euphoric paranoia
               accompanies your touch
as you finger your way
               under my skin
shadows on the curve
               of your neck
jitters of reality
               involuntary fantasy
caverns in my body
               unrecognizable reflections
disintegrating away
               maybe its your love
                            maybe its ****

Addiction

No, not what you think, not needles, not bottles, not too much food or too little, not sleeping 18 hours or running until feet bleed, not *******, not voyeurism, not pole-dancing or jello shots or driving 150 mph down dark streets, not working to exhaustion, not bizarre rituals, not staring into bright lights or ******* on sweet treats until a migraine sets in, not pulling out fingernails or walking with pebbles in shoes, thinking any of this brings God to the door.

                                                          ­                    No, none of these excesses

But, life? Yes. Addicted to breathing, yes. Addicted to sweetness of morning-light, yes. Addicted to aroma of salt water, when the sun swings low and pelicans skim the curling waves in search of dinner, oh yes. And playing hide-n-go-seek with my three year old neighbor, yes. Addicted to not giving up on that African violet in the windowsill, despite its crispy appearance, to watching my child shimmy, yes and yes. To her well-being, her off-key singing, a resounding yes! To letting family be. To the solitude of a hot shower. Addicted to your righteousness, your swagger, the way dimming sunlight cups your body, I’ll admit it, yes.  And anticipation of oysters still in their rough shells. And never, ever worrying about whether these are excesses or not because it’s in the elusiveness of the word (addiction, for example, or desire or want or tenacity), in the lone gesture, the moment before that door opens and the house empties of terror and fills with human breath that the balance is reset.

I have to admit I have an uncontrollable addiction

confessing such a thing took some real conviction

my vice cannot be injected, smoked or snorted up ones nose

it all started with you taking off your clothes

My pulse quickend and senses became hightend

without a second thought I removed my clothes no longer frightend

our bodies become one and time seems to no longer exist

the more of you I have,the less I can resist

our breathing gets fast and beads of sweat appear

living in the moment forgetting all we held dear

no more God or nature and the world begins to quake

collapsed in sweat soaked sheets two bodies twitch and shake

some would say my addiction is just ***, but that just isn't true

my addiction was never just ***....it was always just you

You are an addiction,
a bit funny kind of addiction.

Not that type of lingering smoke
by the pack of cigarettes or
the high of a single hit

Not that type of an opiated mind
of maze-like thoughts
discarded cans of buzzing minds

I will try and try to verbalize these thoughts
but I'm a coward
so I keep them inside the confines of my head

So I tell no one, i am eaten by these
by this one thought
this kind of funny addiction

when times are good, I wait
for it to knock on my doors
windows, basement opening

from everywhere. And it wins
like a God, I am nothing.
Too bad, this isn't God.

The secret, this addiction
the rush of blood out my veins
I try not to let it win

but from the start it already won,
my thoughts are its *****, on my wrists
stamping each of them with a label

"die"

“The Silicon Tower of Babel”
The over utilization of technology, its abuse, is unweaving humanity at the seams. Human health, sanity, and spirituality are under attack. The boom of accessibility over technology has increasingly subtracted from the frequency of face to face human interaction as well as human interaction with nature. The result is a declining emotional and psychological health and a ******* of spiritual values. Each individual who values holistic health should limit the time he or she spends using technology that isolates them to less than twenty-four hours in a week. They should make more purposeful efforts toward interacting with nature daily and for periods of at least an hour at a time. Lastly, these individuals should labor to replace reclusive technologies with modes of technology that encourage face to face and group social interaction such as movies, Skype, etc.
Self-limitation of the use of isolating technology will begin to correct the twisting of our spiritual values and the social and physiological damage that has been caused by the overuse and abuse of technology. In James T. Bradley’s review of Joel Garreau’s book discussion of radical evolution, called “Odysseans of the twenty first century”, Bradley quotes Garreau when he says that technology will result in human transcendence. In “Odysseans” it is said that “The nature of transcendence will depend upon the character of that which is being transcended—that is, human nature.”  James. T Bradley, scholar and author of this peer reviewed journal says that “When we’re talking about transhumanism, we’re talking about transcending human nature. . .  One notion of transcendence is that you touch the face of God. Another version of transcendence is that you become God.”  This is a very blatant ******* of the roles of God and man. When the created believes it can attain the greatness of its creator, and reach excellence and greatness on par with its God, it has completely reversed the essence of spirituality. This results in the ability to justify the “moral evolution of humankind” according to Odysseans. And this “moral evolution” often results in “holy wars”. In “Man in the age of technology” by Umberto Galimberti of Milan, Italy, written for the Journal of Analytical Psychology in 2009, technology is revealed to be “no longer merely a tool for man’s use but the environment in which man undergoes modifications.” Man is no longer using technology. Man is no longer affecting and manipulating technology to subdue our environments. Technology is using, affecting, and manipulating the populace; it is subduing humankind into an altered psychological and spiritual state.
Technology, in a sense, becomes the spirituality or the populace. It replaces nature and the pure, technologically undefiled creation as the medium by which the common man attempts to reach the creator. The common man begins to believe in himself as the effector of his Godliness. Here there is logical disconnect. People come to believe that what they create can connect them to the being that created nature. They put aside nature and forget that it is an extension of the artist that created it. Technology removes man from nature (which would otherwise force an undeniable belief in a creator) and becomes a spiritual bypass. “According to “The Only Way Out Is Through: The Peril of Spiritual Bypass” by Cashwell, Bentley, and Yarborough, in a January 2007 issue of Counseling and Values, a scholarly and peer reviewed psychology journal, “Spiritual bypass occurs when a person attempts to heal psychological wounds at the spiritual level only and avoids the important (albeit often difficult and painful) work at the other levels, including the cognitive, physical, emotional, and interpersonal. When this occurs, spiritual practice is not integrated into the practical realm of the psyche and, as a result, personal development is less sophisticated than the spiritual practice (Welwood, 2000). Although researchers have not yet determined the prevalence of spiritual bypass, it is considered to be a common problem among those pursuing a spiritual path (Cashwell, Myers, & Shurts, 2004; Welwood, 1983). Common problems emerging from spiritual bypass include compulsive goodness, repression of undesirable or painful emotions, spiritual narcissism, extreme external locus of control, spiritual obsession or addiction, blind faith in charismatic leaders, abdication of personal responsibility, and social isolation.”  Reverting back to frequent indulgence in nature can begin to remedy these detrimental spiritual, social, and physiological effects.  If people as individuals would choose to daily spend at least an hour alone in nature, they would be healthier individuals overall.
  Technology is often viewed as social because of its informative qualities, but this is not the case when technologies make the message itself, and not the person behind the message, the focus.  To be information oriented is to forsake or inhibit social interaction.  Overuse of technology is less of an issue to human health if it is being overused in its truly social forms. Truly social forms of technology such as Skype and movies viewed in public and group settings are beneficial to societal and personal health. According to a peer-reviewed study conducted by John B. Nezlek, the amount and quality of one’s social interactions has a direct relationship to how positively one feels about one’s self. Individual happiness is supported by social activity.
Abuse of technology is a problem because it results in spiritual *******.  It points humanity toward believing that it can, by its own power, become like God.  Abuse of technology inclines humanity to believe that human thoughts are just as high as the thoughts of God. It is the silicon equivalent of the Tower of Babel.  It builds humanity up unto itself to become idols. In extreme cases overuse of technology may lead to such megalomania that some of humanity may come to believe that humanity is God.  Technology is a spiritual bypass, a cop-out to dealing with human inability and depravity. The misuse of technology results in emotional and psychological damage. It desensitizes and untethers the mind from the self. It causes identity crises. Corruption of technology from its innately neutral state into something that negatively affects the human race results in hollow social interactions, reclusion, inappropriate social responses, and inability to understand social dynamics efficiently.
It may appear to some that technology cannot be the cause of a large-scale social interrupt because technology is largely social. However, the nature of technology as a whole is primarily two things: It is informational; it is for use of entertainment. Informational technology changes the focus of interaction from the messenger to the message. Entertainment technology is, as a majority, of a reclusive nature.
Readers may be inclined to believe that nature is not foundational to spirituality and has little effect on one’s spiritual journey, it is best to look through history. Religions since the beginning of time have either focused on nature or incorporated nature into their beliefs. Animists believe that everything in nature has a spirit. Native American Indians like the Cherokee believe that nature is to be used but respected. They believe that nature is a gift from the Great Spirit; that earth is the source of life and all life owes respect to the earth. Christians believe that it is the handiwork of God, and a gift, to be subdued and used to support the growth and multiplication, the prosperity and abundance of the human race.
In a society that has lost touch with its natural surroundings it is sure that some believe that nature has little effect on health, as plenty of people live lives surrounded by cities and skyscrapers, never to set foot in a forest or on red clay and claim perfect health. However, even in the states of the least contact possible with nature, nature has an effect on human health. The amount of sunlight one is exposed to is a direct factor in the production of vitamin D. Vitamin D deficiency has been determined to be linked to an increased likelihood of contracting heart disease, and is a dominant factor in the onset of clinical depression. Nature has such a drastic effect on human health that the lack of changing season and sunlight can drive individuals to not only depression, but also suicide. This is demonstrated clearly when Alaska residents, who spend half a year at a time with little to no sunlight demonstrate a rate of suicide and clinical depression diagnoses remarkably higher than the national average.
Dependence on technology is engrained in our society, and to some the proposed solution may not seem feasible. They find the idea of so drastically limiting technology use imposing. They do not feel that they can occupy their time instead with a daily hour of indulgence in nature. For these individuals, try limiting isolating technology use to 72 hours a week, and indulging in nature only three times a week for thirty minutes. Feel free to choose reclusive technology over social technologies sometimes, but do not let technology dominate your life. Make conscious efforts to engage in regular social interactions for extended periods of time instead of playing Skyrim or Minecraft. Watch a movie with your family or Skype your friends. Use technology responsibly.
To remedy the effects of the abuse of technology and the isolations of humanity from nature, individuals should limit their reclusive technology use to 24 hours in a week’s time, indulge in nature for an hour daily, and choose to prefer truly social technologies over reclusive technologies as often as possible. In doing so, individuals will foster their own holistic health. They will build and strengthen face-to-face relationships. They will, untwist, reconstruct and rejuvenate their spirituality. They will be less likely to contract emotional or social disorders and will treat those they may already struggle with.  So seek your own health and wellbeing. Live long and prosper.

