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My greatest fear is
that my mind will become languid
all these nerves that buzz and fill
will someday become a vegetable

somnolent times will set upon me
a spell from which I cannot recover
lazily and languorously I shall dwell
an intellect without vigour

too much comfort too much praise too much ease
shall push me off the cliff of complacency
and I shall fall without cognizance
a mental suicide, awareness in deep freeze

a hardened blank consciousness
that needs to be broken through
excavated from a  grave of self-righteousness
pushed beyond self-set limits
melted until the core is seen

I need to feel the pain and hurt
cry briny tears and experience grief
need to feel unsure undecided
obscure myself in anxiety
make sure the inner ocean stays unfrozen

- Vijayalakshmi Harish
        12.09.2012

Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish
From a letter by Franz Kafka to his schoolmate Oskar Pollak, 27 January 1904 (translated by Richard and Clara Winston): 'I think we ought to read only the kind of books that wound and stab us. If the book we're reading doesn't wake us up with a blow on the head, what are we reading it for? So that it will make us happy, as you write? Good Lord, we would be happy precisely if we had no books, and the kind of books that make us happy are the kind we could write ourselves if we had to. But we need the books that affect us like a disaster, that grieve us deeply, like the death of someone we loved more than ourselves, like being banished into forests far from everyone, like a suicide. A book must be the axe for the frozen sea inside us. That is my belief.'
Aiden Williams Nov 2012
From whips and chains
To whips and chains,
Earned by pigmentation.
Suffered through tribulation
Caused by the need for *******
Lead to the names of elders confusion
The game of deception
Lead to liberation.

A work for works sake,
Where all currency we make
Is born for the government to take.
A cycle of earnings and yearnings
Where earnings go to learnings,
And learnings go to younglings,
Younglings go to work,
And from work they live to buy things
And from these things come the taxings
Of all things to come.
With housing comes heating where water is needed.
These things to provide for the one to be marrying,
And a child she may be carrying which leads to more taxing,
And when this child grows and they don't need your waxing
So begins your pension and time for relaxing.
Living without fear of receiving the axing,

And your wrinkles now potent define all your moods
You may wish you had done what little other men could,
Stand tall where some other pioneer may have once stood,
But instead around the stump no room for a branch,
Locked in by the cycle
Left to pedal with no brakes.
Warren Erasmus Aug 2011
You sit there
Sails billowing empty wind
Heart tight-lipped
Thinking you share feelings
When it is them
That shackle you

Your eyes betray
Your fingers stab
Gathering my blood
Your mouth chases breath
Exposing pain
You refuse to see
And axing the root that heals

My heart is spent
I place my scarecrow
And while you flaunt black pinions,
I send you to scavange
On someone elses field
This day…
You hurt no more!
traces of being Mar 2016
.
The tender Willow leaves whoosh softly
                              with the fickle cherry blossom breeze

Painting the colour
                              these inevitable days ,
                              the fragrant scent
                                                      o­f springtide

No longer holding back
                              the dreams from deep in a heart
                                                               w­axing gibbous ,

the unopined moon
                              rose up over an unwritten poem

painting hues with words
                              shaping the shadows of its song
                              into a musically dappled tableau

stroked by the tickle of poignant whispers

                              waft from the veritable roguish winter nadir
                                              ― a latent and longing heart


         ― beneath
                              a sky full of stars

                                      
                 ­                                        ✩ ✩ ☼ ✩ ✩
                                                     *wild is the wind
Butch Decatoria Nov 2016
The morning ***
Before head
back to work
This Jay Oh Bee
B is for Business / Bull Dooky

"It's just Bid ness"

No Justice
The menial  
Minimum wage / Slave to NEED
Gotta have purchase
Gotta buy to eat
Nothing comes for free

Except / accept

That moment
The whole world fears...
DEATH.
We sware to
Vanity
A Slave  - yes Sam, I am
I tell you this,
what I saw, we done-did seen...

White Grey hound buses
Parking in our Plaza
Spilling out the Orient,
          Snapping pictures with Samsungs
While I did smoke
An Ultralight One-Hundred
          I got the sense,
That they were surveying the area
Pointing forefingers painting
Tree
Miming
Expansion
GPS  e s p
Architects of
Pleased with themselves
The language of enigma
Listen
To their chatter
            chinking
Foreigners they used to be

Historical predictions now

What landscapes will look like
When remodeled
(...misguided projectiles....)

