A new found enjoyment, not heaven sent
Still drawn to it like a moth to a flame

Don't share in my regret, promise to stay distant
I couldn't bare to see you in this much pain

Find me ambivalent to some extent
To take another step if it's in vain

Notice I'm hesitant to place a bet
L's stack shame on top of shame atop my name

Life itself's a debt, lest we forget
The plot and grave are one in the same

A dark passenger resident denise me residence
How did I lose access to my own brain

To myself I'm a threat, morality bent
Just so I'm not always going against the grain

Don't care 'bout bein' relevant, never permanent
But pain finds a way to remain

No clue what it meant is a poor argument
Would rather not waste time trying to explain

One day you might get it, wouldn't count on it
Strange to be your very own ball and chain

Go 'head and attempt it, see no safety net
You WILL become one with the terrain

Flesh and bone, neck and neck racing to pavement
Then witness the insane riddled membrane

Always defiant, against my better judgement
Probably should have stayed in my own lane

No deterrent to embracing my inner deviant
A full embrace of the profane

Won't seek atonement, least not at the moment
I only wish the only option was to remain

There's a death certificate, a signed suicide document
The growing black mark on my heart is more than a stain

So here I sit, trying to make sense of it
Unknown, alone and forgotten out in the rain

Selfimprisonment, a life sentence recipient
The issues with my DNA, infecting every strain

©2023

Enjoy the mocking tick after tock from the clock as the hands race monotony just to land on a preoccupied spot, no over shot
Reality not taught, reason is a subplot, lost in translation was the caveat, what's the grand plan for this life span time forgot
Avoiding deaths cousin, the sandman, only shortened the journey to the grand finale at the bottom of a grave plot, a hateful fate fought
Thought I ought not move to avoid falling through the bottom of all rock bottoms due to the dry rot, a quicksand sandbox in back of Salems lot
Rescue or recovery a long shot, no one within earshot but there's an onslaught of inner dialogue piercing the void like the scream of a red hot teapot
As is common with the distraught I sought help from the cold embrace of a slipknot that grew taut through the progression of this thrown together plot of a should've been cancelled pilot
Don't ask me what I see in this blind study of an inkblot, any sanity you got would crumble if caught up in the web of nightmare fuel my own mind went ahead and brought
Forced to boycott my being, can't connect good story lines, lost a dot, popped a squat in a thousand watt recliner like a pre-programmed self destruct robot
Self-preservation an afterthought, miles out to sea before I realized I've not yet bought a yacht, treading water in a tough spot
Messed around and got so high I got caught in the sky like a drifting astronaut lost in space, tethered to a dead cosmonaut
A crackpot juggernaut of supreme disappointment, walk the walk and take a potshot at a what not to do mascot
Cross my i's and dot t's with the underutilized comic sans faunt that don't nobody want, awoken by the taunt of a witching hour haunt
"Fuuck the record and fuuck the people!" like you heard from Snot, you'll probably be hearing it from me a lot
Before I become a forget-me-not long forgot but go or stay, either way, still dangerous as a traveling blood clot
The good fight was not fought, this life was not sought, everyone seems to have it together, I'm the biggest have not on the block
Do with that what you will, I'm going on a long walk down a short dock with a giant rock in each sock
Then the plan is to mock god to his face and see the shock on his face as I say I could do better and see if I get the morning stars spot

I mean, why not? It's worth a shot

©2023

It's far easier to hate than forgive, can't give myself a break when the case study's retrospective
I hate that it's easier to die than to live, pull up just shy and see it all fall in and out of perspective
To be here, right here, year after year is the objective but the inner chatter from my dark passenger is persuasive
Life escapes through each back stab wound like a fleshy sieve, how much can one individual give
Just meaningless crumbs aren't attractive, I'm a no good, very bad human representative
So primitive, the smooth brain collective not selective enough to be proactive instead of reactive
The crazies run the nut house and the clubs exclusive, drunk off two fifths, the front doors elusive
I'm no detective, I just hope my karma is something I can outlive

Dark thoughts are combative, my own mind is abusive, held captive with no clear motive
The rush from anger becomes addictive even when self destructive
The me I want to be has lost all adhesive and every step towards a concept that moves forward feels counterproductive
From my perspective I should embrace the paradox, go back in time and hand my mom a contraceptive
I'd rather not exist than to be a relative to this bloodline that feels radioactive
But what's the alternative, trading one mess for another is gonna get repetitive
And every time, the byproduct gets more carossive, the rust forms a husk that falls away exposing the explosive
One that goes off erratically 'cause real change isn't a newspaper, or soothsayer, real help is expensive