whether cutting, drinking, or getting high, self harm is a way of taking pain and channelling it into a manageable form. the problem starts when the pain is a daily part of life. you lose sight of your own standards and what's acceptable once you start getting drunk or slitting your wrists just to make it through another long night of misery.

but you see, here's the thing: it starts getting worse. at first, it was manageable, at first you could keep it a secret that not even the ones closest to you could know, but then slowly, it becomes noticeable. you change. you're not the person you were before, you're different.

you don't have the same life in your eyes anymore. you hide the scars. you make excuses as to why you're tired. you say you were just being weird when you were really spouting drunken nonsense. of course it's embarrassing, of course it's something you can't just talk about and get over. how dare you turn to substance abuse to get away from your problem? there's just no shame anymore. there's nothing anymore, really. you're a shell of who you once were.  how dare you tear into your skin just to ******* feel something? how dare you bleed on the bathroom floor and stain all the white towels with your impure blood? how dare you tear about your family and your friends. why is it so ******* easy for you? why can't you just ******* stop?

everyone always says "it's for attention", but I'm not tearing into my flesh to hear that someone might actually care, I'm not standing in front of the dim refrigerator light with a half empty bottle of ***** in hopes that someone will stop me. i'm doing this because I need to.

if someone found out, it wouldn't be an act of caring. my friends and family would see me as some sort of tourniquet, but the ****** kind. the kind behind held together by really cheap duct tape. they'll also say I'm making it up in my head, but how can I be making it up when the blood runs out of my wrist like water flows down the Nile?

they tell you doing these things won't fix your problems; you know that. deep down you know you CAN'T fix your problems. you're not brave enough to face them. you're not ready to change. after all, you have this under control, right? it's not like its an addiction. you can only imagine what everyone thinks of you when they find out about what you're doing to yourself. their silence says everything.

when the end of your fight against addiction is near, you can feel it. you can feel yourself getting worse. you can feel your body get heavier, your bones start cracking underneath all of the pressure. one day, it eventually gets too bad. you drink a little too much. you fall down. you hit your head. no one is there to hear your sobs or cries for help. or maybe it ends a different way, maybe it's a sliced vein but you're surrounded by your family. they can't do anything. they can't stitch up your slashes. you die in a hospital bed with tears coming from your eyes because of the grave mistake you made that you can't change. isn't this what you wanted? you didn't want anyone to help. besides, couldn't you control it anyway?

afterall, it wasn't an addiction, right?

You see for the longest time I was in misery,
Oblivious to my restrictions.
And for the longest time I didn’t realize that my impulse controlled my addiction.

I could no longer diminish the size of my issues,
So I turned my issues into tears,
and as they poured down onto tissues
I captured it all in a bottle
and threw it out to sea.

Hoping that whoever caught
the life I had relinquished,
could turn the horrifics into its terrifics,
my uncheaved dreams into victories,
my dismay into assurance.
and that my tears could make up the ocean
that would soon guide its way back to me.