A bigger Little Korea Town

Over run...

It's the feeling
That must be panic
It's the feeling
Of being surrounded
By enemy foe
By animal control
Their tranqs. Nets & leashes,
Stunners at the ready...

Pzzt and sshhzzz....
Static mind games
Phones smarter than us,
Of course

We all FaceTime with touch screens
I'm no different,
Press Menu, the date and time
                       It's only 5 minutes 'til...
Light another ***
Before I get started ...

Here, my J.o.b. Is being...
The only employee "who a-speak a-only
English"
"Only a-one language"
Hehehe *** emoji!

Less than zilch.
Became
Like a spy spying secretly
Inside his own
Country / nation / tribe
Of the people, all
men are creating
Our own inequalities...

Done-did see, oh say so

We'll get - done got toked
Peace pipes, petrol
and the joke goes
"There's this bus, and them opportunists...
Blueprints, dispensaries,
The Imminent war..."

(Even the church has history
With puffs
            Of black and white
Rising
             Smoke / gag reflexes /
The Coughing it up)

Chang Cha-Ching!
Money.

Smoke brakes over
Gets back
To the factory
Line
Chain Gang am/way

Cracking whips on backs of us
Of those who still worship
The lamb...  Yes I am
To Uncle Sam :
In the way, another obstacle


In the way of progress
Prehistoric pedestrian painted in the landscape
Sooner pushing
Out of the way

For supermarket boulevard malls
Catering from cowering from defeat
Mean streaks
Bomb shells
Mad money and a piece
       "Glocks, 45colts, semi automatics
        *******' Guns
For the **** storm hustle...!"


Every conversation started
Shaft all up in your grill
Every question an appeal
Digging
For information is power
Axing who you be?

I works at the grocers
In the ****** area part of town
Across the ways from the dispensary
(**** Chung winks at chuck wagons)

Says I gets discounts
With my marijuana card,
Prescription coupon
******


A regular
Opportunist.

Yelp! Hollah!

we Gots what you really need
       It's only business
Don't take it personal
Minions of E.T

But Still... there is no justice....

We Prey on the Lambs
And tell ourselves to
Doubt slowly
             "Just you wait / they'll see...
Dawn will break"
Ever
Clear of smoke, no doubt

The open minds, eyes,
Done did and able to see...
The invasion
Gots
Intellectual property

Karma will be a *****
On dinosaur bones
In the crude that burns the sky
And the smoke
Breaking
Our bad /

bubble...

FIN.life.
Choke.
Zombee Sep 2014
-






Any Body Care?


any body Daring Enough
to
Fake it?


any body Gracious enough
to
Hide their Insults?


any body Kind enough
to
**** their Laughter?


any body Mindful enough
to
Notice an Open mind?


any body Polite enough
to
Quietly Respect
the
Sentimental Truth behind
the
Universal Versatile
styles of Writing
of
Existential Youth?




"Zzzzzzzz"








Keep Sleeping, world.








Were the ones that burn your Book,
cook your Meals n wield your Word,
turn your Tables up side Down,
crown your Halos right side Up.


Were the ones that up your Way,
wake you Up n pull you Down,
down your Blood n **** you Dry,
dye your Hairs n ware you Thin.


Were the ones you think you Killed,
Still the ones with willful Thought:
All the ones that cross a Line,
Im the one that signs its Bill.


Were the ones that build you Up,
cut you Down n shout out Timber!








Were the ones that tip the Drill,
tilt the Ships n chip the Chucks,
hunt the Mills n spill the Guts,
cut the Hairs n bare the Gift.


Were the ones that give you Lift,
lift your Covers,  tuck you In,
ink your Spines n sing your Ticket,
tick your Time n tie you Up:


Were the ones that punch your Clock,
block the Sun n run in Flocks,
lock your Wings n sling the Rocks,
Drop your wings n swing you High.


Were the ones that hide in Packs,
axing........Axing........stacking........Lumber.





the­
"people you are After
are the
people you dePend on."

-  Tyler Durden


.


© Copyright Jesse James Adams


.
After all your Burning Crusades
n Dated ideas of eQuality;

Following the Genocide of your
Heightening power that hides behind Idealogy;

Johhny-on-the-spotting all the
Kings upon your checkered board
n Lords upon your doorstep,,

setting all the Mortar,
immortalizing Naumachy,,,
...Ordering the Pawning of your Queen,,

dreaming of the Requiem,
beckoning for Stalinism,,
(Tolerance is just another
Utter of the Vatican):

(doesnt make a Sound),
now we have to Wonder:
what the **** is Exercising
rights of which we see in Text
if everything is Yours?
YOURE the one whose free.


