oh the joys of idyllic
small town life in this
whitewashed village where
everyone knows everyone
and everyone knows
everyone’s business

where the groceries are
overpriced and the taxes
are high and everyone but
the wife knows he’s cheating

where everything is a scandal
and nobody will admit to knowing
anything but they’ll still talk
about it behind closed doors

there are supposedly prostitutes
on main street but i only ever see
the drunk and drugged out there
and if someone is single there is
someone determined
to find them a match

all and all a very pleasant
charming life we lead here
what with all the arrests
and the highway department
yammering away on things
and the way the tops of the semis
scrape the bottom of the
traffic lights on their way though

something charming about
the way the sides of the buildings
all need a good power washing
and there’s probably lots of
good clean arsenic in
the water supply

scenic
a most sleepy
little burg
they say

spend some time
with us and
you’ll find a community
you’ll find a home

you’ll also
find a thing or two
you’ll wish
you didn’t know

We stand on the bluffs above the breakers, watching the sea foam swirl like the madness of our broken world. We linger. The dense feeling of fate pervading us. The unbreakable diamond line tethering us to the crystalline moment, frozen in a picture, put in a box, never to be seen again. The wind blew and a pinprick shift in movement, insignificant as an eyelash, brought down an empire made of ash.  We walked those charred triumphant streets, riddled with rotting bouquets of flowers from yesterday’s parade. It was time to take comfort in strangers. She turned to me, “I want love like the ocean, it always comes back”. I think of her floating on the Adriatic contemplating our blossoming love, croatian street art, and holding her body close as a baby in the floridian waves. Now a million shards of glass laid lost on the savage sea floor, mirrors reflecting a thousand truths, hidden from her eyes by the churning tide.

Words don't matter anymore. I scream in frustrated contempt, “Why are you acting crazy! Why are you disturbed? Where is redemption here?” It is gone for now, a dog running wild in the woods. I wake up and try to explain the unconsciousness, but it’s like singing to a self possessed crowd in a run down karaoke bar. Grasping at cigarette smoke.

My last act of friendship could be to obliterate you and expose you for the liar you are. Instead I will let silence settle over any righteousness I feel, any angle of truth I claim to possess, letting the birds sing their songs for us, and the thrum of the world will hold me in its arms.  I will release the great burden there alone. “There are things I can tell you, and there are things I cannot say, I hold nothing against you, I forgive you.”

“You are a child, I do everything for everyone, I give everything, and everyone just takes from me!”  She viciously hisses in another’s voice, a harpy sent for blood, *****, and sacrifice, lashing about with claws meant to tear out the heart of man.

“I may have a child’s heart, filled with infinite forgiveness. I may be a flawed man, but I won’t turn from that truth, in it is wabi sabi beauty. I’m not seeking to rationalize or justify my actions, the past doesn’t interest me that much anymore. The feeling you give me now is a toxic one, like a ****** hitting rock bottom, I want the poison out of my veins.”

More screaming. Rampage, wrath, hell fury and doom. An **** of anger directed at my peaceful countenance, an all out assault fueled by brimstone, baiting the Buddah under the bohdi. My murderer is my muse. The citadel is overrun again by the Amazonian hordes set for the massacre, spear point to throat, mutilating the glinting marbled halls, painted red. So **** me now, my quiet pride and solemn truth are unassailable. You lob bombs at an iron sky. One built after years of hellish wildfire to bring down Zion. Yet the walls drip with life, you can taste it in the air. The overcoming of emotion, like fresh white clouds drifting above bloated bodies floating dead on the burning acrid water. And maybe only a dry heart pulp remains in the humid sun, but I don’t think so, there is juice here in this soul, the nectar is still sweet, tempered by age. I bite my tongue and laugh at the helplessness of love gone wrong, a faux pas matched only by a priest farting at a funeral. I wink at death, clapping and singing songs with a final gasp, we die like Hector dragged in the dust.

Days later, she writes a mixed apology. Staking a claim on humanity. Can she see into her own eyes? Does she know the past as I do, can she own her duplicity, her renunciation of all that she claims to hold dear? We were one once. Symbiotic, duads, all I did, she did, all I was, she was. Blame still taints my heart.

I want to strip off my clothes and howl in the rain, as the forest sends thunderous chamber hall applause to my release. I want to howl for the toil. I want to howl for the ecstasy. I want to howl for all the unrecognized love, all the unfulfilled expectations, the selfishness, I want to howl for the sacrifice, and the collapse of return, I want to howl.

Somewhere, does my scream still echo? A voice on the radio answers.

“Those things you keep, you better throw them away. You want to turn your back, bury your old ways. Once you were tethered, and now you are free. Once you were tethered, well now you are free. That was the river, this is the sea!”

I walk around a drafty room, hugging myself like a crying orphan seeing all the doors closed on the last day of autumn. If I can make it through the biting winter; holed up somewhere in an abandoned hollow, hands in ratty brown clothe gloves, patched pants and ***** scarves, spring will be beautiful, and I will lay in fields of burgeoning new blossoms. A thousand times Odysseus.