And when I found you again
the emptiness within my soul
that had triggered my addiction
when I tested all my limits would be full again.

Because that’s what you do when you feel empty
you test your every limit,
looking a remedy to cure the pain,
a little something to take it all away
but you never realize
that little by little its taking you too.

everyone thought i was crazy
because i said all i need to feel alive
is your touch
but they didn't get your touch like i did
you didn't touch anyone else
like you touched me
and that's why no one would ever understand
your touch is my addiction
without it, i go crazy
i should be in an asylum
a mental institution
that's what they all say
but they can't treat me
they can't cure me
they won't be able to bring you back
and without your touch
i slowly go crazy
because i don't have my drug
i don't have what i'm addicted to
and there's no medication
for my addiction
because i'm not addicted to heroine
or *******
i'm addicted to you
and there is no cure
for such an addiction
because you're rare
and even though you're gone
you will always be
rare. //

I think I have a problem
An addiction
To a substance
So deathly dangerous it could **** me
But my addiction
Oh how I love my addiction
It pulls at my skin with a mighty strength
Pulling me closer to my end
But honey my death would be bitter sweet
I am okay dying for something I love
Cause honey you are my addiction
And you are slowly drowning me
In my own tears
Torturing me with hurtful expressions and words
But honey I'm okay if you **** me

.you can never really write any poetry by not covering the "heartbreak" the loss of your own "printed" words: how much different is the internet, from "real" life? just asking... since: internet banking & internet shopping... to lose a poem / pre-scriptum is not exactly the same as losing a person to mind: father's day... i cooked the dinner, i took out the trash, i wrote an invoice... i guess that's much better than leaving a card of greetings... and, come to think of it? why are we the sort of people subjugated to nostalgia, with but also "without" a history? aren't we subjugated to nostalgia and a history as a "fiction"? the beginning of the 21st century, the end of the 20th century... the 19th century germans associated themselves with a nostalgia for ancient greece, we're the only people who have an inbuilt nostalgia "safety-mechanism"... the only people in time who are nostalgic about the life surrounding their own existence slot, which doesn't have a trans-temporal dynamic... i remember times when we would be teenagers... spitting on people from car-parks on imaginary tonsures, buying *****-magazines from indian cornershops, or belgian freebies of non-insinuations, white lightning cider while sleeping over at youth centers playing snooker throughout the night... even at school: attending a catholic school with the irish east enders... uniforms, sure... a chequered shirt: blue, red, white... tag? made in canada... and if only capitalism worked as it once did, made in canada? lifetime of a shirt? 20 years... now? made in china... not exactly real cotton, is it? 2 years... before ironing the shirt *****... once upon in gants hill, st. valentine's park, and the pub, recently closed, decent karaoke... in the park? golf, basketball, rowing boats in the large ponds... when the jews were there... gants hill roundabout... the hanukkah torches... jews scuttling wearing trainers come rosh hashanah: jews can't wear leather on rosh hashanah (judgement day)... shy like rats... when the jews were there (gants hill, ilford)... the park looked great... tennis courts... now, when neo-Bangladesh moved in? ****** place. what else do i remember from my original pre-scriptum that i lost? oh, that once time in gants hill... walking into a kosher bakery with ****** knuckles, having tested them on a canvas of a brick wall, buying some dough-fused-sweets? with the girl selling the sweets bewildered by fear? i like the look of fear in people when tested by uncertainty, and bleeding knuckles? later? climbing over the park fence, taking a **** while squatting in the darkened palace of the park, walking into a brothel, having my wallet stolen, not reacting in what would have been justified... high school... we wore uniforms... so no high school h'american culture trap / culture... school uniforms are the best idea, there's no chance to "shine" in telling apart the rich kids from the poor kids... there's only the standard... walking to a supermarket, past a thai surprise... sports bra, short hair... walking back... she's still there pretending to talk on her mobile to someone... you take her home with a few beers... play her some jazz... take her into the garden, the moon is a beauty... you **** her... hand in her underwear and you're still gambling... before the emergence of the nag hammadi library and the whole androgynous vogue, the thai were already readied with the lady-boys... when i reached in and found nothing but oyster... would i have stopped finding a wink-wink slouching worm? slap a trans in the face? no, not really... a thai surprise is, a thai surprise... i would have considered doing my first ****... "lucky" for me she was a she... a girl... ****** her in the garden under the moonlight... gave her my hoodie, which she drowned in... finally... the level of interaction where the female is not a mantis, i.e. a female larger than the male... she drowned into my hoodie as i walked her home... i like the familiarity with the mammalian, not resorting to insect superiority of females... these days... i find that males are strictly mammalian... while females? they are borrowing insect-esque ontologies... well, darwinism allowed the time-frame... males are mammals... females are insects, behaviour-wise... two time frame i do not appreciate the english for... darwinism is prime.... cultural-marxism my ***... what about cultural-darwinism?! no?! that doesn't exist?! cultural-darwinism is as real as cultural-marxism, and, in the former sense? it really does belong to the conservative right-wing politico spectrum! might i add? isn't psychology merely pop philosophy? i find psychology riddled with rubric cohesion, it's all oh so "self"-evident! i abhor psychologists... these gypsy philosophers... medicine-men with no pharmacological shadow of power... to prescribe drugs... arguments, persuasions, but no dialectics... psychology will forever be, for me, a philosophy primer, short-cut... pop philosophy... psychologists can treat people who have never read a philosophy book... r. d. laing... i remember this one instace... me and a fwend of mine travelled into central london, went into a bookshop shy of trafalgar sq., i spotted an edition of: the scarlet and the black by stendhal... i told him: i will trade you linkin park's debut album, if you buy me this... the transaction was made... the one book i read after seeing a film adaptation starring rachel (rakhel) weisz and ewan mcgregor... ra-kh-el: not ray-chel... we used to be humans once... at high school getting bullied back... putting pins on chairs once we got up, sitting on them... playing bulldog in primary school, slap-ball, tag, playing cards at lunchtime... 16 fatty boy... one summer in poland, comes back aged 17... the irish girls take an interest while eating a pomegranate... what was the success of your diet? don't go to the gym... excess skin, an aesthetic surgeon is not what you need... there are only two ways to lose weight... either via swimming or by cycling... cycling is the best... lose weight by also toning your body... gym is a bad idea... by going to the gym you are straining exclusive parts of your body, either the torso, your hands, etc., jogging? unless on soft ground, bad idea on concrete, arthritis... cycling or swimming... lose weight... tone at the same time, the skin is allowed the required time to adapt to shrink, and forget what propped it up in plump form with all that excess flab... ugh... i hated being attractive to the opposite ***, i never used it to my advantage! imagine... an irish lad comes up to me, on behalf of some girl while i'm donning a french braid: you look just like johnny depp in blow, impersonating george jung... 14 year old girls walk up to you asking what shampoo you're using... herbal essences... i never used my looks... *******... now i'm a heavy drinker... so much for looks... first girlfriend? a fwend had to call me telling me she called him that she felt butterflies when i dropped her at the train platform after a day's worth of dating: tate modern, edward hopper exhibitions, cinema: troy, starring rose byrne (briseis) - honestly, a man can go crazy over curly hair... and then a restaurant date... that **** just flew over my head... i wouldn't have noticed... honestly though... i missed the whole h'american cultural excavation genesis in high school... catholic... uniforms... jesuit army-esque formation... now, i'm ageing... i'm starting to find the company of cats to be: clingy... my shadow included... i once thought that dogs were needy... i'm starting to think that cats are worse, esp. the maine **** breed... "lonely" or "loneliness" doesn't really resonate with me, esp. when thinking something "feels" like a variation of claustrophobia: hence i write... without a dialectic in place, ever since plato wrote his dialogues... what is philosophy, primarily? isn't it an off-shoot of "claustrophobia"? we write because we are seeking escape from congested thinking, a variation of "claustrophobia"... now imagine a schizoid character... having to focus on an imaginary dialectic, actually... having dialectics enforced on him, with no clarifying exodus to posit a gensis with! now, a clingy dog i could understand, given the overpowering status of the leash... but a clingy cat, when there's no leash involved?! shoom! right over my head... gone, somewhere into the distance!

