Prelude  PART I


"Today when the threat is looming, as close apocalyptic years approach, it will be by cohabiting itself and the ruining valley of debris, which will make this world corrupted the next issue of the numeral scale of the new count, a rising hyperspace , concerning the parts of the kingdom of God ... "

Then on the Lord's day, John saw the glory of the risen Christ, and she understood from the point of view of God, he saw that the fate of the Church and threatened in the first persecutions took the appearance of a dark beginning.
And the time John wrote the Evangelist, including books were Jews called Revelation, that is, "Revelations". With fantastic images of monsters, angels and cataclysms, evidence of the Jewish people are stressed and are invited to await the judgment of God who intervenes from heaven with all his power.  So my beloved world is harsh and does not represent an apocalypse, but it is the true reality is when I will bear its overwhelming slaughter.

" Today when I walked with my winged feet near my friend Victor, I confided down the road crushed by afflictive legs; how difficult the taste of laughter when the decadent surrounds you, the human, the vile, the loose ...
Even though the celestial charisma invoke his memory and help nourish the weakness of Robert in hyperspace, with clean clothes, I can see his beloved mother consumed as automaton can take care of him. She is also her father, because it carries rooted in its members and manners, infinitely sharp look; in their arms they will gather wherever his soul is under his patronage that lives there ..."
I am  who  say that Roberto is a dog, who bears all the faces of dogs humble and serene. Perhaps tired of hearing young people, it is flush adults who do not accept, and who do not share as young faces were watching them, getting them to receive them what they should disclose them.
This is how we are numbed and distraction is fleeting, and he looking aside in his astrayed, he would be saying ...:
"Among the cradle and the grave I have a feeble scaffolding, and then complains, though his other I demolishes; unsconcient defends his executioner ... that the threat of death is its widespread depravity, which dominates it and want to go on like mortifiying.

      I want to talk about life ..., he said in his short years of life, which is more of it; possibly coming to complex, what our Somatic territory responds in normal or involuntarily. Comparative anatomy, and its innermost portion, the link body and mind, as a pure white as Samadhis and nature.
Homeostatic factors regulating our vitality, making its experimental modification, increasing to evolution, or maturation as a criterion of personal psychology go with the passage of time into in the depths of our mind.
Thus in a known threshold of Vedic architecture, its sensitivity is excited by regulating the effectiveness of the response to be made ... and everything related to the world of Ludwig Garroch; brother Robert in his strange Emigrate.
Yesterday when my arms away from hers, my fingers pounding away and recording what the heart more than a song, was a symphony sonata with a single end, long and sustained movement; It was the adage inner melancholy with an eye romanticism, which dominates the
passions of the visible world, which inhabits Antonieta, causing me, unbalanced living.


                                       CHAPTER I


In the beginning years of his childhood, little Ludwig sitting at home, in the gallery. Ask her aunt who was ironing ... Madelain, how I would always be a child of five ...?, And being as such, a privileged to receive toys for many years. Attentive aunt, maybe go to hear with little complacency as his hands only want unroll clothes.
After two years at the age of seven, when her aunt arranging his coat to go to Mass, she teaches a carol that had been taught in childhood. When many wondered whether there is a Santa Claus ...?, And among his friends they looked to unravel the mystery. One year later, when he enjoyed his unicycle, who just dominated him, called him a cousin telling her it was her birthday. He did not hesitate to go to find out what was behind the call, so he found the means by which we celebrate, we live and cooperate towards happiness and delight to have us at each other.
Not long after a friend told him .. "You do not have ten years are too big And Ludwig thought he was well endowed and well stopped, so not your friend was wrong in the above. It is my label and my stance has put the world on me.
Every passing day came the stamp of manly character, a woman or girl who made change her hairstyle, and he did dress more attractive every day.
Later, in his teens, his gaze was well received and their voices radiated security screening. Where He must continue the line of men. Even when I was living as smoothly, looks out strong destination with which calls us to live with skin clean or *****, because it is inside the feeling and the pain does not come out, it is enclosed by the overflowing affection. Here is the portion of good or evil haunting things casual and destroys the healthy, it fertile.

                                        
              ­                           CHAPTER II


Then was a year with a sports compensate pleasant summer sated outdoors, almost fugitive ... will not wonder that life smiled on him serfdom, and very willing opened his prudence.
Every time I decided to go to his favorite places, he went with his burly comrades in the best mood to conquer optimistically. Thus, no wonder he wanted when he was alone and put your reasoning judiciously, because nothing is distant, nothing is impossible.

After unite desires and forces, to clean your bike, piece by piece, in full sun know much security would not allow the mother of vices ruin their fun, that scarce alive to possess the desire to move and go on compliance instinct. Casts on itself, the vigor of the inner, its desolate world full of free enthusiasms who obey no doubt the vital complex activity.
Ludwig and entering the maelstrom of men love hate Godson, you can glimpse the friction with the air, with people ... I wore. That their voices heard their soul contracts, and thus puts light feet towards an acceleration which does not afflict his troubled stomach, nor regret his decision and put fearful, but, bring himself retained encouragement of his mind to remember the maternal cooing, comfort and timely relief to protect forever the suffering, the suffering of torment without end, not he shut the inspiration of the good man that no harm will result, and not for nothing the valence of living and not quarrel prancing. No existing could shed some light on what role, and that little thought is not complicated, and thus shown kneeling and unable to distressing oppressors and agents tangled conduct to chaos, those characters of ambition and discrimination.
Ludwig, who lives in the Ecologist City, where large forest ... budded, is home jungle floral site, whose relations are flowers, trees ..., next to Strange birds migrate flower in her intra nature reproduced, and pods evacuated by butterflies.
His close friend, is the watery and salty sea, which is beloved because he falls in love, puts on alert and curses him by his surroundings and invoking him. Anyway, it dwells wherever it is, and is accepted as a basic element of the universe.