I'm lost.
Intensely so.
Lost adrift or on land or in any place between.
Lost like the credibility of someone when they judge a stranger on the color of their hair.
Lost like a tan when you move to Ireland.
Lost like that scrap of paper that cute person at the club who sounded like your soulmate might gave you their number on.

Sometimes I find directions.
North, then west at the fork in the road.
Follow along until you find salvation at the bottom of a green bottle.

Now I'm not found.
I'm more lost than ever, really.
Lost like I have been the moment I could step past my home's threshold.
I'm just lost in another direction.

I don't want to be in your bed sheets.
And I don't want you tangled up in mine,
I made my bed this morning.
I don't want you in my bed sheets,
Tangled up in them
Entwined
As if they were the vines of lust,
Binding you to the mirage of Us
The vines of love are coated with dust,
It's dangerous.
It's slippery.
Wet like the ocean as soon as you dip in me.
They say the ocean is deep and within it lie secrets...
Kiss me farewell and dive to the bottom of the seven seas just to keep it.
I don't want to go swimming in my bed sheets.
Then they'd be drenched from the high tides of expired desire
I don't want to wring out the deception that you perspire
I don't want to make my bed again.
My laundry is clean.

I’ll take you now, all that you are. Bite into my arms, you’re not trying to hurt me I know so I smile, you are just trying to be as close as you can for awhile. While you cannot feel guilt, while you forget to second guess. Your hands encase my wrists and your eyes bore into my own, I know what you’re looking for - the parts we never show. You outline the digits of my hand like they are your favorite tools to manipulate, that they are the only phrases you may entertwine with your own at the height of moments. My skin glides above yours, begging for the dissertation that you only can write.

Those first sentences will tentatively start with brushes of fingertips, touches at my arms and thighs, but they will pause after an introduction of lips and I will feel as I have at every single one of your readings. Foreplay is just your way of working up to your main point, no pun intended. The facts and examples are the neck kisses and when we undress you bring forth your objectives in a way I could never deny, would never ignore. Another moment to take each other in, as if we were opposing sides of the debate but that is hardly the case. But it doesn’t last and who’s to say who is to blame, who could not stand the wait. The lines you spin, so soft across my mouth I will murmur like quotes I have read in books, but the hooks that pull you closer to the truth, are teeth in my bottom lip demanding I be closer to you. Undertones whisper past my ears as your hands find themselves tangled in my curls and I lose myself to your voice, calming and soothing, as strange as that may seem. The tone you have set is one of urgency, but with a need to get the point across and not lost in it’s volatile haste.

The words you lose to my mouth in a kiss, and I forget the voice you are using, because I no longer need to hear you because I feel you instead. The strife, the iron in your soul and the somehow simultaneous fear and lust for life are pulling me into you. Or you into me. The body paragraphs have come together all so suddenly that I could cry out, but your mouth swallows mine and I am enthralled with the story we are writing for a short time. While you cannot doubt yourself, while I am free and neither are second guessing. We take advantage of such moments with a vigilante manner as if to say it was what should have been happening all along. My nails and teeth on your collarbones give you that extra, that bite of reality you needed to know you were on the right track. We spread out a colorful vocabulary of bruises and smears and scratches on our pages, tearing at all the feelings we assess only under wearisome candlelight and strong liquor. You have come full circle and your hands firm on my hips are when you make your final call to end the case, eyes on mine and mouths only responding to the other instead of their original owner.

We have reached our conclusion, or have we? Fiction or reality?

How am I supposed to make a decision
When my heart is severed in half
Slowly
But surely
Bleeding out

How am I supposed to jump
When all I can see at the bottom are
Sharp rocks

Thank you*
For reaching out to me when I needed it the most
For making me feel safe when talking to you
For being there when no one else was

Thank you
For believing in me when I don't myself
For allowing me to cry or just stare into the wall
For letting me sit in silence without having to say a word

Thank you
For listening to me for hours to end
For giving me the space and peace I've needed
For being the reason I got up and fought a little more

Thank you
For being more understanding than anyone ever before
For opening up your home to me even though you didn't have to
For holding my hand and assuring me that everything will be okay

Thank you
For all your support
For not giving up on me
For being with me through some of my worst times

Thank you for your warmth and all your hugs
I honestly wouldn't have made it this far without you
I'm truly grateful and forever will be
Thank you for saving me and for everything you've done

From the bottom of my heart, thank you

*(s.m)

"It won't last, it won't ******* last," murmured the optimist

here's to finding ways to getting him out of the picture in sequential order cheers

my electric toothbrush, lays vulnerable in the corner waiting for the day yours shall touch mine and all negative energies shall flow through positive energies so it shall no longer be dead

he kept seeing shadows of your face at the bottom of every bottle that night and that's why he can't wake up anymore

we rearranged things to the point like it appears i cracked in half over each individual seam of your existence but i did not dare let one fragment of myself lose itself to you

if you look closer at my blood cells, you'll see the distant reflections of things we should have done and things we will never do

