I have a habit of packing a labyrinth in the back of my hippocampus,maintaining balance,like coasting through ocean,its outlandish.I'm on the tangent of ravenous madness complete with calculus captiousness capturing the effect of parabolic randomness.Long story short,I'm just dramatically imagining,I think my genius is overactive again.Calamitous analysis compatible with harzardous pathogens passing through passages to the abucus of antagonists,but its backwards,shhh.

Oblivious is the man who claims decorum of extrapolated omnipotence.
The man who has ossified rationalism into an inexplorable ruse.
An attempt to transmogrify inchoate minds, characteristic of apparitions.
Providing illusion as the answer to an obsequious concrescence of naive followers.
Oblivious are the men who follow this decorum.
Their leader keens to their needs.

Equality will never happen because our actions and fantasized habits contradict what a perfect match is. With society's eyes high above the mindless horizon, many feel stranded between what wrong and right is. Therefore many have chose to win rather than lose the mold of plastic.
Although, hope lies with the few who choose to refuse the use of closed eyelids.
Few still choose what is morally, rather than religiously, righteous.

She was waiting for her order, waist adjacent to the counter. A young man supplied her beverage with his numbers scrawled on the side. She didn't seem too eager to call him later, however. To my surprise, I gently waved her over, almost immediately regretful of my impulse. To this day,I haven't produced a more rewarding decision. As hours past, every nearing moment promised of a tangible future involving this woman. My heart raced at the idea. Her hair beautifully curled towards the ends that seemed to perfectly frame her prominent cheekbones made
sharper by the contrast of her well dressed lips. Her ivory skin translated the sunlight coming from behind me, and I could almost swear, it seemed some of the light was trapped in her eyes, trying to find its way around her dark orbs. Months down the road, we're no longer an uncertain happenstance; every look at her was love at first sight. She was the love of my eye, and she knew it. You see, Emily was a curious person with particular habits and tendencies. At times, the distance between us reached near tangibility, then days would pass by and all would be well again. I kept a journal of her; I study everyone but she was the first person to provide some difficulty. Reading her was like trying to decipher Latin while knowing Spanish; I always had a feeling I knew her, but just not quite. I'm still wrting about her, bruising my memory, and she's still speaking sunlight to unsuspecting suitors. Emily was the type to get what she wants. The problem is that she grew bored with her toys. Eventually, I learned that there were no exceptions.

It was a bit strange. At first I told myself it was a dream. But as it progressed, I couldn't help but think different. It felt so real and my senses seemed magnified. Being the curious cat I am, exploring didn't sound like a bad idea. But then it was sounds that started to change everything. Most of them were clear voices, others mere whispers. Then rustling in the bushes and crackling leaves. I tried to see where the noise was coming from, but the fog was too thick and heavy. It almost felt like gravity had a helping hand. A note was quickly made to myself after catching a glimpse of the ground. Honestly, it was the only reminder to me this was just a dream. As the voices drew closer though, the strange dream shape shifted to an intense nightmare. Clouds swirled in circles, trees bent over backwards, whirlwinds began raking up leaves into barriers around me. And then...It stopped. Everything just stopped. That scared me the most though.My brain argued back and forth with my legs until something else made a decision. I still can't describe it but something was there. I felt it getting ready to strike like a cobra. No feeling in my body could have predicted what happened next..I was pulled to the ground by my leg landing on my back, frantically searching for the culprit, thrashing my arms around for a tree, a bush, roots. Anything to keep me grounded. My failed attempts were made obvious when, still by my leg, I was lifted into the air. And that moment, when in a vortex of leaves, sticks, animal carcasses, I caught a glimpse of the ground again. Being upside down, I was looking up at the still distorted ground. But looking down at the sky, everything was clear...focused. So I relaxed, and let myself fall into it, and woke up. Inspired.

Lying is a skill like anything else;
And its one she flaunts around behind her innocence.
She jumps from suitor to suitor draining every benefit Possible until she's satisfied,or until she's made.
Pleading the damsel in distress card, she always attains What she desires.
She's a tornado;
Selfishly destroying everything around her in a fit of Rage, she tires out into a corpse.

Why do I need a boat when I'm so broke I can't even afford a root beer float?And **** a big house,holy cow,what's with the moat,you live in a fort?It's all just a show,you don't even know yourself enough to go with the flow.You cover it up with money to cope,but who are you now?Where will you go?

Every soul is a piece of the universe experiencing itself through the entirety of a soul.
And so began the first paradox.
Truth is imprisoned in a lie of omission.
And so began the second paradox.
Ignorance is the spawn of wisdom.
And so began the third paradox.
Change is constant.
And so began the fourth paradox.

You said "let's play house".
Years later and you're still playing.
You decided to play the trophy wife,
The kind that I had to share with other men.
Life is a movie to you and you're the star.
No, you're a poison; you play the lead role.
Suffocating every suitor that falls for your charm,
Your words are empty and the only thing you mean is harm.
You're a poison; you play the lead role,
Now you're under my skin and a part of my heart.
If I die, its likely you are the cause,
You're a poison; you play the lead role.
At this point,it won't be long before I'm gone.

There is a room.
And in this room there is a man and woman soon to be awake.
On their respective sides of the bed are nightstands with congruent photos.
These two photos are the very fibers that keep their marriage alive.
What kind of bond is held together by pictures?
The kind that includes a 75 year old man and a 77 year old woman.
Both have severe Alzheimer's.
So every morning, they wake as strangers, remembering nothing of the other.
Everyday, they wake to learn each other, only to repeat the cycle the following morning.
They say ignorance is bliss;
But there is a room, and in this room lies the proof  that it's not.

Newton once said "for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction".
It was an apple that started his research, discoveries, advancements.
I'd like to think you may be the apple to my discovery of true love.
A walk in the park, a play fight in the sheets;
Enough skipped beats of the heart to say we haven't heard that song.
But we've made a better one.
Filled with nervous laughter, missed calls, and deep breaths.
Cigarette stories, shared insanity, assured comfort, relief from gravity.
You say you're mine, excuse me if I hold you to that.
I claim that I'm yours, I beg that your arms hold it against me.

I am broken.
Or at least that's what they've told me for years.
"No one will love you".
"You're pathetic".
Well I say "no".
I won't be labeled by black hearts.
I won't be tossed around like a restless body in the dead of night.
I will not listen to the blind's recollection of my image.

Sweet is his mother's voice to the admiring boy.
He is four, and when she is home, and he, alone no more, he feels joy.
At glance, it is natural, but is a problem beginning to boil?
His mother works daily, therefore daily, his turmoil.
If nature spoke words, which ones would the drowning flower choose?
Water is a necessity, but is not blood, save for in the form of a bruise?
The flower interprets the Sun's redundant heat as anger.
The flower's dependence upon sunlight becomes a danger.
Given the ability to hide, the flower would disappear.
It had been conditioned to not love the Sun, but to fear.
It does not sense the love that embodies the memory it holds so dear.
This feeling resembles the boy, after enduring the torturous routine for several, endless, lonely years.

A vessel filled with Emptiness. Compassion rooted in Apathy. Apathy rooted in Neglect. Transformative; Passion never rests.