                                    
                                         CHAPTER III

The act of tender love would be fulfilled later ..., what his voice fell silent and had his eyes and heart fortify, which will be linked from far inside.
At night, with Roderick going to a festive night, they climbed the rungs center alone, with heat in his shirt skin later. And in a deliberate action, someone asks you a sign that taking care tired and distinguishing see that John was his friend, school mate. He did not hesitate, he approached, greeted him and his sister and a cousin when she noticed well, he saw that he wore perfect for your night.
Debra wore elegant, dark clothes and sang with her dark brown wavy hair; his white brunette and harmonious ****** complexion line, gave her constant reflection. Fate was present, as it would not go around the world to be looked at by someone, he would watch his choice. Little was said, he only realized he was not passing and North America came eleven years ago.


They roasted the hours and the party ended, Ludwig remained with her new friend and his old friend John. They went downstairs, thinking about committing his new friendship, as I had noticed a slight interest in it. This happened and the meeting lasted for several hours.
The next day, he went to see her lawns roads where she lived, always with its mystique and kneeling the beast that wanted to impose upon him, that gives it excessive materialism unloved peace.
She arrives at her house, which was to John, though not very comfortable, but sure to please and attentive to host it.
And that night said much that was the tender feeling and liking her, but as his policy was rigid and concerning celibacy, only mattered to him, the unknown world of madness in his brawling to survive.
Time passed and deepened love, Ludwig went to say goodbye to his beloved, especially that he had faith, but that day would betray him. And so I wanted to put his heart and iron sleep peacefully, but Debra no secret  to tell ...:

"Ludwig, do not abandon our own, we must have faith, and I understand what it is. Ludwig rested and then brought her hands to her, hugged her and kissed all over her face, covering her eyebrows, nose, forehead, mouth; his lips positions in the middle of it, wanted to feel her warmth and tell her he loved her and would miss a lot of pain. But there was no show weakness, he must be strong and not to complicate the farewell from North America. Mourn scared him, because he had forged the feeling, because his aching grief was deep and it was at an undetermined point, with great desire to hold her and kiss over his face.
So ever, it was unbearable, she would like to die in his memory and had to remember in the collective thinking of his family circle. Which it fits the feel shivers ideas with sensations, such as the best in its inherent upstart point.

It was hard, as if more than man Ludwig out the feminine side of himself. But irremediable was the end, eager poisonous reaper approached. Ludwig hugged her, kissed her and stroked her right breast ... saying: "Do not forget me ..." and so left. Then he wrote her, that madness had transformed her away, but the distance was prevented against carcinoma being all postponed.
To know he could not boil your blood heavy thinking, they were contracted muscles. When he relaxed, he saw back through the hatch of his head, the soul that was in an ****** tragic holocaust, where Eros tenaciously and rebellion dictated its laws. Ludwig slept, and consciousness became natural color, as if it were safer, eternally fresh and manufactured this dream a poem ...:  

" That one corresponding to the celebration,
I wish to reunite with enthusiasm and strength ...
touching eyes closed
the sad sky, the dry ground, dried flowers
and people backward habits.

As meaning if it takes itself ...,
is the meaning
although they are scattered
in flows oppressions ...
the animosity of delight just widow and desultory,
losses and more losses at the time of aging ...
and profits to appease others.

For more like,
there seems to be a big drop ...
the same credibility ...?
and setting as a feeling
remain imagination stationary.

As hard it corresponds to the body,
It is destroyed inside ...
and hardened thoughts
tears falling to the esophagus,
without recognizing either way.

Who the pace of living is customizable,
and no opportunity is lost ...
but growing and creative
rears its profile,
as an unforgiven mirage. "


    Have been and unrestless forms of peremptory perceive, and when it starts to wander in my solitude, transporting my sorrow with grief, wherever I go I will take silent and vivifying separation completes the probable brain, which lives and endures in avidity stamped man with his need to want the Lord's command that made me forge this creation .--- he told himself, as a witness epilogue of his poem, albeit as the cry to its essence it was about. Originally from the Ecologist City, where reigned the wise and calm, where he healed their diseases, which has dodged the putrefaction of their wounds, where you inhale the aroms most want and cordoned off its without a grave lack of soft and flowering odour.
To believe missing, do not be afraid and trust that will grab everything, that not a drop of air was not lost on her fingers, which will not fail to display their imaginative stuff Alma Mater.
With all their eating, you want to cure your bad like venereum, and would go into the hands of a counselor or a warlock who extirpated the curse. Heal her feet and hands to despair, to heal the memory of his thought that I seasoned and voluptuous breaks the veins of his caleter, which seems not of it like a dwarf be provided with a dagger will break their venal, and this to commit such surgery, he laughs loudly with garnets eyes, full of the worst evil.

And this way Ludwig Garroch, vague without fear of rags, without fear of hunger or the messiness, only idles so that someday I can walk on the water surface, leaving their hydrocentric footprints where plankton reverence their sense of pain, his infarcted heart , her long fingernails of violence.


TO  BE CONTINUED….

Neither in the vividness of the arches of a cathedral,
Nor in the dangling bells and echoing rituals of a temple,
Neither on the holiest banks of Nile or Ganges,
Nor among the peaks of the grandest Mountain,

There is no augury, there is no God, is there no God? And if there is,

Why are the eyes of lives haunted by the cruel dreams of disbelief?
Why is banishment tangled around the feet of a truth seeker?
Why the perverse thoughts and deeds ruling the Mankind?
Why the pious body and mind are today full of grief?

If there’s God, Why is this sea of cold blood on a high tide?
If there’s God, Why are the innocent lives being wasted?
If there’s God, Why are the good being handcuffed?
If there’s God, Why the darkness is today the source of light?