Chernobyl was just a prelude to the damning disintegration of my heart the moment your fatality-laced fingers grazed mine for the first time

When the Chernobyl Kids whisper, it's just my soul seeking for ways to enter your ear but you refuse to let one toxin enter you

you came in through the arteries in my heart, and left through the veins in my neck with one slit of your blade-laden lips

there's this huge void where that heart used to be and i can't help but wonder if it was always like this

then i realize, when you touch me, i feel reborn. the sun resides in my chest and no one is exempt from what joy you bring to my life

if he won't shake your father's hand, i will

how dare you look into her mother's eyes and not shed one tear of joy, one tear for the gratitude and fulfillness she brought into your life

the countless dimes i earned for her could never compare to the priceless pearls in her eyes - the penultimate treasure to get lost in

they look at my "prized achievements" and all i want to do is point to you but you're around his arm and sorrow is around mines

"It won't last, it won't ******* last," bellowed the pessimist.

under the algae
beneath the sedimentary substance of a sentimental
there resides the need to put everything into categories
organizing it by numbers on the top corner of crisp sun yellow manila folders with the messy scrawl of someone punctual but seldom in time for things

in the absence of sunlight i took to you like a lamp
the one with a warm glow and dust collecting on the folds of your body of ceramic
the more i got close the more i could feel myself burning from the inside like a watermelon containing meat fruit or the inside of a pumpkin spilling out onto your counter with audaciousness
sticking your finger in the warm gooey center only to dispose of the carcass without indulging

sometimes the left side of my chest hurts and i immediately think of heart attacks and a blue face

sometimes it's flood season and i see the bottom of bridges puffy with overflowing water and i immediately think of five years ago when i thought that if i laid down i could sleep forever and never wake up
my body slowly un-recognizing how to be the human condition

but then my lungs still move in my rib cage rhythmically
my chest expanding and contracting
the repetition of comfort inside my abdomen
and i know it's not heart disease but the fluttering of panic slowly dancing on the bottom of my collarbones

but then i get up from my bed and fix my hair into a braid
my hands remembering a pattern i don't have to think about
fingers nimbly trembling beneath handfuls of hair
and i know that despite everything

i would continue through and through
i would continue

The hands of a giver
Like our Lord
Flows like a river
Pushes us forward
We the receiver
Beings of today
Believe a deceiver
Dramas everyday
Dark days drown you
Trustworthy left few
You cry and pray
He listens what you say
Delivers from evil
Yet you're led by devil
In dark holes
You hide like moles
Found by the cops
Beaten from bottom to top
Heavy dose on drugs
You lay on wet rugs
Cry till your tears dry
It's about time to try
Kneeling down
Like a messy clown
Asking for forgiveness
From our Lord God
You yell out your grieveneses
And utter the good words
The prayer cleanses your soul
Sparks light in the dark hole
You feel the hand touch
Thankful so much
The evil being cast out
While your soul comes about
At the feet of our Lord
You deliver reverence
To the almighty God...

©sim

This is the story of my daddy's sad rations, his mad reasons he left in the basement there, I found out directly, direct reasons for no other keepsake; no hallmark memories he tossed off left bottles broken in the bottom of a brown box in the bottom of the brown sun-burnt grass in the backyard where green onions grow in a big brown box outweigh the grass--they stand upright, strong & solid like ledgers--solid as baseball diamonds mingling in the summer heat cast shadows over the tired yard where children play--they yell and fall down over each other weakly, strongly, pathetically, unknowingly, hypnotic marvels in their silence, in their stupor, in their bliss imaginings, I am a child too far gone--too far off watching, I regard them as a stone villain, as a requisite somebody made of vinyl pinwheels, as a time-sprung witness to the watching world, the undone mechanisms spiral dignity. I was solid. I was solid. I was venturing a minute's glance at pity. I was lost in an eternity of forgetting. I was hung on lines too high to hold me. I was hauled out of a torn envelope in the fire pit, reassembled, reasoned to be dead forgotten.

The jagged rocks flow through the air like daggers laced with the most toxic of poisons. Adverted eyes avoid the abyss of spewing lava for fear of being burned. Those in the path of destruction, they are the unluckiest of victims. Monosyllabic stones of hopelessness find their way to the scarred skin, bloodying the bloodied, breaking the broken. The volcanoes are worthy of repugnant titles, sharp like their tongues or decaying like their souls. The victims should run, should cry, should lash out against the lava, protect themselves. But everyone says that if you choose to live at the bottom of a volcanic body, you are already dead. The lava will only harden you, despite attempts to remain cool in your passivity. Lava burns, and no amount of composure or preparation can protect you from the overwhelming presence of hatred and intolerance; the hating fire fueled only by oxygen.