"Zzzzzzzz"






Keep Sleeping, world.






after you are Gone,
gone with all the Leaves:
leaving just a Ghost,
poetry preVails.
Ken Pepiton Dec 2018
Bang the drum slowly

There was a rhythm, an echo
Everything, after to day has been leavend
by Iain McGilchrist I heard him speak on Youtube.
----
We can learn forever, I think he agrees. We live to learn.
I've lived a bit longer.

When the teacher is ready the student appears
in arrears
twisted from duty by dereliction

do you understand, stand under, any

one thing word god idea and that's it truth?
I do.
What idea do you stand under?
Seek and ye, meaning me, shall find.
seek a place where you believe that is known
make that place your home,
make that place
make that
effectual, fervent axing fells the forest for the trees

if you please, brief turing-inspired tests of ideas
re-presenting old good ideas
rusted through disuse

for possible recyclings through a level of minecraft.
the wargames are
less
rewarding, post-war on terror.
After age 27, winning alone is not enough,
even the gang, the fam, the team
all the weese we ever was

We aint. I am

needing meaning like air

oh my god, a worship song I heard that
You are the air I breathe

do we, the we of you and me believe air is good?

we do, I knew. Good, 'ts'at mean? Air is meaning?

all one after the morph into alone
I am the way or there is no way

that could be the story but for you,

I-Thou Philosophy, I bow to thee,

en passant on pointe

Ministry of truth Prognosticator Hagee he say
Hell? Yes, he say Hell yest'here is a hell for all

who fail to escape it. I say
One way or another,

you escape one hell,
paying nothing more than proper attention
to detail (did we define duty),

you know how, do it as needed,
friends help but
eventually, something like a father must judge me

good. That is the whole duty. Or else nothing,
eventually right,
live a life that brings honor,
he who troubles his own house

inherits the wind,
you heard he said I came to divide?

Split the flow with a contrail of ice
cutting through the clouds
a jet plane don’t know if
any thing of the sort was ever seen

before my generation.
slice the current into paisleys bubbles reaching away
from the point whence most heat meats least resistance
boiling begins
bubbles emerge and pop.

as old as sin
then
yada, the chorus sings, all the little milk sops sing

yada yada yada and mock the need

to know, you know? More,

after all's been said and done why goes on,

she waves, Cliché crashes to my frontal lobe from lizard brain
Dive in
follow wisdom flowing past
our di er rama drama direct ******* of re ality ify ing

ding.
Did that work? That's maybe
as good as praying, effective

Judge you, I judge me. Can I live with your
following the flow I followed

ob right ob vious not en vious

if the clouds and rain were what water wishes to be,
first some tears must add specialsalt to the sea,
earth salt, from mudmen,
then salt ***** water from
the mud after the flood
when the mammoth
died, (Thank him, for his bones)

then grandpa tells another lie and we laugh
and he weeps

it only hurts, when I laught, he winks,

She pushes and the story takes 'is father's breath,
his first alone, all one, all the air in the world
flowing in to fill the need pressing listing
need need need to breathe
lusting listing and
there,
a new whirl in the world
with all the wind an heir may need
someday, from one bubble to another