The slaps of violence on the face of peace is a sign of doom,
If there’s no God, then these drops of bloods cry for whom?

But GOD is that moment which is beyond knowledge and wit,

That one cipher which has taken centuries and yet not deciphered,
That one point of thought where the minds seize to think,
That one decision which stops a man from giving up,
That one drop of tear from the eyes of an Oppressed,

That one source of energy which makes us to take a stand,
That one voice of truth which demolishes the works of lie,
That one smile of innocence which equals a million shouts,
That one silver lining which makes us believe in ourselves,

Calls Aloud and makes us believe, that there is A GOD,
And He’s Everywhere, With everyone, and Will always be.

Gotta find a new way
To scribble the pencil on paper
To draw letters and words
Sentences and paragraphs
Chapters and books
Because there's just too much going on
In my mind
It's like a cement mixer filled with rock and mud
Turning 'round and 'round
Mixing that **** into concrete
You can put your hands on the spread product
And the imprint will dry in the block
Forever for to contrast the size of your hand today
With the size of your hand in 25 years
(Barring a catastrophe that demolishes the concrete)

Always hoped my mind would be a deep well into which could be thrown a cavalcade of essentials,
Knowledge, wisdom
Intellect
I've kept my mind open for them
And yet they weigh me down
They make me feel awful, like being squeezed across the chest by the not particularly strong arms of an aging circus  sideshow barker

Take what you will
Lighten my load
For Gods sake take the fear
Of being happy without feeling this ominous depression

This is the point where I rail against how unfair it is that in Colorado and a few other enlightened states marijuana is given due credit for it's medicinal propensities while 10 hours away in Oklahoma you can still be thrown in jail for possessing even a small amount.

People, scoff if you will
I need medicinal marijuana
I know that nothing else is going to bring me a modicum of joy such as it has for so many years

And I know it's wrong to be more excited about hooking up than in communing with God, meditating and contemplating on His Holy Name.
It's wrong
It's got to be a sin, obsessing about ***
While my desire for God wanes and
Flutters like a flag at a losing race
I'm sorry I feel this way
But I do
O Jesus I trust total honesty
Means a lot more to you
Than puttin' on the show
Pasting phony smiles
and lying, making out like their love for Someone they've never seen is consuming them with the same passion had it been a new boyfriend or a special girlfriend with flesh and blood and sinew and tendon and breathing heart and beating lung
Speaking words
Emitting odors
Skin to pinch
Glorious laughter in your ears
Guffawing at your stupid jokes, she likes you!
Mikey liked you, dear, I know that means a lot
Maybe ask them if they want to go see God with you
But if they don't you'll be disappointed
And if you're as depressed as I am
You'll stay home and hope they'll decide to hang with you

Because there's too much information
There are too many idiots walking the terra of this country
Too much misunderstanding
Too much pressure
Too much unloving intolerance
Too many headaches
Too much wringing of the hands.
Mister, you wouldn't recognize Jesus on the street if He personally placed your hand in His side
You don't want to know him, do you?
The Truth is a terrifying concept
Don't get too close to it, get burned by the light
You can't handle the truth, afraid you'll see it in the mirror
So you hoist the beam from both your eyes
Because someone said if you did that you could judge rightfully
But you didn't get that the beam wasn't a literal object , that it in fact could not be removed
None but the Christ Ever had the right to judge you
He judges from love, always seeing the value in the man, long past forgiven all sins
But they'll run from Him
I think he'll giggle, knowing they'll eventually come around
Maybe he'll have to show them
But for right now I don't see Him
My faith may be weak
But I need some ******* relief
I have a feeling He wouldn't mind
If nothing else He'd be pleased that it made me feel like living again

Scuse me while I load a bowl
Let me get a few tokes
Then you come back
And I guarantee you'll notice
A much friendlier, social man

1
poor Rachael
married for love
Now twenty years through
and ignored by the hubby
who’s given up work
and sits at home drinking all day
No more kind words to Rachael
never a gentle look,
but just sarcasm and imbecilities all day
Will not even come out for a walk
with Rachael;
no desire for fresh air
just sits there drinking and farting -
Poor Rachael, she never comes back
to fresh air or a kind look






2
Rachael is out today
with a mission to make her life pleasant
“A pet is what I’ll have,”
she says to herself
and she’s in a pet shop now
looking at an exotic bird

3
“That there,” says the shop owner
“is a bird rare and unique;
let me demonstrate”
And straight he says to the bird:
“Zasala, the table!”
And Zasala flies straight and swift
to the table – and appecks* and demolishes
the table as swift as you can say “***!”
“Zasala, the broom!”
And Zasala flies straight and swift
to the broom – and appecks* and demolishes
the broom as swift as you can say “****!”


“I’ll take it," says Rachael, with a smile
Poor Rachael, she hasn’t smiled in years


4
“Darling,” says Rachael
the moment she gets home
“Look what I’ve got –
an exotic bird, Zasala!”


And straight Rachael’s clueless husband says:
*“Zasala, my foot!”

928

The Heart has narrow Banks
It measures like the Sea
In mighty—unremitting Bass
And Blue Monotony

Till Hurricane bisect
And as itself discerns
Its sufficient Area
The Heart convulsive learns

That Calm is but a Wall
Of unattempted Gauze
An instant’s Push demolishes
A Questioning—dissolves.