Sweet like honey
the words drip from your tongue
Burns like fire
as each lie inflates your lungs
Warm like summer
your smile holds all my pain
Slices like silver
as my love pours out my veins
Sinks like stone
to the bottom of my chest
Stolen like gewgaws
from my nothing that is left
Broken like promises
never more than gasps of air
Left like faint reminders
of the scars I proudly wear

Why don't we worship the amygdala, make it sound exotic, start a fever-fire in the tropics, pour ice over the horizon via helicopter, view the mind's eye like a crystalized Shambala, sell entry to inner-peace to create the illusion and wall the dam, there's no concept of reality without a sham, low as the almighty dollar, processed meat behind bars get your necktie pulled through your collar, I've been all over the world from the edge of my seat, I'm what you could call a stay-at-home road scholar

You braggarts, *******, maggots and fascists
politically correct censorship-sailors and catfishes
you politicians and career-victims, you're all slapstick
you talk too much and don't hold water
you bark at false alarms and pet yourselves because even a broken watchdog is right twice a day
and then ignore every other crisis you called all hands on deck to, raised arms to crush in uproarious righteousness like you were the voiceless minority's own private militant flyswatter
everybody has a voice, we're all screaming or sitting in silence, tired and apathetic
I'm going deaf, I've lost it and I can't keep beating this dead hoarse, the whole world has issues, why are we making such a meal out of ourselves like we were the main course
ever since being put in the spotlight when Columbus sailed up onto the wrong shores
you can recite the diddy of fourteen hundred and ninety two, but you know why Native Americans were called Indians is because he set sail for India initially, don't you?
I have little hope the future will even be able to keep the ocean blue

The only thing I learned in school was psychological warfare, every day since I first set foot on those grounds I've taken live rounds and dealt my hand from the bottom because you can bet on the flop life doesn't turn up fair, it's too much to ask for someone else to care, read from a script for drugs, your alcoholic or *** deviant teachers whisper be-wary of thugs, down sleeping pills, painkillers and my daily dose of brain-fire extinguisher with *** from one of those best dad mugs, it never fails that when you go chucking snails, karma turns around and reminds you why you have to watch out for disgruntled slugs

You might catch one with your name on it
slower than you imagined, this grueling dawn hits
the purple of the sky lines up with the shade of skin under your eye
it's like makeup made to match, a tone only being sleepless for so long
or being on the business end of a fist can really catch, unnatural beauty looks so wrong
it's become normal to manufacture sell and lie, be a product, a marketing scheme
wanting to lean into exposure, explode and fracture and leave behind a profitable footprint to follow at the launch site
it's inhuman, to be switched on for twenty four hours, seven days a week, to be a character, it's obscene
and to defend this are small armies, cute little consumers who don't think beyond the opinion placed before them, placemat bib and all
dissent is negativity, disagreement is not normalcy, it's not okay, you're attacking someone who's so important to me, they literally saved my life
insult and rant, sob and bawl
unless you were personally given chest compressions, or they showed up and held your head so you wouldn't swallow your tongue while you OD'd, and then helped you back from suicidal depression
I don't care if you've shared a stage and danced and sang together, all people are equal
and none of them worth what they think they are, good, moot, or evil
so you can waltz up to a celebrity getting into their car, pop them off and become a shooting star

Sit on the curb and crack a spine, the Catcher Murders loosely spun a web and cast a net all through a grimly imagined fascination of mine, what candid activity to activate a conspiracy for an elected representative on who gets to live, give me the nominee for Manchurian candidacy! Violate the vile walls of a small mind's sanctity, the moral composition of even the purest person is only sound in theory, threaten their family, test their temptations, loyalty and mortality, fill their head with supposition, non-disclosure to time of day, information, no exposure to familiarity, turn what they think is false inside out and convince them what was never real was all along a secret reality, watch them break their neck to stare directly into an eclipse like it was their fealty, to disable themselves in service to pushing out of their skin and beyond their own ability

Mind control is simply too powerful to be stopped at a question of whether or not it's ethical
if I wrote this while someone dictated it, with a gun in one hand while they fed me an acid strip
and I knew they had complete deniable culpability, say for example if they worked for the Central Intelligence Agency
and they were abducting citizens from America and Canada, for one big experimental acid trip
to create Whitey Bulger and Ted Kaczynski
I mean, I know everybody hates to hear other people whine, you fall on your knees in thoughts and prayer for or worship on forums shooters like the murderers at Columbine,
when every day someone provokes a loner, outright pressing them to slip into a violent state
I begrudge myself a few hard feelings against people, but I wouldn't **** time to squash my hate
a child with a gun is an adult making bad decisions, the grey area is a lot harder to see when you're sorting through footage of dead children, bullet-torn classrooms haunting your nightly visions
everything is a joke and everyone laughs in the privacy of their own shadow
when their standards in public are much higher, where there's smoke there's not always a real fire
how can you police yourself, live up to the idea of who you think you are right now,
don't look for an answer, go on and say it, how?