what, this is the part...
were i cite...
   the weimar ******
critical condition...
       a daft punk troop
of a song,
  end of line....
blow-up a hot air balloon...
worth of blaire whire...
play the tambourine
like a ******* video...
there are,
quiet, simply,
no nazis coming...
fashionista faux pas
examples...
i'm alive,
but i'm dead,
i just forget to don
a strap-on...
  "oops"?
   that **** go down well
with
the "in"-crowd...
usual... metropolitan...
verbiage surge of answers....
   many a fetish after...
we arrive at the sensible
aspect,
"toxic masculinity"...
when guns n roses wasn't,
and nirvana was just plain
gay...
              and then...
whatever that happened,
happened..
                 and people were like:
come to the "new" tomorrow,
there's always a yesterday,
in a dream,
in some phil collins
wannabe
studio...
or... some other random ****
that
excluded peter gabriel.

                 i died:
and just about right:
my harvest had come.

great book reviews...
"toxic masculinity"...
so all masculinity is
about a clockwork orange?
   if it is?
can i be pro abortion
anti mongolian horde?
yes? no?
  which is it?!
neither...
   **** me... that's just bad
luck...

                               sundbeds,
sunflowers,
tulips,
sunglasses,
    plenty of staged
eager nights...
boring political affairs...
and...
         when gaming was
more about the narrative...
and never,
ever, about the microtransactions...

point being...
it's a game within a game...
time, is the prime concern...
you play a game,
by waiting...
you wait: by playing a game...

  microtransactions
are...
you ever move a sim3 avatar
to a computer,
and make it play a computer game?
what's on the macrocosmos spectrum?
you....

               "back in the day"...
you'd spend a saturday morning
engrossed in a gaming narrative...
metal gear solid,
tenchu, final fantasy solid...
20 quid...
and you played the narrative...
and a game became equivalent
to the worth of a book,
resident evil,

            you paid for a month's worth
of gaming,
you exchanged tips,
you sometimes bought a cheat book
because of the homework,
and that was your saturday morning
before hitting the shopping mall
or, whatever...

the current dynamic of
microtransactions in gaming?
i never, ever, do...
i'm an old gamer type...
i see the potential of extending
the life-expectancy
of a game...

   as long as you don't buy into
the microtransactions gambling habit?
as long as you play the "game"
within the game?
the game is an assured classic,
akin to chess...

              you have to play
the waiting "game"...
             time...
                           that's all it is...
whether war robots,
    or dawn of titans...
        comparison...
  you know that the best fruit,
is fruit, allocated
to the geography of it being sourced
seasonally...
you can't actually get better
strawberries,
than english strawberries...
from england, come june / july...
no ******* point sourcing them
from spain in late march / april....

    same thing with gaming...
the modern games haven't made any
elaboration...
apart from dislodging the player
from the concept of narrative...
**** me... that's almost an improvement...
given that now: time is the counter
measure, and the gamer...
   is having to invest,
in a narrative, outside of the confines
of the game,
once upon a time,
games had time-narrative
constraints...
     now: there's time,
and there are gamer narratives,
excluding them from time-narratives,
of a game...
         it's almost a faux pas...
more like a wet-*****...
****** pinky lodged into an ear,
an april fools' day scant...

        if you hacked passed
the microtransactions hype...
and didn't?
and instead took to patience?
it's free...
   where once,
a game would cost you 20 quid,
and a month's worth
of narrative,
back then, when games
resembled books,
when the gaming industry
was heavily influenced
by literature...
and now?
   the game's free...
sure...
it's "unfair", it's biased...
when you don't engage
in imported gambling
of succumbing to what, this is the part...
were i cite...
   the weimar ******
critical condition...
       a daft punk troop
of a song,
  end of line....
blow-up a hot air balloon...
worth of blaire whire...
play the tambourine
like a ******* video...
there are,
quiet, simply,
no nazis coming...
fashionista faux pas
examples...
i'm alive,
but i'm dead,
i just forget to don
a strap-on...
  "oops"?
   that **** go down well
with
the "in"-crowd...
usual... metropolitan...
verbiage surge of answers....
   many a fetish after...
we arrive at the sensible
aspect,
"toxic masculinity"...
when guns n roses wasn't,
and nirvana was just plain
gay...
              and then...
whatever that happened,
happened..
                 and people were like:
come to the "new" tomorrow,
there's always a yesterday,
in a dream,
in some phil collins
wannabe
studio...
or... some other random ****
that
excluded peter gabriel.

                 i died:
and just about right:
my harvest had come.

great book reviews...
"toxic masculinity"...
so all masculinity is
about a clockwork orange?
   if it is?
can i be pro abortion
anti mongolian horde?
yes? no?
  which is it?!
neither...
   **** me... that's just bad
luck...

                               sundbeds,
sunflowers,
tulips,
sunglasses,
    plenty of staged
eager nights...
boring political affairs...
and...
         when gaming was
more about the narrative...
and never,
ever, about the microtransactions...

point being...
it's a game within a game...
time, is the prime concern...
you play a game,
by waiting...
you wait: by playing a game...

  microtransactions
are...
you ever move a sim3 avatar
to a computer,
and make it play a computer game?
what's on the macrocosmos spectrum?
you....