I used to get asked the same question all of the time.
Even now time is a funny word.
I was a boy once so long ago I cannot remember
I was given a chance to see the face of God
He came to me in a dream one night and told me
Well…that’s just between us
Let’s just say that now
I have a handicap
God told the universe that it isn’t allowed to **** me
Nothing can **** me…well cause it was my turn to be God
Sounds great hunh?
I thought so too at first
I learned pretty quick that immortality was the only attribute God gave me
Before he left for good
Disappeared  
Whatever you wanna call it

So here is my life in a nutshell. I’m immortal. I did it all, I saw it all I got it all.
There was not a place on earth I hadn’t seen but
Then my dad died
Then my mom
Then my brothers
And sisters
And friends…
All tasted sweet death
I tried to make more friends
But after ten or twelve lifetimes of that I said ***** it
I just read every book man had ever written
Humans are smart I must say and there is nothing  they won’t do
To stay alive
Glass skyscrapers went up
Towering into space
Teleportation, artificial intelligence, interstellar  space travel
Next thing you know humans got a hold on every planet from here to the A6
People if that’s what you want to call them
Cause they are half machine, half pure energy
Had the setup
I traveled to every planet man had discovered
People began to live so long I could have conversations with all of them
Then one day somewhere on the outskirts of the known universe
BOOM
The biggest ******* explosion since well…I don’t know. It just demolishes a couple colonies.
People long ago were no longer programmed with fear so everyone just went on as normal
Until all around us
Suns began to explode
Creating more and more black holes
I returned to earth, and watched as the milky way began to get ****** in
It was so hot when we got near the sun I could swear ….whatever
Suddenly I’m alone floating through space the few remaining stars were not easy to get to
We’re talking millions of years of bouncing off of space debris while suffocating in the vacuum
I glided slowly to the surface of some blazing blue star
Experiencing the fun of being constantly vaporized and then pulled back together
Until one day….the last star got too hot and then it shattered
It was the most incredible explosion since…well
I think I flew for a few billion years, I kind of lost count after awhile
I was surrounded by blackness forever in all directions.
A blackness so perfect.....a darkness that is so complete
Suffocating
Alone
Maybe God is around here somewhere…
It’s been trillions and trillions of years like this. By myself
By myself.   Billions and Trillions of years
The Holy Stillness

Bold=Chris
                Italic=Tiffany

You are darkest beauty
Hunted by this frenzy
These aging, wizened eyes
Track you through the night
Prey for the predator

As for the creature feasts on the most unknown meal of all not the dark but thy light

Draining the sweet innocence
Hungry for the souls taste
But you stay just of reach
The closer to thy light
It burns at this darkness

The light shines with no effect upon thy dark but the dark shines no mercy but glory and hatred the dark predator gives to thy light

This creature feels only rage
Consumed at he can not have
Fury at what he can never be
For he never knew the angel
Of the darkest beauty in hiding

Thy angel of light bares to thy soul of thy darkest part of the creature of the dark exposes its true beauty and shines light on its pure light and the demon of darkness demolishes thy lights soul and the light shall stay nonimmortal while the dark overules the light and captures both sides dark and thy light both parish in a eruption of flames and disappear in a thin of smoke and never return to thy land of good and evil.


Collaboration by Chris Smith the dark poet
And Tiffany Gold

The heartbeat dictatorship beats
Emotions with the string of a puppet
Difficult decisions deceived as beneficial
Easy choices masked as treason
The truth can not set free
If the truth fills personal opinion
Real truth demolishes happiness
Real truth despises the elated
Real truth shows beneath plastic masks
Beneath the puppet strings
Real truth governs the heartbeat dictatorship
Real truth is the single leader to bow down to
And pray:

Dear lord keep me from danger
Keep me from evil
Keep me from sin
Dear lord set fire to my heart
So you can believe my heartbeats
And smell my pulse
Dear lord lay destruction on my soul
So I can be capable
So I can mask
Dear lord be with me through all
So I can feel your presence
And feel powerless
Dear lord cross my spirit
And keep me from the devil    
So I can scream in peace

Your voice follows me
Demolishes me
Crushes me
I hate
to hallucinate
But sometimes
I wish
It really was you
calling me

It’s so disturbing to see what people come to
How quickly they ruin what might have been
It’s so disturbing to see people go from light to dark
It physically hurts to watch them fall

It’s so disturbing to watch your friends whither
As they turn their back on heaven’s light
It’s so disturbing to see the past disappear
To watch as history demolishes itself

It hurts to see people ruin themselves
People who were so close to you
Friends and neighbors moving on
And leaving you wondering what is right

It’s hard to leave the past behind
The memories you thought were life itself
Those moments you wish would last forever
Old jokes never told again

It can’t be stopped
It can’t be avoided
It can only be accepted
No matter how hard it feels at first.
And then forever.

I'd guess I'd have to say

Your kiss

Is always like the rain

Its always refreshing

Comforting

It can wipe away thoughts

It demolishes my fears

It soothes

I love the rain

But I love your kisses

A million times more.

land of gold and silver
birds with bright feathers
burning wild with sparkle and shine
spit plastic to the waves of red faces and grasping fingers
these hands reaching for anything close to home.
land of bursting hearts
front doors open for warm breezes
to come in and sit for a while
begging for a brass line, a mild conversation
never sleeping, for fear of seeing that nightmare of rain.
land of waterlines
spray painted symbols on abandoned walls
tags of sadness
and across the street, the greenery demolishes vacant lots
as if to **** the emptiness.
land of human sacrifice
since Napoleon's footprints covered each corner
since ships baring human cargo made port
since walls were built only to be tore down
by mother nature herself.
land of the broken
land of the lost
land of the free.
land where beauty rises through the storm
music begins and ends with the single loudest note
voices are not quiet or harsh or unkind.
land of peaceful noise
land of burning passion for courage
land of pride.