My generations at a hold up
Force fed lies by society
We're never gonna grow up
Preoccupied with what we need
We subconsciously become devoured by greed
Insecurity is at the bottom of consumption
"You need __ to succeed"
We're the last of a dying breed
Materialistic makeup
Our genetics have mutated
We're no longer able to wake up
From the nightmare we've created
Identification has taken a new definition
You are what you posess
Unaware the latest trend is only repetition
Sheltered by our ignorant need
Progress is our main goal
Yet we're unsure of how to proceed
So instead we proclaim our need for change
While spending the last of our common sense
On a fee to enter this stage
Which acts as our cage
Locking us into society's game
It's the final act
Our last chance to fame

The star* everybody needs
somebody_
But what needs pulling
out weeds, don't rush her
Just pamper her what!!!
"Seducing the Queen"

The curves the hot raves
The super satellite
 greeting her
bottom caves
That body fit curve appeal
How to ****** his
"King" water
He was born with
Sword dish spoon
**** shades and fifty
deeper gray's
That old black magic prays

In her young hand
became a restless pair
What was sexless
Ageless the silvery moon*

Something came way
too soon he says
"Smile you're on candid camera"
Something snaps did not
make the cut
So reducing
A spin Star Trek
Voyager of words

So time-consuming
"Seducing"
   Mixing
More producing the camera
tells the truth *******

From here on could be fatal
But the mortal life of eternity
But she is losing her waistline
Of energy

No God became swampland
Of biting men tough skin
alligators

I am the "Satellite Lady"
The winter gets hazy
But I am the Aphrodite
No touch-up "Eyes Seducing"
Our sunset the time we met
the stars

The fitting ring square hot sparks cushion
Mrs. Futurama* She knows her mission
          
High **** sigh
The best creation of
women's sexuality
Such high maintenance
Something in her voice
A powerful moment in
time business

There's no business like
Seducing the world
so ingenious
Perfect plan the genius
More space human race

What you decide at
your own pace
Wild West the
Wicked Witch
Scrooged the green
Alien money
Temptation meets
the surrender
The Oz Balloon pretender
Those pins go
Singing Pop Satellite

The high tech drama
Spaceship to the Ferrari cars
Is there fault in our stars?

Or we girls having fun
Out with the old
The new Navy
**** hot army of ladies
The New Orleans
Red Chanel lip district

A hot item everything is finer
in Carolina, she got the
special treatment
Kicking her heels off
The best southern comfort
**** Gina Lollobrigida instant
******* Jacks pops instant replay

Her voice controls her sexuality singing

Let me show you
But in all honesty, it's the
*Satellite
Website
The king love me tender
The kiss to render
Infinite not so tender
Hot wings of butterflies
Nothing in life is free
So sure of the gravity I see
  
Aphrodite brings the pleasure  
seduction of love treasure

Being late the satellite
The bold dark hot brew
Using your smile wisely

Before you  
The Crazy Horse
burlesque show
French spy lady with her
**** trench after you
Precisely
So genuinely

Creation in unequivocal
**** creature primal
Seducing lips passed through
Whats truly fate or innate
Seducing a stranger that was
once an inmate

The stars shine so brightly
But you cannot get him
out of your headway
too painful highway
To here to eternity
expressing yourself

Going International*

Feeling sultry lovely
and swinging
On the top of the satellite
Being the fireball in the
restaurant he got a stroke
at midnight coaching her

You're the Princess, the
feast is ready
Keep your outlook steady
He spies on you his
heart flies your passionate
stars
The feeling stays and
Your heart plays the
"Satellite"

So soothing the silk guitar strings
Strumming to his lips
Your the best thing
that happened in his life

Climbing her wilderness mountain
So energetic the movie cutthroat site
The satellite became my bite of the
most passionate fruit
The lady in blue in her
highcut boots

Lord of the rings the urgency
"The Wanting" self-determined
Caring but slaving over love
Giving your heart for
emergency
You're whole undivided
attention the facts

Her highness such kindness
She loves to read get the
bright star the wish
The lush the knowledge
Like the ledger of awareness

The hot dish pleasures
His and her reaction
The perception and
The physical attraction
"The Seducing Show"

Peace and freedom of the Sabbath. What is education? In this world, in society, this is the best solution. This is not a victim of lost plans. But he makes the right choice to paint in the open air. Multi-sided knife, tears, sounds, greetings, dance, dancing, ****. Mary's favorite walls without a car. The film is a thin irrigation layer which often recently coincides with the language of the region. Bad Brains. Jewish girls are frightened by the dog
of the baker. It was propaganda. For example, it is a scoop of ice cream
and a cold water bottle of unconscious spirits; It’s great legs; It was the Austrian-German philosophers. (a), and how does it work? HP High-Speed Ads Not Allowed for in the article. (1.1) Dow and Igor Green; School
of the United States of America is different. I couldn’t, I wasn’t coming
to the wind, I would like you to go forward. It is not only “Canada”,
but it’s “Google”, “Syria, 66,”said Daniel. It’s a little girl who has a
lot of family life. There are three feet of songs. It was the death of the
ocean that was a multimedia center. It is a woman who lives in the
middle of the world. The kids are in great shape. It is clear that there
is a chance
to make it.

If you write a letter on a white background,
you can write a letter. Eli Museum, United
States of America, Smith offers his first
peace of mind. He was in the middle of the
rainbow of the rain for their country.
The paint is on the screens. Fatal. Beat it?