               "back in the day"...
you'd spend a saturday morning
engrossed in a gaming narrative...
metal gear solid,
tenchu, final fantasy solid...
20 quid...
and you played the narrative...
and a game became equivalent
to the worth of a book,
resident evil,

            you paid for a month's worth
of gaming,
you exchanged tips,
you sometimes bought a cheat book
because of the homework,
and that was your saturday morning
before hitting the shopping mall
or, whatever...

the current dynamic of
microtransactions in gaming?
i never, ever, do...
i'm an old gamer type...
i see the potential of extending
the life-expectancy
of a game...

   as long as you don't buy into
the microtransactions gambling habit?
as long as you play the "game"
within the game?
the game is an assured classic,
akin to chess...

              you have to play
the waiting "game"...
             time...
                           that's all it is...
whether war robots,
    or dawn of titans...
        comparison...
  you know that the best fruit,
is fruit, allocated
to the geography of it being sourced
seasonally...
you can't actually get better
strawberries,
than english strawberries...
from england, come june / july...
no ******* point sourcing them
from spain in late march / april....

    same thing with gaming...
the modern games haven't made any
elaboration...
apart from dislodging the player
from the concept of narrative...
**** me... that's almost an improvement...
given that now: time is the counter
measure, and the gamer...
   is having to invest,
in a narrative, outside of the confines
of the game,
once upon a time,
games had time-narrative
constraints...
     now: there's time,
and there are gamer narratives,
excluding them from time-narratives,
of a game...
         it's almost a faux pas...
more like a wet-*****...
****** pinky lodged into an ear,
an april fools' day scant...

        if you hacked passed
the microtransactions...
       and didn't have the chance...
microtransactions are like
the old school cheat hacks...
but not quiet, but somehow quasi-,
       a modern microtransactions,
would be a cheat magazine
thorough-through
a game like final fantasy VII...
you have homework,
but you still want to complete the game...
modern games...
modern games...
there's an "end gole"?
  what modern game is worth
"completing"?
    
   again: tron, ready player one,
back to the future...
star wars just became dead
to me...
   sick people will plague hard-working
people, with a quasi-gambling
addiction,
needing to make microtransactions...
and they will,
my father was plagued by
an impostor, claiming to be a
tax office official:
and what if, that person had
an authentic position at the tax office?!

when gaming was for gamers,
the games were bought...
there was a narrative...
but now... now games don't have a narrative...
why would they?!
   who the hell plays games for
the narrative these days?
i know that on the crapper,
i need a game that allows me
to experience live-stream
interaction with non-bots...

       and these old gamers,
who still invest their money
in literature-esque-games?
so i was the sad one,
investing in vinyl?
   aren't the classic ******* gamers
just as bad,
investing in prepackaged
narrative gaming
experiences?
             a game with a narrative...
yeah... me buying vinyl
is: b'ah b'ah bad...
       what sort of game is alive and well...
when there isn't a crowd pushback
for the currency of microtransaction?

the narrative is time,
   the longer you endure the inadequacy...
the more you realise:
you're basically playing
the same game,
but in your scenario:
it's free...
   in some other ******'s scenario:
it cost him 70 hundred quid...

personally?
   i love this microtransaction dynamic...
concerning the people who
do not engage with it...
it's the perfect antithesis
   of what ruined the music industry
with genesis: napster...

you really are, playing the ultimate
game,
time...
         the one sort of commodity
that games,
without a clear narrative construct,
"forgot" to mention in terms
of them being exploited...
to their full capacity
of the one "commodity"
they "forgot", or rather,
couldn't "sell"...

              a tenchu PS1 game could
have lasted me a month...
now? a free game,
like war robots...
with absolutely no NPC?
hell... i'll be 90 and still be playing it;

what else? applause!

I Jammed the pain inside, to wait for the defects to reside. Today strays and wanders away until it's stuffed down inside the void of discomfort. Let's roll our imagination onto light able paper, light it, and watch it burn..

See because that's what addiction does. It overrides your body latching on your inner artistry for its fuel. Pretty soon you become a machine, something mindless. Fasten your seatbelt because your on auto-pilot.

Now the transactions of your body really start to inaugurate. Your internals no longer has what it takes to fight, to resist, so now come the alterations.The tips of your fingers go hand in hand with the tip of your tongue. How your saliva's lust for substance dismantles the chemical compounds. Your taste buds loving that all too familiar feeling. Your greed full blood consuming every inch of it. As the destruction slowly trickles down your throat your anxious. Then the finale comes, the moment you've been waiting patiently for  the manipulation and overhaul of your brain and your reality remodeled, your home.

In those seconds pain is never an option, never a thought. Your lost out at sea. But that's all it really is, seconds, minutes, sometimes hours, just a little more time to stick the dysphoria on the back burner. When in truth you've just deepened the scar and exposed it to infections. When it's gone your left with broken thoughts that feel unrepairable.

Addiction doesn't just come from pre-packaged materials, they come from every entity you wish that blocks the truth out. They come from unfulfillment , pain, and soak themselves until you are left with no control. You have to fight, fight for your life. Face the music

I'm drowning and I can't find the surface
The more I fight to breathe the harder it is to do so
The more I struggle the closer I come to death
I try and I try to reach the surface to see the blue sky but the more I fight the further I sink
My life is being pulled from me
My soul ripped away
The more I snort the further I go
The more I shoot up the closer I am to death
The more I use the more I need
**** coke and pills are my life
I pushed the ones who loved me away
I don't see the pain I'm causing them
I look in her eyes and I don't see her pain
She knows I need help but I keep using
She sees my addiction but I cannot
She loves me but is letting me go
What is my excuse
Why do I continue to **** myself
So many whys
So many questions
What would I see
If I could see myself in someone else's eyes
Would I like the person staring back at me
Would I see a strung out addict
Would I see a lost soul
So I'll snort one more perk
I'll smoke some more **** and
I'll shoot up some more *******
Because now they control my life



(this poem is about I guy I used to date we remained friends and his addiction was the inspiration behind this poem. Drugs and other substance abuse can really take a lot away.)

he pushes me onto my knees
                       our father who art in heaven
i open my mouth for him
                      lord, i want to recommit my life, my heart to you
he holds my head in his hands and i take in all of him
                     you alone are worthy of all honor and praise
his eyes close and his head tilts back
                    he will rejoice over you with gladness; he will quiet you
                        by his love
i can feel tears running down my cheeks and i look up and capture his eyes
                   i saw the lord...lofty and exalted
his mouth tilted into a grin
                  make your face shine on your servant; save me in your
                         steadfast love
he pushes my head back and i come away with drool and tears dripping to the floor
                 now the works of the flesh are evident
i smile at him and my gaze demands his admiration
                for this is the love of god

~

By: Cedric McClester

Remember when addiction
Was just a black and brown affliction?
Don’t you long for those Halcyon days
Before your kids picked up their ways
Before the face of addiction changed
And the situation got rearranged
We share more in common than you knew
Your kids are becoming zombies too

So as you seek to absolve ‘em
Hoping they can overcome the problem
You put on a happy face and pretend
That you’re not at your wits end
It’s an old familiar song
You asking, "Where did I go wrong?"
Because it’s becoming very plain
That the pain is just the same

Now addiction’s a major issue
So you grab another tissue
As you try to figure out
How did this thing come about
But the answer is elusive
Drug addiction is all inclusive
See it never occurred to ya
That it would take over suburbia

Don’t even bother to explain
I understand - I feel your pain
And the thing you fear the most
Is one day they’ll overdose
So you pray they never do it
That they never take you through it
And night after night you cry
Hoping that they will not die



Cedric McClester, Copyright (c) 2016.  All rights reserved.