Twister
Demolishes town
Strangely named
Flat Gap
Ironic

Dear Sun,
If I have to believe on
my school books
or scientifically proven
expert mind opinions

You
are a white sphere,
an anarchic system,
composed of hot, destructive plasmons
and your rays
have the power
to turn my skin and bones
into a lump of grey ash
no matter how far from you
I stand on

Every morning
when your light yellow rays
softly touch me,
a smile spreads on my soul
and
the yellow, orange and magenta shades
you left in front of the darkness
made me to feel,
You are beautiful
though
my mind knows
You are nothing
but a colourless or white burning ball

You don't care me
neither I do
But there is something
unseen between I and you,
demolishes itself each minutes, each seconds
holds your angers
and scatters them into beautiful colours
and
made me to love each time
I see you

But I wonder
Why I failed and am failing
to honour, appreciate and praise
love of the unseen one
and his/her sacrificial care?

We are all born as winners
But the world turns us to sinners
Just young humble beginners
In a world wrought in hate
A self-destructive fate
Demolishes our will to wait
So we procreate to satiate
The internalized aggression
To the state's possession
Of our life's great potential
Their media too influential
Over our minds it drills deep
Making our inner eye weep
The tears fall and begin to seep
Into our nightmares as we sleep
And see our eternal defeat
We are brought to the feet
Of our fears and anxieties
All wrought from insecurities
Towards superfluous identities
That we praise in a zealous craze
Overtaken by a materialist haze

Please just leave me alone
Leave me here to rot
You think that I am fine?
Believe me I am not.

Please just leave me alone
As my sanity demolishes at last
Please don't make me cry
I've cried enough in days passed.

Please just leave me alone
I'm begging you, begging you please
My mouth says it again and again
But my mind keeps screaming
*don't leave

I slept in my clothes
My sanity in its death throes
I throw back some whiskey
Makes me feel frisky
Cuts back the static
Demolishes the walls of this ******* attic
So silent I can hear my heart beating
My lucidity is thankfully fleeting
I dive into a world unseen
Not dreams nor reality, but something in between
Up here time has no meaning
The sun is no longer gleaming
Darkness clouds my mind
But I am free and unconfined
My issues scattered on the floor
Nothing less, nothing more

I cannot eat my anxiety-
I will only throw it up.
I cannot cry about my eating habits,
I will only get angered.

If I consume the food
I see right now,
It will only come out as river
From my lips.
But if I don’t eat
I will starve.
I guess
Hunger goes both ways.

I could drink, however,
Or down my pills.
They only control the sane part of me.
Rather, the part that can be controlled.
But, they don’t know about the other side.
The side that plots plans,
Plans to do things I shouldn’t.
The side that believes in the wrong things.
Convinces me I am never worth it.

I overdose,
Hoping it will demolish that side.
But sometimes,
That’s not all it demolishes

Which leads to sleepless nights.
Where I only wake up earlier than before,
Until sleep is an enemy.
Sometimes I know I can’t do it
So I lock myself up tight
Only to stop breathing.
I wake up with slightest of amnesia,
And I always wish it would’ve stayed that way.

Which takes me on the path to depression-
My greatest fear.
Dull mornings,
No light comes through.
The night is day-
And it stays that way.

Beauty stops existing.
Hatred to the world and me is all.
This is when throwing up is ok.
I just wish my heart and soul would
Resurface as well.

Endless crying,
Hatred.  Anger.
Sometimes I get happy-
But it never is real.

No one wants this-
But it had to happen to someone, right?
And it had to be me.
At least, not everyone is like this.
Not everyone is demoralized as me.
Times like these, I Look forward to death.

One less broken person in the world,
Disordered and all.

I don't want to cry.
But sometimes I do.

I'm not a prayerful person.
But sometimes I pray.
Not that any of my prayers deserves to be answered.

I've been driven to beg.
Bartering.
Ultimatums.

I want
I need
Give me

Do you ever feel so hopeless
that it paralyzes you?
All you can do is watch
as fate demolishes your plans for the future.
******* all over your dreams.
Tearing up your innocence,
not even bothering to recycle the debris.

Put childish things aside.
Grow up and get a real job.
Get married and start a family.
You owe it to yourself.
To everyone.

Another birthday passes.
Another debt to pay.
Another year spent.

