white blue eyes. Of the blind man who's busy sawing off my legs. And all the while he shows me that sweet tooth grin. And he kicks, kicks, kicks. These legs don't wanna quit.

Yeah they kick, kick,kick. I'll be buried in this pit.Well. I'm bleeding fast,half buried in this junk heap.With this leather bound scarecrow man. Were a roughshod  ramshackle pair. I feel you slice my tendon, and the saw blades catching on my bone. And I know so well that ant nobody gonna convince you I'm a okay spirit. You say you were almost all alone my boy. Yes we were almost all alone together. And all i will look at those celertrian blue eyes. Now all I can  hear is my laugh. Again is his spitting scream. Now all I can hear is his laugh and my scream. This I know for sure is the blue eyed beauty. And all I know for sure is that toothy swelling grin.And my nostrils twitched from the smoke and the blood. And the rusty saw blade makes a scrape and a tear. And the warm drops keep falling on my  eyelids and my face. Yeah, those warm drops keep falling on my head. He'll never put away that toothy smiling grin. And I'm screaming.Here me screaming. Hear the old ******* choking and gargling. When his wind pipe crumbles in my fist. See him drooling blood all down those sore-coverd,sandpaper lips. And while he grins a toothy boyish grin. He's grinning at me with that grin of desire. I can't get rid of the celertrian blue eyes, with the Fara Fosit smiles