in one breath.
One beat of the walking drum,
Meaning, the search for reason and rhythm, skipping it seems, the old man declares is a necessary mode at some point in every upright walker's life.
Brett Bonnete Feb 2021
Her beat had been so bastardized that a tree had grown to protect it;
To harbor silence in pandemonium.
Isolation was the only remedy to a disease persistent to turn past into present,
So she grew on her own terms, and her heart beat for no one but herself,
Because to let someone in, meant to risk axing away at the barricade she had worked so arduously to withstand.
When she fell into him the first time, the wounds were preemptive.
Her brittle bones cast away at the hopes that he would see her heart before her mind;
From which idiosyncratic branches wrapped around her fingertips,
And the oak shards springing from within, just barely inching away from his own heart.
Strangely enough, he didn’t seem to mind.
When he stripped to bare back the scars were evident,
They cascaded from collarbone to the dip of his hip.
That’s when he brought her closer and whispered marvelously:
“I would bleed again for you.”
At the beginning, the boy hurt,
Yet he still saw the heart it held between the prongs of wooden cage.
So he continued to hurt, for her.
His mission rooted in the purpose of painting her the canvas of what life ought to be.
Penciling in the possibility of a reality where her aching shoulders could be lifted,
And a new smile plastered onto her lifeless frame.
He painted her in the image of who she used to be-
As if he knew her before she grew weary at life’s expense.
In the canvas, the wooden cage had disappeared, and a luminosity introduced itself.
He had uncovered her heart, and no longer was it encompassed by a shell, but freely beating;
Beating for him.
Every morning, day in and day out, meters of her branches gradually retracted,
And the boy’s scars gradually sealed over.
Oddly enough, it seemed as if they had healed each other.
That the quiet embraces they held each night didn’t pierce him,
but rather comforted his mind that this time, it would be different.
Somehow, she would come to love him, and him, her.
She saw in him a soldier; whose battle wounds were ghastly.
He had lived through hell and came back to dispel the stories,
But instead of stories of agony and woe, and anger and spite,
He spoke of the morning dew on dandelions reflecting the sun’s rays and how they most beautifully sprung from nothing.
He spoke of the quiet whispers of the wind bringing music to deaf ears.
He spoke of how if you listen closely, you can almost hear each cricket sing its song
in a field of thousands.  
Each time he kissed her,
he did as if it were the last.
Each time he held her,
he did as if she were asleep.
Each time he healed her wounds,
he did as if they were preemptive.
2020
Paul Hardwick May 2014
While sitting on the beach
that's within my own head
enjoying
a bacardi and coke
and just chill axing
it was brought to my attention
that to readers of some of my poems
it might give the reader
a headache or maybe worse
of course this is not my intension at all
so please note for the future readers
you read by your own choice
and any brains that might explode
was not the intension of the author
however if they do
please do not hesitate to let me know
Just for Linda--------Yes you know who you are ;-)   P@ul
Of This Whelk Hooked Sluggish Autodidact

Nay, despite failing to make the grade,
     this bluesy well red, duff mute
     average white band hit,
     hard knock school alumnus
jack of all trades master of none bumped along

     *** hole cratered steep pitch
     while riding the bus
bullies skewered kosher me all, cannibalized
     carte blanche timid ego

     brandishing exacto knife
     threatening jugular, cuss
sing maniacally pulling out all stops
     going headstrong for this doofuss

Embracing premonition making me mincemeat
     vis a vis via, Atilla the *** plus
Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore
     after diet of worms

     as hors d'oeuvre hug guess
if given a choice, would prefer Loch Ness
monster, or the whale that swallowed Jonah,
     either t'would be a quite im press

heave feted feat, versus being poached,
      roasted, skewered burnt alive
perhaps sautéed to feed additionally,
     the Gothic (Jacks sin) five,
the latter adorned with

     Bandolier prototype, whence they would jive
to Vandals mess sigh ya,
     these last yet another contra band
     to play on command, or risk not being
     he gee beegee bing  a live

all thee above iterated blather spluttered
     as punishment against revive
ving human sacrifice by pence hoove lee donning
     a new jersey wordlessly trumpeting, and strive

ving assiduously as a one man lobbyist,
     and aye willingly negotiate
     to take more'n one wive

even though that would be big o' me decor,
thus a last minute reprieve given
     without axing por favor
and black keys handed over

     to Holy Roman Empire in ****
rubble ruins (over the Weeknd), thus brutish nasty,
     and short tempered surprisingly
     (boot not prematurely) ******* bon jour

foo fighters actually (grand
     aery an nah - did a three sixty)
     feting me guest of *** or,
boosting self esteem, the first time
     since being a kid in a candy store

which poetic digression
     did make quite a dee tour,
and bringing detente amidst marauding
     village people hoop reef furred war.
B G Thurgood Aug 2013
I sit on rocks.
The discomfort feels real.
It's tangible.
I can feel the jagged edges piercing where I sit.
It feels real.

But my heart is broken.
Filled to the brim with axing sadness.
It rips at me, begging to be poured out.
And I try.
I try to empty it.
But it fills again and I don't know how to release it.