Prayers 830/2022
The findrompscar of egintoch kilmarge verdure veraciloquence bemoaning with pleionosis and sharpened vesicles of the seminative enthralled belletrist of novalia conquered by fallow vestiges of revalorized conations of orchestras of mathesis girdled by the hebephrenia of ecphonesis debauched in flombricks of the macadamized pathway of alloreck demand an invictive supercherie of skelder never a pilgarlick of pisteology deturpated by delitescent romage and gadarene gadabouts of the frigoric scaramouches of ruffianized kenodoxy blaring with semaphores of megalography in the sondage of plebeian reboant rebuses of qwasthink ennobled by the noema of the noosphere glorified by roundabout circumlocution because the reiterative gabble of those who neglect the omphalos of the noosphere always reticulate false cantered pretense because of constative uncertainties always asterongue in their longiniquity from the gangues of the heapstead of the realistic tropes of surreal tropology. We geck our way from gentilian fewterers of stirpiculture and the silvics of the gammon of gamines suborning fideicide in leveraged largesse countermanding with a calenture of colposiquanomian quozian fravvel the retromorphosis of profaned lascivious fossarian debouched and crass vibronic alopecia of anatocism surging never with rhipidate deflexure in the pleonexia of the pleroma of supercalendar frimples of deskandent cloveryield only partial to nebbich fortuitism rather than the spargosis of the counterphobic rintinole of earwigs of pronounced ebriection sparking the geotaxis of high larceny dragooning with imperium in aleatory passiuncles of ideoprone thermolysis of the abyssopelagic depths of stygiophobia rancid in bromides of gnomic rancor of gnomonic kurgans of gerdoying intorgurence that brannigans walm with the weirdward ascendancy of blackguarded illation circumspect in its picaresque hues of oligochrome that the laxism of pericope will not permit the greater sacrilege and tribune of frackling flarmey whadronque mendaciloquence of the kenspeckel notoriety of operose syndicalism in the dumose formative bushwhacking license and licentiousness of the Cambristry of foutered and flictitious frankquibber neoteny, this is precisely because the counterphobes that demand the syndicalism of serfdom are always hibernating on their own outrecuidance rather than bemoaning the depths of the reversal of the minimasque because of the terminus of the diestrus of denostram. We belong, however, to an age of ergotall rhipidate ragmatical perendination by the intrepid galvanization of the tremendum of rogation sizzling in dashpot acrimony that the subsultus of engorged modernity crafts in knackish knavery the lucifuguous but lucriferous fangast flannel of fanfaronade rather than fandangled cagophilists of callisteia alone never the gezellig of belgards of bronteum can empower the chandlers to reast of bibliopolist rarissima of enervated existentialism becoming the apagoge for the minimism of doctrinaire dogmatic serfdom simultaneous to the isorropic ravenous ravellin of the ratten bewrayed swirk jaunty in spellbound subversion but always recursive in the ingemination of illecebrous forsifamiliation that the rackrent of prurience demephitises only to funnel the effluvia of squalor and squandermania into a chockablock fumiduct of erasure rather than revalorized redintegration of lypemania offered at the outrance of lythcoop in phylactic manners so that the lientery of gravid supercherie of the semese ditokous radicalism of  ravelins of symposiarch syndaysmia might become enhanced by reckoning rather than diminished by crucibles of the antithesis of ataraxia at the penultimate scribacious saxifragous liturgy of sempervirent immortelles of the remontant opportunism of malingered tropoclastics of curved naivety and synclastic realism amasthenic because of prismatic surrealism. Amen

B. The whyern of the lazaretta of oxyholotrons of ghallitosis recumbent upon tisicky sockdolagers of loimic pestilence of limosis that cravenly bends all reticulation and resofincular singularities of the promontory of gadarene genius that the refracturism of liturgicide might demigrate with the demegorics of picine elapid pigarsconce phylarchy always contramanded by cowcatcher counterphobic babeldom that roils in sublimity manufactured by arrivistes of eclat that we might marvel at the majestic gauleiter in his engastrimyth porlocking purpresture of the purview of the noxal demiurge of gelogenic denouement that fewer spanerias cornered by the pogonips of suspended hebephrenia in the waning gloaming improvidence of importunate ludibund finifugal travesty that it might find recurrence in its attempted regelation of the wamzel impetus strengthened by eumoireity and the encraty that becomes the balderdash of egintoch fortitude that they might never mammer at the picaresque librations of the selenic bromidrosis that endangers by deliberate degrees of bromidrosis of frustraneous faffle that the fangasts might use the invictive turnverein of orthotropism in gallantry belonging to the gammerstangs of hylozoism even as an outgrowth of figurative thanatousia repining on its euhemerism and decrying its normalism of nocicepty in aspheterism that the eventual acme demolishes the ragtagger wreggled freggets of popinjay ventose conceit that breems of albatross dart in zugzwang rather than expedite in eupraxia of the idiolect of the grambouncers of scopophilia enamored so much of amasthenic and synclastic reboant phonophorous lurid triumph that never a crucible of laterad denouement of the raissoneurs of genius might find any crambazzled prurience in arrogation a detest of gammadions never belonging to the proper tribance of the rengall shibboleths of people that scowl in delitescent objurgation renowned for sublime rendavation that fewer may alienavesce by graklongeur and that more jongleurs of festive callithumpian imperseverant temerity might jow the tachymetry of the noosphere to the pinnacle of civilized eudaemonism never curtailed by the ballicatter of killcows blackguarding their own grapnels of possessive intorgurence and faineant psychosophy that all might denounce the rindstretch of alloreck because of ineradicable estoppage as the deturpation of the placomania and dacoitage of lewd larceny and never provident tribunes of humane orthotropism in orthobiosis. Amen

C. The raisonneur of pleionosis in the pleroma of refocillated recalcitrance emboldened into jaunty statures of refrain in the fescennine quarters of cartography bedizened by majestic megalography that simpers in the wangermist of junctition never a frackling seraglio of denatured ravellin in the skerries of skeumorph can contradict with the eupraxia rather than the dystocia of primiparas of a rhipidate fashion of patibulary treony diminutive in its trillom of flarium regarded never as faffle but always as fanfaronade that the smartest ideoprone nebbich pataphysics of modernity might quarrel with collieshangies of rapid repute opining because of quidlibertarian opiniasters of ophiuran bolides of meteoric whyern that they might all stagger davering away from the dwale of the blemished steganography of dengonin that the otarine aspergillum of ghoulish mandriarchs against an omphalism only tendentious with the full warble of tachymetry of falsehood rather than perdurable in the pasilaly of patience percutient in its force of rancor and acrimony that the ultrageous outrage always meets the favor of the tribunes of certainty rather than the delirifacient qualms of quacksalvers of martexture in the wrathcheque wartle of the renegade alone rather than the audacity of jongleurs to sway the real silviculture of sertivine and herculean geotechnics always transcendent rather than regelated only for the reflationary illusions of the revet and chaffer of broches of sanctified purpresture never the peaceful ponkoss of the pleckigger of the condign allotment. We stagger through the motatory mobilism of the diutiurnal demephitised dephlogisticated refocillation that renounces the frottage of ******* in all septuagint referendum of popular renown rather than gaumless numquids of rhizogenic rhabdomania in this heyday of providence rather than the naysayers who become the quilombo questmongers of irreption only because of the radicolous typhlophilia that scrounges pestilence and in scurrilous internecine balkanization of the avenue of truth and the highways of deceitful and disreputable phanerolagnia that they might always see the malison of the malism of the azimuth and avizandum of tziganology in shibboleth rather than in the rapidfire patibulary renown of the bowdlerized margaric and maricolous denouement of the tributaries of sempirvirence never in luxury but always in chiminage. Amen