Sad husband's brides know together the peace and freedom
of the Sabbath. What is education? In the world in society,
this is the best solution. This is not a victim of lost plans.
But he makes the right choice to paint in the air. Multi-sided
knife and tears, sound, greetings, dance, dancing on the face,
face, bacteria and praying songs, ****. Mary's favorite walls
without a car. The film’s deep irrigation writes a tree, which
often recently coincides with a language of limited time,
dealing with a clear part of the region. Bad rains. Jewish girls
are afraid of ***** and the paint fills the dog baker. It was
propaganda in favor of abstract painting with chopped
perfumes. Gloria asks official knees for the price to wait
for the opening of the corners to bring the origin of the Spirit
of *****, fuel for fire here, child, boys, city of cold hours,
which led Laura into darkness because they loved the devil
of unconscious spirits; the stars of all the flesh of this evil
women fallen to the bottom of the yolk and bouncing alive
in Ivan’s great legs; I thought it was enough for groups
to resist the resistance of the cold skin of the skin, knowing
that dawn had become the lover of the best Australian
German philosophers. a, and how does it work? HP
High-Speed ​​Ads Not Allowed for in the article. (1.1)
in Eastern Europe in black and white, Canada, Europe,
Asia, Iran and Toronto, were published for the first time
in Italy, Google Now, Google will not help with love
and Ysgol Ddu and Igor Green; School in the United States,
Canada, Asia and the world, in Los Angeles and in English
is different. I cannot, I did not come to the wind, Jane
offered it to the Netherlands,
Germany and the United States of America. I buy a lottery
that wants to avoid the danger, what do companies in Germany
do to an organization that I don't know is embarrassed to move
forward? For safety and mental health for many years, and they
are not in Canada, not only white and black people more than
in Europe ”and Google, Syria, 66, - said Daniel. Try to have a
tradition of American, European, Canadian police in front
of the station agency that buys most of the garden in the violent
strength of Ivan’s large family, C. Women must love the life
of a white girl’s mother, the night light of the city at night and
in the eyes of the Lord, songs of young women, The best color
of American green water, which is pretty dead in Europe
is three feet. dead dead fire strength cold island only blood
acid; acid ocean ocean history history Italian history's history,
Africa yellow dogs known in the sea against the primeval
sun of the Greek poet, the living beauty of Uncle Brown Earth
or in the future a multimedia center. The heart of the heart
and antiquity - the soul
of crimes in the garden, John Christian Arthouse Russia,
canker sores that create many problems for alcoholics, hell school
schools have small traces of gold to send blue calls in French.
The kids are in great shape. Full of children, when the original
book thinks about the little moon, about the dream of human
warmth, about the dreams of his father: "Father, it is very clear
to open the fingers of the fingers of the old friends of the world."
poetry poetry
poetry; woman reads the score, Igor, the robot, the world, good
words of Kay Na's dad Christ defending a good class of Green
knowledge of colorful letters, leaves leaves, drink Written
by Haibasani. Speaking about low prices Thomas Thomas'
language center in a brochure. The beginning of the news,
Australia holds a crazy phrase against the blind on the second
side of the famous Eli Museum, Smith offers a logo sniffing
a panda, changes the panda to the house of a panda; the first
of Ainu A's first leaves of pine from Europe and Europe,
Janusz D. Inasatayn's king free from Europe, from God
came to the chairs, to get them out of plastic to change
the change of Robert's Garlic cam plastic to listen to those
who sleep, talking about the songs of the modern country
computer for their country.

The pain on the screen. State news NA, AA, Angel Star Star,
Fish Fish; Housekeeper Listening to a Catholic alcoholic,
Jack started writing, I can start taking brothers and sisters
from a pale mating marriage contractor and natural body
weight in general order to **** my studies in bed, skimming,
Peace and Freedom of the Sabbath.   What is education?
In this world in society, this is the best solution. This is not a victim
of lost plans. But he makes the right choice to paint in the air.
Multi-sided knife, tears, sound, greeting, dance, dance, ****.
Mary's favorite walls without a car. The film is a thin layer
of irrigation, which often recently coincides with the language
of the region. Bad rains. Jewish girls are frightened by a dog.
It was propaganda. For example, it is a scoop with water
and a bottle with cold water. unconscious spirits; These are big legs;
These were the Australian German philosophers and how does it work?
HP high-speed ads are not allowed in the article. (1.1) Dow
and Igor Green; The school of the United States of America
is different. I could not,
I did not go to the wind, I would like you to go ahead. This is not only Canada, but also Google, Syria, 66, said Daniel. This is a little girl
who has a lot of family. There are three feet of songs. It was the death
of the ocean, that it was a multimedia center. This is a woman who
lives in the middle of the world. The kids are in great shape. It is clear
that  there is a chance to do it. “If you write a letter on a white background,
you can write a letter. Eli's Museum is in the United States, Smith offers
its first tranquility. He was in the middle of a rainbow in the rain for his country's pain on the screen. Fatal? Beat it.