You're my addiction.
My sweet addiction.
My painful addiction.

Just as an addict never truly
overcomes his addiction,
I will never,
ever
be over
you.
But you knew that didn't you?

I'll see a light one day
and pull myself out of your shadow,
then I'll relapse.
You know how it goes.
The rekindled hope.
The fear that goes along with it,
because what if that hope leads nowhere at all?
The smiles when I get your texts
or see you come in the door.
The breath that catches in my throat
when you smile, or laugh,
or do just about anything.

Oh I could have loved you.
The things I would have done for you,
sacrificed for you-
You really don't get it do you?
You don't think you're worth it,
I've seen it in your eyes.
But I want to grab your face and whisper,
"You are worth it.
You deserve it all,
anything you want
(and I hope you want me).
You. Are. Worthy."

Tonight I'm just angry with you,
I'm fuming in my bed as a write this at 12:32.
But give me a few more weeks
and I'll relapse again-
Just back where I started.
No really,
it would be back where I started
because the thing is
(the really pathetic detail is):
I grew up loving you.
The weeks we spent at summer camp
taught me how to love a boy like you.
They taught me how to laugh
and how to live.
They taught me all about you.

When I relapse with you,
I relapse with something else too.
I relapse with scars
and tears
and of course regret.
Because isn't that always how it goes?

The world must stay in balance.
That's why power comes with responsibility,
hope with fear,
and love... with pain.

And I'm addicted to every bit of it.

The addiction: Imagine a place where you could escape from the place where your source of pain first began; Home.
Me: This sounds quite extravagant. How come I’ve never heard of this place?
The addiction: You have my dear but it wasn’t advertised as what it truly is. You see the escape is drugs.
Me: How do I get to this amazing place?
The addiction: It’s easy you just have to stay committed. But like most things there’s a price to pay.
Me: How much?
The addiction: Not how much. It’s how far you will go to stay in this paradise.
Me: Just the drugs?
The addiction: Yes, just sign your name on the dotted line.
Me: Okay. (Signs name)
The addiction: Your free now do whatever you like, but just remember it’s our little secrete. I have to go now but enjoy your stay. And remember you can always find your way back home. You know the way

I am an addict
I am a mother
I am a daughter
A sister, a friend.

I am an addict
and I live under
The spell addiction sends
right through my bones,
my mind, my heart, my soul

I am an addict
and I have never felt so small
I am an addict
I told myself
As I held my head in shame

I am an addict
and I cannot live with all this pain
I am an addict
I deserve nothing but the worst
I am an addict and
I live under this curse.

Success
I cannot have it (I told myself)
The right to a good life
I am an addict
I’ve caused too much pain and strife.

Content
I cannot have it (I told myself)
I don’t deserve to smile
I am an addict and
I am at the bottom of the pile

I am a survivor
I am a warrior
I am a Queen
But
I had a habit
That dampened all of my dreams

I am a fighter, a writer
I am clever, kind, caring and strong
I am an addict
but under labels I do not belong

I am a women, a human
Who sadly had to break
To be transformed into
The champion she is evolving
into today

I am an addict and
although yes, I do lust
for drink and drugs
I now have a Higher Power
I can trust, who showers
me with strength, guidance and love

I trudged for miles but
with hard work,
The shackles soon fell off
and although yes,
I fell face first
deep into the mud
I wiped my eyes,
squeaky clean and
I truly felt Gods love.

I began to breathe, to believe
in myself, in all my worth
and dare I say it……
I was thankful to still have
two feet firmly on this earth.

I remembered how it feels to live,
to dream, to be free
To feel alive –
and just how beautiful
This universe really is
Through my new fresh eyes.

I am an addict
And I do not wish to forget
For that could do me harm

I will always remember
my loved ones, my friends,
my family
Who lost their battles
In this crazy search for calm
and I hold them here
Firmly within my heart.

They provide me with the fuel
When my internal fire
barely starts
But the ones who keep me
Strong, who really ignite
my light
Are the ones sat amongst us,
The ones who daily fight
to stay sober and clean

We’re not perfect but
We try, the survivors,
the warriors, the ones
fighting to the end
carrying a light for their
lost loved ones and friends

You’re the champions –
In my eyes you are all stars.

And you deserve every bit
of goodness on this earth

Addiction puts blinkers on your
eyes, but recovery removes the curse.

Please understand, it isn’t
easy, it is a daily fight
but with time, care and
a lot of love, I am grateful
to have been given another
chance to try at life.

I am an addict
But I am also a survivor
And freedom tastes so
very, very nice.

Sadly,
morphine is the drug, the addiction
that keeps me here today.
Exhilaratingly unstimulating
I'm stuck in a dream world
that has lost it’s color
a monotonous monotone.
Happily,
morphine is my drug, my addiction
that will take my broken
life away.

My lips have always craved the taste of danger.
Maybe it is because I don't know what's good for me
or I'm in love with the high I get from it
The high that takes me to the heavens,
surpassing the pillow-like clouds
resting against the azure canvas
I remember the taste so vividly,
I salivate at the thought of it
It's sweet like candy,
the sugary goodness
rushing inside my veins
delicately coating my tongue
bites between my teeth
explode into a thousand little pieces,
dancing inside my mouth
Your succulent lips pressed against mine,
remind me of the taste of summer strawberries,
juicy and tender with citrusy undertones
we're kissing like there's no tomorrow
Oh how I feel your lips part from mine, then touch
and part again the way the clouds greet the sky
Before a rainy afternoon
How can something so bad taste this good?
Oh I'm convinced your kisses are a drug
Nice to play with, but toxic to the mind
Kissing you must be equivalent to intoxication
shockwaves through my body,
the paralyzing euphoria
I don't think I could ever give you up
This addiction is taking control

and i remember going out in london,
seeking bloc party, and a fan-b -
or *****... or sycophancy in practice...
snogging a finnish girl
who did the shadow work for the white
stripes, donning a eisernes kreuz
t-shirt, feeling like: well...
this could work... but it didn't...
ended up in upper-side of what was,
what is, what if of london...
cradling an ex-girlfriend on a bean
bag,
while our hosts did *******
below us...
     and i can only remedy myself,
now, with the memory,
  as vivid as a holocaust denier...
    shaking...
              petrified shaking,
but wholly imbedded by a trust...
              she wasn't something akin
to a size-difference fetish of
   a reverted teddy-bear / pillow,
in my arms...
   standing an astouding 6ft...
                        indian and trans-irish
roots...
                 (one antidote to identity
politico? **** it... spice it up
with terms like afro-saxons)...
                               her shaking...