D. Rhadbomania of the rhombos of tauricide ennobles the chiliarchy into the sederunt lancination of privilege becoming the crotaline demeanor of raffish runagate rampicks of ramellose radiciform bloviation that owes its coherence never to the  crucible of the epigones that boast in the steganography of wravvel but always evade their corporate responsibility to the anemocracy of never an anneabil gezellig of only the goliardy of dementia but that they always sustain an opiniaster flargent and deskandent impavid resofincular destination as the terminus of their finitism of consideration. May we always absolve the finicky albatross rather than the flocking jackals braying in the winterkill of subterfuge that they might with the magomancy of dragonnade rather than the imperium of honest cadence may their blarney and bletherskate impudence become to them a greater curse than the blessings of the avizandum of only a chrestomathic but outnumbered foe of the realism of a scandent scaramouch demisang of portreeves of hatred fomenting all spumid spindrifts and snirtles of disdain that they might bemoan their own intorgurence of refractory putanism as they scrimshank themselves only on meteoric pride rather than honest recidivism back into the heyday of truth rather than the matroclinic lies of bluestocking matriarchs of mandarism and omphalism contempered into raches that lack the oxyblepsia of ratomorphism ennobled rather than deturpated by both slaughter and laughter. Amen

E. Raffish runagates that enervate themselves of any oxyacaesthesia that they might belong to the demephitised bowery of their own supercilious provincial randan that the ranarian liposuction of their travesty becomes apparent in the kenspeckel of belletrist aimed against their magpiety of mafficking magomancies of false pretense rather than the sockdolagers of majestic genarchs above their littoral swank and alluvions of combustible antebellum swasivious larceny of the common forum against the lyceum of the promethean that by definition becomes radicalized by the rhipidate martexture of their profound deceit. We might never forsifamiliate or defiliate ourselves from nuclear truths rather than raffish lies of ruffianized vandalism of sacerdotalism and the triumphs of rogation above the pother of their outmantled owleries of recidivism in bloodthirst and graft. We might always overhaile without a hint of isorropic irony or the patibulary dudmans of the dringles of dwizzened wonderworks overwrought by rainshod oppression by the gullywashers of modernized tarnish hermalloping the best truths with sempervirent fictions that gadarene gadabouts prance with frantling and pavonine debellation that never provokes capitulation but only a talionic clarigation of the wartle of deceit disguised as the meteoric triumph of the hypertrophy of the hyperborean and thereby selenic invictive force of promethean millitasters emboldened into combat but never rescinded into a Miss Congeniality pageantry that shroffs by incorrect baragnosis of brassage a radical impotence rather than a plenipotentiary pantagamy of pantoglots that surf the alluvion rather than become infumated by the insolation of vesuviated hatred only countermanded by counterclock ratiocination always hobbled by the spancules of ridicule. Time is the behest of eternal alveolate synergies rather than the turgid muck of the jabberwocky of sublime elitism that is often parodied by the peenge of the thole of tauricide roaring in the winds of paravented elitism that scaramouches of skelder and the consequences of their impudence in only schadenfreude of perendination might they meet a whadronque end at the terminus of their own wrathcheque in their estrapade of the interrex rather than the eupraxia of their common objective in objectivism that finally regards with supreme truth the elements of neovitalism that buoy rhizogenic and seminal seminules of hylozoism combined with ratomorphism that we might all be astounded when the roostery outmantles the owlery because of the oxyacaesthesia that only the gubbertushed crapehangers disown in their minimifidian minimism against dogmatic lurches of triumph against the headlong deceit of hamshackled commitments of the spargosis of the colporteurs of only the most plebeian considerations rather than the most promethean samizdats that survive because the biognosy of bionomics is tautochronous to the fascinations of a newfangled isonomy between the bibliopolist of rarissima and the henchmen of the politicide of the polyacoustic babeldom of conclamation that tries desperately to cadge and roodge through diestrus the selachostomous sondage of the clastic mereology of love beyond any trivialized notions of macadamized macarism or worse the opportunism of the portreeve gauleiters of vandalized schadenfreude disregarding the ****** of a gamboling frescade with the hypaethral heavens bequeathing the glebes of plebania with a pleroma rather than a pleonexia. The pasilaly of consequentialism in the reference of doxography that might never faint by the cordial resofincular dimensions of  corrugated wizened and dwizzened dringles of pataphysical naivety that is an objurgation of negativism rather than an elevated triumph of the aqueducts of the irrigation of all novantique by the paragons of lolloping swank in the proper pleckigger notarized by the plackiques of the semaphores of the ennobled wrepolis never craven in its eustress that finally the fangasts of temerity rather than the harridans of the bloodthirst corruption of the boweries of graft eviscerated by the providence of the esquivalience of naivety that they might understand the synclastic relativism of our times magnifies the mesmerism of the siderism finally stellized enough to outmantle the pothers of fumatorium and erase the frinterans of spendthrift pismirism from the hallowed sacrarium of the modern liturgy rather than the archaeolatry of the bethels of lewd tradition empowered by footloose philandering and venal venereal valetudinarianism that itches to foreclose on every mortgaged contract of family that they might be defiliated by the timmynoggies of sin rather than redacted by the greater good of the enosimania of those that find findrouement neither a rubricality nor a qualm but rather the axiomatic fulfillment of the toil of graklongeur never feckless in its ascendancy against the tidal destruction of selenocentric arrogance of ludibund nescience that frolics only in the carapace of naive novantique rather than the egestuous realization that the crapehangers of shibboleth are useless because the apikoros are defiled by their flargent disbelief rather than ennobled by their fidelity to the agapism of a favored century over the declension of the fatalism of finifugal aghast and rantipole negations of the malaise of only the malapert reconnaissance of the scepsis of dubiety rather than the optimistic omphalism of synclastic and amasthenic centuples of redintegrated happenstance becoming peremptory novelty in the novantique of the proper pleckigger of reverence in the paravent against the umbrageous sabotage of the listless in liturgy and the intorgurent disdain of liberticide. May God reckon upon the Earth a newer triumph that never in sheepish bleats davers in periblebsis because of predatory galvanization of instinct and the worst shibboleths of the pilgarlick pigsconce of blatteroons of nescience in their firm commitment to hylicism that can easily find apagoge never only in the aphemia of aphnology of the anacusic irrecusable enmity of those that despise halidom because of the groundling fascination with only volcanic lavondeurs rather than the narthex of lavaderos that scavenge all florilegium for the tombstone of truth and the resurrection of the lively anacampserote of the optimistic escape of those persecuted by estoppage and redstrall into the frontier of harmony and the syndicalism of centripetal serendipity. Amen