I am tired.
my thoughts
       drift


         downward


    like
                leaves
                       on
                  an
            autumn
      day          
        departing
       a tree's
           sustenance

        eventually
                            
landing on a still black pond
deep and lightless but clean.
        Clinical.
         and
          so the
            leaf
             sinks
to the mud encrusted bottom
that only I can penetrate alone.
A place where dark emotion is logic                          
and logic is simply gone, wrong, contrived.
No breathing, no solving, every semblance of
normality and happiness simply rotting while
I try to contemplate which of me is truly me.
Am I slowly gasping, forgetting, expiring,
or am I glowing, forgiving, exhilarating?

The barricade surrounding my core is cracking, my thoughts swim circles around the whirlpool of emotions that cascade down from my heart. The ever-changing waterfall of colour and darkness flows from the between the cracks.

The flickering ember that painfully fuels me, sparks a light as I smile at my screen again.

My porcelain mask tears and opens a minuscule door that you’ve put your foot right through. The screams of a thousand dying suns are made quiet by your presence, even for a short time. The relief from the agonising cacophony is frightening and sudden, but welcomed.

The empty, forgotten halls of my heart feel full of peace instead of abandonment. Their lonely corridors instead feel humbled and content in their fate.

Such feelings get thrown in with the gratuitous violence of the maelstrom that thrashes inside these walls.

Amidst the solitude and the painful sobriety to the outcome of this existence, there is hope. Like a glittering jewel at the bottom of a merciless ocean, you shine. Bright and proud, tempting me to take a leap of faith through the teary waters I’ve endlessly cried.

The doubt infects me like a virus and the selfishness lurks behind me like a menacing shadow, but I’m blinded by the shimmering gem of light you entrance me with. Mesmerised, I dive headfirst into the depths, praying it isn’t merely an oasis of the mind.

My shining star, my hopeful dream, my new day.

my parents never knew
they never knew that the wooden door of the room they always shut me out of 
when they wanted to "have an adult conversation"
wasn't as good at absorbing the venom they spit at each other as they thought it was
and I heard every word they screamed
and tasted every drop of hate that seeped between the cracks in their voices

and I never told my parents
I never told them 
that I liked the way hate tasted
I liked the way it stung my lips
kind of how
they liked the way it burned each other's hearts
and corroded the memory of the love they once had 
and I let these malicious words tumble around in my head,
breathed them in and blew them off my lips 
like a kiss
of death

and that day you were yelling
it was the same way my mother cursed at my father
and as a broken family's lonely daughter
I did the first thing I thought of
I listed off the vicious vocabulary my parent's never meant to teach me
and I knew that 
if this was a test, I'd made an A plus
as I watched the friendship between us 
crash to the ground and I just stood there because
that's what my father always does 
and everyone says that we're just the same the two of us

with tears in your eyes, I watched you 
turn away and I swear to god I had deja vu 
because you looked just like my mother did the day she 
filed for  a divorce and ripped our family away from me

and that same day your mother found you at the bottom of the stairs
with a still heart and a fixed stare
and that same day I realized that words spoken in such a way
could not only end a marriage but a life
I mean stop a beating heart 
and that same day I promised myself 
that I would never again yell,
never curse at anyone the way my parents taught me
and that is the reason why I am quiet in a crowded room
not because I am intimidated or shy
I'm just trying to swallow 
the snake my parent's fed me long ago

I tripped
into a wall cloud.
(I think I broke it open.)

A funnel fell
from the bottom
upon a farmhouse
in Nebraska

spread across
an open field -
a mile wide

swallowing the
pasture in one
gulp -

and tossed stones
from the top.
(Like snow in August)

There were
no
survivors.

And I want you here now more than ever,
Because you would know what to say,
You would know where to go,
And you could take my hand and guide me there.
I feel so close to the bottom,
I'm scared to get there,
Because I've always been carried,
And now I'm all on my own.
And clearly I didn't handle this well,
Clearly I made a big mistake a ways back,
And I keep making more mistakes,
That made this little ball into a spool,
A spool of the winding errors,
Funneling into the pool,
That has became a display fair,
Consisting of everything I've done in life,
That I've regretted and wished I could change,
And somehow all of that led to the place I am now.
It's like a procession,
Like everything you would walk through,
Was in chronological order and somehow,
It made sense that it ended up here,
It wouldn't seem so illogical,
If it weren't for my dream being right here,
In my reach,
Right in front of me,
And gazing at me so intently,
I can't help but be in love and want it all the more.
But I've ****** everything up so bad,
It's hard to believe that what I want can still be had.
That's why every time I look at her,
My immediate thought is that,
This isn't real,
And there's some joke on me that I am not catching,
Some kind of trick pulled out of a hat,
That it's just a play,
For someone else's entertainment,
And that right when I decide to reach and grab it,
That's when the point of the story is clear,
That drop is when cup overflows,
Or when I walk into the crosshairs,
Or the final straw that broke my strength.
And I just can't do it.
I can't do this again.
When every single day,
The increment between the times I say,
"I want to be alive."
And
"I want to be dead."
Continues increasing, and not in the way it should,
Well I'm just too scared to take the chance.
But despite my fear,
She's just so beautiful,
And her allure is so mesmerizing,
I don't push myself to get closer,
But I don't stop myself either.
I just let myself keep going,
And hope for the best.
I don't want to get my hopes up,
Because I don't expect the best,
But it's hard to deny that in my heart,
I truly want this.
And I want you here now more than ever,
Because you were my home,
You were my safe house,
And no mattered how far I went,
I knew I could always come back,
And you would hold me warm in your arms,
And I could hear the beat of your heart,
Whispering to me that things are okay.
It's unsettling without you.
Everything seems so unfamiliar and estranged.
It doesn't feel like home.
All the nice things are only so for a moment,
They're more like slow acting poisons.
And I'm looking at this girl thinking,
Is she another venom to pulse through my veins,
Or is that really light in her eyes,
Pulling me out of the darkness of this abyss?
And I want you here now more than ever,
Not because I still cling to your lifeless fingertips,
But because this could be another chance at life,
And you would know what to do.