Hand me that sedative, this repetitive narrative is too intensive, Lucifer's obsessive and I, compulsive
Destructive to a fault and so one sided I'm not even competitive
A cognitive function nowhere near adaptive, straight to punishment, bypassing corrective
Leaving me to always be on the defensive but that alone will fail to be effective
At least for the collection of the negative that is a bigger percentage of the me that's reflective
One of a fugitive on the run from my formative years, all the hardwired fears still active
Each with a different authoritative directive and all for the worse, who the hell's even driving this locomotive?
My words sound figurative, at least enough to label it an overactive imagination, so creative
But it's imperative that this is looked at as informative, a documentary type narrative

CAUSE I SWEAR IT IS

©2023

A life time lost, mindlessly searchin', wanderin' aimlessly in the margin
Lingerin' in the gray, outside yet somehow dead center of socially accepted norms and action
Starved of affection, but by design, never forget to mention it feels safer with zero human interaction
Parched, withering away, no reaction, no peace, only life but just a fraction

A scorched Earth, a nightmarish vision, a dream state of my demons risen
No rhyme, no reason, no time to be forgiven, is it a sin if the motive is kept hidden?
Does one exist if forgotten? No answer if you can't remember the question
Hence then, to stay afloat one must stop the spin of the downward spiral one finds oneself in

Listen, or don't, it won't matter in the end, frightened without the knowledge of when
A last breath taken after finally on the mend, would it be different if hope wasn't given?
A permanent decision, forever finally allowed to begin but could it be considered a win?
It's all about perception, a frown flipped upside down is a grin

Eyes wide shut, lie and try to pretend they're open, heart closed off, can't repair what's been broken
A conversation with a villan disguised by the voice of a friend, a danger unspoken
Another bad omen, no one around, both voices coming from a location deep within
What's been awoken has stolen emotion and allowed the erosion to begin

...and here...we go...again...

©2023

(song)

Talk to me, trust me to listen
Allow me see what everyone else has been missin'
Feel free to be exactly the person you are
Call out to me knowing I'll never be too far
I know you've been hurt, I know I've played a part
Allow me the chance to unbreak your broken heart
I understand your stance on never again
I just want to see that smile returned to my best friend

Tell me,
What makes you happy and
Tell me,
What makes you sad
Tell me your best day and every one that's turned out bad
Tell me,
What makes you laugh and
Tell me,
What makes you mad
Tell me your nightmares and every dream you've ever had

Step to the side and I'll respect the space
Turn to me when in need of a warm embrace
When you have something to say I'll be a captivated audience
When you can't find the words, we can sit here in silence
If you want to fly I'll help mold your wings
Let us set sail to find what tomorrow brings
The future is unknown, let's write out own ending
You could do it alone, I know, so know it's a desire to be accompanying

Tell me,
What makes you happy and
Tell me,
What makes you sad
Tell me your best day and every one that's turned out bad
Tell me,
What makes you laugh and
Tell me,
What makes you mad
Tell me your nightmares and every dream you've ever had

We aren't perfect, never strive too
Two broken people applying our own glue
We want but we don't need
Together, never been more free
Making this breed of love we feeeeeeeel more than real

Tell me,
What makes you happy and
Tell me,
What makes you sad
Tell me your best day and every one that's turned out bad
Tell me,
What makes you laugh and
Tell me,
What makes you mad
Tell me your nightmares and every dream you've ever had


(Possible bridge or outro)

...makes you happy...makes you sad
...your best day... rescript the bad
... your laughter...so cute when mad
...together in all the dreams being had

©2023

'Practice makes perfect' is a Damoclesian carrot fastened with erudite string.

•
Its bite mentally drops.
•

Practice is the whetstone of preparation.

&

Perfecting, the work of The Spirit.



© Qwey.ku 2023

My heart would fold so quickly, in a rush, falling off of ledges when I could remember all the things you said to me. It was the first time I learned to read your lips for gestures by the way they moved. A period, a comma, a mark, a scar, the why's and the suffering it weighs.

But it would fold so easily, the heart I longed for swishing in the wind, stealing kisses in the sky and letters of forbidden romance all over the city. The same scene, the same garden, the same promises and stars fading away in order to live through a thousand light-years. Yet in the meaning of something, I get to learn how to control the reading gestures you unconsciously make when I pass by.

Even though it is the same as my movement, I fled in order to live the few years I have here, because the earth evolves so quickly, in rush, in remembrance, in light. And I get to go back to the music of my own rhythm, while my eyes are closed and I sing two notes of sonata.

Even when you tell me a thing or so, I get to wipe the longing raindrops from both my eyes. As if a waterfall had been longing to go out. At the very least, I got to write even a single word, which I wish you could hear. Maybe the wind will deliver me to you.