semi-epileptic,
   but what a sensation, lodged into
a mind that has become purely
memoria cameo theatre...
what am i getting at?

ah!

    the slack boys get playing video games...
hell, i play video games while taking
a ****, on the throne of thrones,
but when i'm mobile?
closed eyes, sitting on a folded leg
on a window-sill,
   eyes, closed, ears armed with
a thumping sound akin to static-x,
"watching" a moo-v...
                did i eat any beef before
the mad cow disease broke down
the blind train of journalism?
    so... i have aspects of a mad cow
disease in me?!
             be and only be:
a relentless *******...

  but boys getting the slack for their
cognitive geography...
            
     but...

    a girl obsessing disney movies,
with her critique?
     apparently the world of boys
isn't colourful enough,
   or: too grey...
              well... we have the noir range...
but before that blossoms,
it's taken down, and has a psychiatric
institution impose its...

wait... **** addiction?
   ever try to alleviate that sort of addiction
by, actually buying a ***** mag.,
from a shop, and not even blushing?
there are alternatives to psychiatry -
i think the slur comes along
the rubric of:            wh     o      r        e:
oh... that fading french hark
within the straitjacket of for...

               huh? not a fork...
               boys are stupid for playing
video games,
  but girls are a o.k. doing disney cartoon
critiques...
    or that story of assorting a pyramid
but not an extending rectangle hierarchy...
        
boys stop playing video games,
girls stop having a fetish for idealistic
cartoons...
                  fair enough?

oh i'm ******...
                   because how can you
grind the one, but not observe the other?
cartoon movies
are video games what
girl is to boy:
                    replica -
                                counter-mimic.

yet... i can still only remember her
shaking body, left, in the *****
of my embrace...
        like i might love a ***** star...
with... the coincidence of:
not allowing a knowledge of
a past...

               it's not that ignorance
is bliss... certain types of ignorance...
simply do not hurt...

                and we woke up in the top
floor (there were only two to begin with)
of the werehouse,
   and with the sunrise, we parted...

she having children, i having the burden
of too many poems -
             the irrational reality of
inverted claustrophobia continually
****** a blank white pixel space
         with my maggoty wordings...
                  
a ***** addiction?
1. go into a shop and buy a mag.
2. watch videos of girls *******
3. watch videos of girls
     giving critique of YA novels
4. **** a lemon in the morning
   after a night of drinking?
5. consider the implanted
  impetus within the confines
of a circumcision?

I'm not perfect,
I know I'll never be.
I still strive for perfection,
Something I'll never have.

Society wants perfection,
Even when it says it doesn't.
Just look at ads,
Movies,
Even vegetables have to look good,
For stores to sell them.

How can anyone or anything ever be good enough when held up against something unachievable?
Something not even the seemingly perfect people have or are,
Something we all know is impossible,
But we have heard that everything is possible,
So some of us never give up,
It will never make us happy
And it will never happen.

The only way is to accept imperfections,
Accept not being perfect,
Accept being you,
Accept being different
And accept life as it is.

I'm not saying give up on your dreams,
I'm saying don't make yourself something you're not,
this ideal that you have in your head that is unattainable,
this person that's so perfect that moving towards it becomes an obsession and addiction towards unhappiness, low selfesteem, depression and never feeling good enough no matter what you do or how hard you try.

I know it's cliche, but love yourself!

Addiction
Is 2am stumbling in slurring all your words
Addiction is when the needle is so far in your vein that it aches and pulses
Addiction is when your nose burns from not the first but the 20th line
You tell your self I’m not addicted I don’t have a problem but your family is begging with pleading eyes and you sit with bleeding veins as you tell yourself just one more Adderall you don’t see how far gone you are until you’re gone because you would rather give up your own life rather then the Xanax hanging from your hand you say it’s an escape but this escape is calling death upon yourself
You’re a prisoner to the drugs begging with pleading eyes for someone to ask you how you’re doing but when they don’t you’ll sit in the dimly lit kitchen as pills caress your hand you’ll wonder why no one asked you. You feel alone so you’ll fill the void with another shot of liquid gold and when you’re finally able to sleep after days of escaping your day meres you’ll realize the reason why no one asked how you were and as the realization sets in you’ll take out the needle and throw away the pills as your nightmares begin to fade and the smile on your face comes into play you’ll realize I made it out of this.

It seems to me
the more things change
the more they stay the same.
I wonder how the rules evolve
but we keep at the same game
and though tired at competing
we're addicted to the bother
for when we lose we need to prove
and when we win we need another
and though we're all exhausted
we are spurred on by the lies
and i feel i've lived a million lives
and tried a million tries.

I knew straight away it was wrong for me,
but ****** ... was all that i could see.
I knew pretty soon, it would make me sick,
but me thinkin was slow and addiction was quick.

I didnt think then it would ruin my life,
didn't want to be its slave, nor be its wife.
Didn't know then the years would fly by,
for every low there is a high.

Didn't think then my addiction would spread
smoke crack all night, spend the day in bed.

(c) ms rigs 04/10/2014

You had a great life ahead of you
Knew exactly what you were gonna do
But the higher you rose, the further you fall
Now you realize you've lost it all.
'Cause when you stuck that needle in your arm
You got caught up in an evil demon's charm.
Now the drug's the master of your mind
Ruining all that it shall find

The drugs are rotting out your brain
Driving you insane
Addiction's locked you down in chains
So the demon takes the reins
Demon's Charm ruling you
Demon's Charm ruining you
Demon's Charm killing you
Demon's Charm rotting out your brain.

You cower an quake with endless fright
Never again will you see the light
The high has worn off, you feel the pain
Hurry it up, shoot it up again

You crave the fix,
You're feeling sick,
You need it quick,
Your shoulders shake and quiver
When you finally get your fix
The pleasure makes you shiver

The drugs are rotting out your brain
Driving you insane.
Addiction's locked you down in chains
So the demon takes the reins
Demon's Charm ruling you
Demon's Charm ruining you
Demon's Charm killing you
Demon's Charm rotting out your brain.