The discomfort ebbs as I sit. My heart feels empty.
Sarah Clark Aug 2019
laddered interior young
at the stem. axing archetypes,
archaic impulses needling,
tracing a thin history.

versed in red cedar,
conversation inherited from
compulsive dreams,
spontaneous ******,
           absurd.

air thick through
hemlock mind, beliefs
losing acreage
to wildfire,            
                     practice.

feet like temples,
         side stepping,
environment a dip of
images patterned,
falling to edges,

       mountains
       widening,

        basic matter.
Bill murray Jul 2015
Today overlord of his cabin
Will cut down all the little green shrubs
Cutting and axing
Until all the cutting's done.
itsall iwrite Oct 2018
are all phillips corrupt with power 27.10.18

 

not sure of knighthood

but now aware of axing

is it better for greater good

if guilty claw back for effective taxing.

who is under the thumb

its so clever

on entering its a roll of a drum

reminds me of little mo's nutty trevor.

shop is a goner

like london programme ink

deserves no respect or honour

silence is key wink wink.

can not see similarity

just the name

prince phillip will give clarity

out spoken and no shame.

not going to stigmatise

that would not be clever

but going to summarise

what is it with people called phillip s trevor.
Anthea Apr 2019
I'm anxious
That you'll stop needing me
The bricks between us keep getting taller
And harder for me to hurdle
I'm always the one scaling the wall
Pick axing through the center
So I can grab your hand
And yell wait!
I'm uneasy
That you'll stop wanting me
The miles between us keep getting longer
And harder for me to walk
I'm always the one running the path
Hijacking cars and speeding
So I can miss your hand
And yell wait!
I'm stressed
That you'll move on without me
The calendar keeps flipping
Years and years go by
I'm always the one trying to catch up to you
Running out of breath
So I can see the back of your head
And yell wait!


But you don't hear me...
Once again mine lock, stock
and barrel trade in balderdash
finds yours truly (i.e. me)
to type poem frisson a$$ off
as dentures chatter and gnash,
while still inside me gobstopper,
(the sole way to generate
plea for coveted heat),

which will moost likely
meet chilly reception
whereby ye will predictably
not even bat an eyelash
perchance receive critical backlash
'pon reading what qualifies
as mine trademark mishmash,

yet though just axing you to quash
knee **** reaction, or
unfairly con sitter me brash
not trying to make waves splash,
cuz yours truly prefers
amenable conflict resolution versus
airing sentiments online,
where differing opinions

spark byte size clash,
diminishing sympathy for
devilish dude with toothless flash,
(who by the way could benefit
courtesy bajillion dollars in cash),
though lavish largesse
much appreciated stash.

Superfluous here within chilly apartment
reasonably rhyming lament,
cuz central heater spews
cool air out vent,
no matter Kevin with son Kyle
(two man maintenance crew)
formerly named recently
replaced small circuit board,

mine genuine acknowledgement
once given, I surmised meant
his professional technical services
would be unnecessary,
until hot steamy summer weather
necessitates well mannered climate
controlled environment,

whereby malfunctioning
central air conditioning,
would find yours truly
donning bare banal civilities
(think emperor and his
new nonexistent/see thru clothes)
as totally tubular tumblr
harmless long haired fervent

pencil necked baby boomer gent
chilling profusely sweaty geek,
(matt her horn fact dashing
apostle impossible mission
not to chuckle testament)
speeding unsightly birthday suit
scaring old fogey folks out their wits,
especially seeing petrified
atrophied balled naughty BitTorrent.
(yes, that would be the snoozing missus,
hook lames to need mooch beauty sleep),
hence who might not arise for bajillion years.

Thou me noggin forced to remember
how me heart used to ache
asper in no help
to relieve anticipatory anxiety
doth suddenly find this

(24/7 day tripper sleeper) wide awake,
now mine dearest beloved,
ye need not break
these lovely bones remembering,
if yaw completed lix piddle orbitz

axing age iz fatalistic rhetorical question,
finding yours truly escorted to lake
chock full of fierce
allidiles or crocogators,
now worm eye gonna

get the most perfect Earth friendly cake,
rather than dastardly duck
that husbandly role i.e. man drake,
thus what better way
this stormy July sixth, 2019

to express moony times,
aye did pastimes forsake
feigning, pretending, trumpeting
loving thee tubby "FAKE,"
now...haim twice the man
I used tubby - formerly rake

hush long haired pencil necked geek
though in face of adversity still meek,
yet every now and again
rare instances flashes peek
a boo analogous to happy