i **** and cry, i breath and i die. this shallow child has no appreciation of the depth, this child hasnt stepped off the edge of the cliff. not to scream and splat but to catch oneself and soar into the eagles nest. where o where is the power within to stop yourself from reaching your ****** at the bottom of the canyon of sin. why o why do children cry, when all they need is there mommy to reassure them that gods inside. please little one open your eyes, speak wild and dream big for heaven is god's blue sky. teach yourself to love oneself. never be afraid to fail, for failure is a present wrapped in ****, teaching you to get a hold, get a grip.

**** sadness
**** self pity
**** that infinite, cold,  black empty feeling inside you.

Sacrifice your self imposed mindset of misery
On an alter of the ***** you should have stopped giving

First,
Take a deep breath
Like you are getting ready to dive to the dark bottom of the sea

In,
In,
In,
Like you are ******* up the whole of the world itself
Like a god consuming the universe
Till the very cells of your lungs are stretched beyond meaning

And...

HOLD IT,

Hold it


Past the point you want to scream

To the point where your tears are only for your physical pain

And then a few awful seconds more

Hold it

And just at the moment

Where you think you might have forgotten how to breathe

Exhale

Let it go

Let everything go
Every last ******* piece
Every last bit inside
Like a deflating balloon


Let it pour out of you
Like the entirety of your being is seeking to leave

And when the easy bit leaves
Keep exhaling

Let

It

Go.

Till you are as empty as the infinite void itself
Till you are as empty as you tell yourself you are

And then blow off a little more

And when you can't release one more molecule of CO2
from your wrung out lungs,

Take a free breath

A deep but normal breath

Look around
The world doesn't care what goes on inside you
It doesn't care how you feel physically
Or emotionally
So stop feeling sorry for yourself
Take charge of it
Because it matters to you

Because you matter
Whether or not your sadness let's you admit it

A sliver of sun scorching cerebrum
Whispers on the lips of an encephalic cloud
An old friend, whose company I keep
Warning against silhouettes and uncertain peril
Liberation is nigh from a skeletal prison
Beating on my skull and tearing at my muscle
I fear my old friend will return
As a siren, luring me to the bottom of a macabre sea

My sweet somebody,
I see only you
Imperfecion according to who?
None existent flaws examined
Time and time again
They say that beauty
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder

Well I hold it darling
When I gaze upon you
Eyes fixated and I'm saying
I can't see anything that won't do
But I can't love like this
You need to love yourself

My sweet somebody,
You deserve so much
The world still owes us nothing
Not even an apology
We may have it bad
But the others have it worse
We may have it good
But the others have it better

Well I have you darling
I have you now and maybe,
Maybe even forever
If I've learnt one thing
Through finding you
It's to never say never

My sweet somebody,
Can I hold you as I fall
Further and further
In to the depths of love?
I know you know
with every inch
I will hit the floor harder

Well I have initiative darling
And a strong will to bounce back
I have you by my side
The cruel  world gave me that
Maybe if I tuck my heart
Behind my legs and curl up
When I hit rock bottom
There will be something left of me

My sweet somebody,
I was never any good
Learning to love myself
Was the hardest part of us
Loving you always came easy
At least for others

Not a hair out of place darling
Not a freckle or a mole
Is unloved by me
Everything belongs
Exactly where it is
You just can't see it yet
.
.
.

6 Years Old
hair in braids
tied with pink bows
a toothless smile
am I beautiful yet?

10 Years Old
hair slicked into a ponytail
a skewed smile
chubby thighs sticking out of the bottom of my skirt
am I beautiful yet?

13 Years Old
hair badly straightened
a mangled smile
purple eyeshadow spread across my eyelids
my first pimple on my cheek
am I beautiful yet?

17 Years Old
messy ponytail
mascara running down my face
the distressed look I get when I wear clothing that exposes my body
am I beautiful yet?