You say you're gonna quit
But there's a war inside your head
Should you cave and take a hit
Or something else instead
You know you need to get clean soon
Or else you'll soon be dead

Now in rehab, darkness is all you see.
The dark white walls surrounding you.
Only during sleep your mind is free.
The withdrawal is killing you,
Only comfort is how good it will be
When your tired mind is free.

The drugs are rotting out your brain 
Driving you insane
Addiction's locked you down in chains
So the demon takes the reins
Demon's Charm ruling you
Demon's Charm ruining you
Demon's Charm killing you
Demon's Charm rotting out your brain.

It was going good.
You'd kicked the habit
Then you relapsed
And your life collapsed   

Your psyche snapped
And now you're trapped
In an endless cycle .

Swimming in misery
Darkness imprisons you
Pain and loathing all you see
While praying to god on bended knee
To let the pain and misery end.

The drugs are rotting out your brain
Driving you insane
Addiction's locked you down in chains
So the demon takes the reins
Demon's Charm ruling you
Demon's Charm ruining you
Demon's Charm killing you
Demon's Charm rotting out your brain.

Your sanity is shattered.
You're broken and battered
Lost everything that mattered
Curl up and stare at the sky
Kiss your old life goodbye
Curl up and wait to die
The drugs killed and ruined your life
You now stand on the edge of a knife
While the demon runs through your veins

To be addicts
we are fated
always thirsty
never sated.

Bliss in a cup
Coffee is required
similar to a drug
It keeps us wired.

Friction addiction

Hostilities slip from blistered lips
Scald the core of me
The I don't love you
War of words
and absurdities
What will it take to please you
Teasing me with shackled pleasure
The measured moments
Your addiction is friction to my spirit
I hear it in your veiled promises and lies
Defies the logic that tethers me
Responisibility
Civility
The trappings of this plastic
Psuedo humanity
Insanity the manacles I drag
Bound and gagged by your perception
The deception of what you choose to see
Skin to skin we writhe enslaved
I will never be set free
TL Boehm
080708

I am deaf, blind, and mute
Though that's untrue, physically speaking
I still feel it deep within me
Blinding my eyes from truth
From reality
Deafening my ears from hearing others' encouraging words
And their feelings of warmth and love
Muting my replies and true thoughts
From ever springing up
To prevent me from prying my fingers off the cusp of this palpable insanity
Ah, this addiction is overwhelming

I need a moment
Just one second
Of truth to burst in and scream into my ears
Crying and begging me to come to my senses
Reminding me of the past failures
And how I said this time would be different
Just one moment of honest truth
But, you see, I'm deaf
I can't hear anything

Edging on this addiction
Knowing I'll fall
And have to start all over
I just need a moment...
A brief time of clarity
To open my eyes
So I can see clearly
That all the excuses I'm spewing out are lies
A memory I can view
Something that jogs my memory
And reminds me of why I wanted to stop in the first place
But you see...
I'm blind
I can't see even this truth that lies right in front me

The addiction is winning
Knocked me out so hard
My head is spinning
I need to convince myself to escape this battle
Its power is so terrifying
And I can't even speak
I choke out pleas
But they are unintelligible
The addiction hears nothing
And nor do I
But I need just a moment...
Of someone's words to recite
To clear my mind
And be who I was before I commited this sin
Please, I beg of you, Me
Speak, speak, speak!
But I am mute
I can't say a single thing...

...

Oh, what a tragedy
To be deaf, blind, and mute

What if
I told you
not to discourage
The world and you

You're the part of nature
The very part to be loved
and captured

The world can be cruel not
meeting your expectation
  I want to encourage you

What we are not
We all need to be cared for
No-one needs to control you
You put you or not?
But your heart and soul
inside you
Was worth every
Worldbeat of a shot

Like an energy force

What we hear
let nature
take its course

How it got to you
But of course
Unexpected surprise or not
Another divorce
Spiritual eye
compelled you

To be or not to be
(The Shakespearian) dialogue
But what is concealed so secretive
Our loved ones
The world revolves around
(Many Rules) a dust of the wind
The dead ones The wild or bad ones
 What would it be without
colors and no control
The kindest hearts of souls

It's not very logical or practical
To use it never to abuse it how
another person transforms it
Solving the problems
Such a delicate moment touching a rose

And snap a pose Lady Madonna

Like it-or, not the Vogue space alien green
Your money is not always what it seems
The whole world in your hand
Feeling alienated mind polluted
The things that we are? Being Lifted

Why does a business make you feel
Nothingness the number
Well let's consider
yourself part of the family
We are not on this planet
to be right or wrong

How every molecule
 something clicks
The good earth Apple
computer console
All the keys comma, star,
how far will it go
So many deceased or not ever pleased
@  # whats the odds percentage %
The exclamation point! !! & etc
The addiction movies the drama

Fresh blueberries the sour cream
Not watching your diet what a dilemma
Those landmark cemeteries so
vivid not a dream and life to
overcome
your fears and dreams

Every Data color is the
warmest earth worth every beauty of color

Those homemade brownies
The revolving Globe
Her Grecian robe contemplating
You're the physical sensible person
Trying a (Sun filled) vacation
How it groves to shape right in
Healthy or not we were
born  to be loved

Our eyes see but they're
not clear not the friendly
Environment somehow mean

Or bluer than the sky clean
But "Hi' nice welcoming
Robin bird fly__*
Maybe it's not your true birth

Like a cry overflow

What do you know he knows
or she knows
Enjoy yourself your mind will be higher
Overly confident to feel pompous
The Showstopper word it nutritious
Don't underestimate
Who we really are the believer

Don't pull yourself back
with negativity

Accept the craziness
You're not the wallflower
The world captures you
every day cry or make it
your time to pray
Your head was spinning
with fascination like it was your
time of blessing
That European trip the
airplane pop of ears what is glory
Let the people hear your side of the story

The restlessness above all  the love
With such a will of ambition list
Feeling the dizziness

I know the world would be
a better place with smiling face
Show your hair with the
fresh cut daisy
The brightness soothes you
The Daisy my favorite
because of Mom
She taught me well

I will always be her daisy
What makes us happy
That personal growth we don't
need a wish just push forward
We were meant to do
this together
intertwined as both
Toward our happiness

Chocolate ice cream running
down my pudgy chin
licking it up quickly
like it's liquid sin

This sweet stuff really makes me
do a little dance
but my *** is spreading
in my yoga pants

I'm gonna have to stop it
and put it down for good
even though I hate to
I know I really should

I'll eat it in the morning
and then again at night
it's no ****** wonder
my pants are getting tight

I could pray to God in heaven
make a wish upon the moon
or stop being so lazy
and just put down the spoon