go lucky boyhood doth sneak
out from down underground
self long suppressed
many times multiplied
by 52 times 7 days a week,

thus by gosh by golly
fingers quickly tap dance
akin to celebrating holly
day hootin n hollerin like jolly
roger, who pirated some loot

unlike captives feeling melancholy,
or akin to ******* offered
than immediately retracted from Polly
nonetheless, she might suggest some idea
worth parroting, thus I lob and volley

poetic pitch to thee anonymous reader
unbeknownst to me if got pie in the sky idea
how to appease wife, one costly human feeder
who gobbles everything in her wake
not affixed down with mortise
and tenon made of cedar.
TW Rice Jan 2022
Everything exciting comes from you to me. I feel like it's impossible to love you more than I do now. But I know, my love for you grows fiercer by the day. The intensity of wanting you, desiring you grows every moment we are away from one another. But when we are together, the feelings never change even after climatic adventures. There's still more I want...to hold you longer, to kiss you with more passion, to caress your body constantly, to hear your voice in my ear, to stare into your eyes and become lost in you. More moments with you is all I could ask for in this life because you are all that is good in this life. I no longer want me or I, I just want to be us. You are so easy to love. My heart continues to beat in some crazed rhythm wanting to be synchronized with yours. Each day I know that I want us more than the day before. Anticipation of the tomorrow's keeps me going. My love never waivers, it seeks more ways to expand daily. A little more, holding hands, listening, conversating, hugging, chill axing, anything you.

#lovingmyspecialkforeverly
Check it keep hot checks hair laid in dex sweat ***
A sunflower every hour I devour melanin too sour
Punch pack bullets in my lunch just incase of a hunch
Listen to the sounds of a crunch cracking stacking
Ultimate killer packing rhymes perfer nicks over dimes
High times cuz of my Styles soul running 26.4 miles
In the breeze black Greek philosophy tragedy
To the best enemies sitting in the corners playin for threes
Paxon axing I break the fractions Billy club racking
Smacking rapper actors lay it down to a tractor factor
To the game ya know my name notorious serious
Soul emperor genesis inferior to th exodus interior
Feel me flow path of a black hole space rage engage
A mind of war creed past a cut to a bleed recieve
Greed from the demons and devils that feed
Off of ya hands mic stands cupped like a baby
Wishing for monetary scabies it's crazy lately
I'm off topics with hot picks rhymes cement bricks
Tricks crash all billboards sliced with gully swords
Waving like a shark attack true villian in black
Emcee Ren come again for the ultimate perdition
Shadows of death protege of poets breath small steps
Prepped over the clones original black stones
On a Natural high gone flippin' into a 5D war zone
Dal90 Dec 2020
I’ve been online all night
Venting but rarely contemplating the need to take a breath
And think about how precious time is
Instead you’ve riled me up
You’ve grown more suspicious to me than a Beirut explosion
The ramifications should be on a mass scale
But the consequences are like a ripple in the Pacific Ocean
Insisting “your ****” is fire
But you’re completely evil, straight up deceitful
Wait a sec
How’s that offshore account?
The one you said I should be quiet about
One of the many secrets I learnt
Since the days when you were living hand to mouth
Shhhhh, oh sorry
I must be leakier than the Panama lakes
But unlike Justin no one’s going to find out the truth
So what have you go to lose?
You’re in a position opposite to Tony Blair on the stand
Offering up lies by the mouthful
So strong I think I’ve developed dysgeusia
But I’m not part of the lap it up council
My one aim is to watch you get cancelled
Not like a Fawlty Towers joke or a Winston Churchill statue
More akin to scraping gum off the bottom of my shoe
As ruthless as Netflix axing it’s number one arrival
Even if it’s presence has a startling Glow
Life lesson
You have to make tough decisions in order to achieve ones survival
And that means getting rid of any trace of poison
Despite the scintilla affect you had on me
That resulted in my fleeting acts of jocundity
The concoction more often than not was noisome
Since I’ve learnt
Not all that glitters is gold and everything rusts eventually
But I can’t wallow in an unhealthy state of bitterness
That this social media obsession has given me
It’s all white noise like a night on the sauce
Let’s call this katzenjammer
Now I’m face to face with my worst nightmares
It’s time to show courage
Step back to look forward in total belligerence
Time travelling into the Georgia wilderness in 1972 if I have to
That’s where I’ll find the rising shoots of deliverance

— The End —