My heart-rate is unreadable
But for something I can't describe
This is probably just me being an idiot
Or just something I shouldn't advertise

But it seems like we dance around
The elephant in the ******* room
Just making sure our skin doesn't tear
When it touches under the sun or moon

I just can't ******* tell right now
If this is mutual or just in my head
A mockery of my emotional distress
Or signals that are correctly read

I won't be able to focus on anything
Besides my insides being torn apart
Should I feel bad about these feelings?
This situation demolishes my heart

I'll tell you when you pinched a nerve
Like when we talked that Thursday night
But is it OK if I'm still totally confused?
And only slightly filled with fright?

You feel pain when he walks by,
You feel lost when he looks your way,
You break a little every glance.

Don't give in.

He preys on the weak,
He demolishes hopes,dreams,faith and life.
He takes your heart with a smile and leaves you crawling on the floor for awhile.
After that empty morbid time he will come back.
But you are still broken and he thinks it's fun.
But you can't help but fall all over again.

Don't give in.

You give in a little and you fall yet again,
You think you will never get up from this hole.
He drags you down further and further every second.

Don't give in.

You don't need him.
You don't need his fake love.
You don't need his embrace.
Let him go.
Let that dream that he would change go.
Walk away and never look back.
He will come back without a doubt.
But don't let him in.
Don't let him bring you down.

Don't give in.

She is the opposite of harmony—the queen of destruction.
She is the bullet that hits every core.
She is the scream in the most destructive and deadly pain.
She is the hymn in every songs burning to be sung.
She is the hurricane in the most peaceful places.
She is the dragon that screams delicate architecture, she is the ******* that runs the world.

Everyone talks about her.
Everyone doesn't know how she manages to control everyone's demons.
All they know, she always lies.
All they know, she runs hectares of scars.
No one knows she doesn't recognize everyone.
No one knows she always hug pillows.
Anyone tells her good bye.
Anyone demolishes her crystal walls.
But...
Someone loved her deadly marks.
Someone understood she is an art.

I heard a plaintive heave before the cleaving of the air,

then of the flesh – a forceful splitting of a young citrus,
then of the splintering – a crunch that froze the scorch of that afternoon.

Finito! the sound of the fragile spine breaking into hundreds... or is it thousands? of pieces.

And the debris, of the marrow
and the dangling arteries –
of chunks of the hypothalamus,
a part of the left hemisphere –

the tangential stains of blood on modern Golgotha – a cemented clearing deep within the woods
parched and dried by the anger of that afternoon -

which resembles a festive night:
festooned with firecrackers,
with showers of embers and
fountains of fire,
glow sticks of horror,

And the lower part, the detachment:
loose and limp
placid and peaceful.

A fresh sculpture of soft clay in red  
plaid polo and punturong –
both saved by the stain of gore,

but not with the stain of nature

on the flipside
the habiliments are covered in dust – modern dust
brought by cement and its slow deterioration

of how friction demolishes it era by era
tick by tock of the giant slothful clock -

and as this same cement
seeps all the fireworks

vegetation thrives –
and the fruit of man, and law, and
capital teeth and eye dangles
through thick sinewy vines.

The land devour the sculpture carved by a single
stroke.

And then another heave is heard
then the cleaving of the air,
the almost splitting of the neck meat,
the forceful pulling of a penchant edge
then the cleaving of the air
the splitting of a young tangerine,
then the splintering of a spine,
the spray of sainthood in scarlet,
then the limping,
the rolling, the creation of a mask.

It was a masterpiece of music,
visual aesthetics and
natural arts.

As the mark of each face
was left in the humid winds
of that
afternoon.

I attach myself to achievements of another
Me in the string of consciousness
But I am a shadow of him
As he was an echo of older versions
Reborn in the morn of refreshed brain chemical
A regeneration and transformation
Working with the passions of past moments
Playing with old phrasing, claiming ownership
But for each verse edited, each syllable reworked
The me of now revisits and demolishes
The me of old, as I have done so many times
Today I am myself, yesterday I was someone else
And tomorrow I will be changed again

Truth lands
Like a hammer blow
Knocking evil
From its magpie throne

Bitter tongues wag
As tyrants fall

Truth demolishes falsehood
And reveals
The beauty of justice

Kingdoms built on falsity
Will inevitably crumble

Truth and fairness
Are the firm foundation
Of all construction

U try to control me
Get into my head
And creat an image of how I should be .
Drag me deep into a deep dark whole ;
That slowly demolishes my hope of ever getting out .
U deceive me and make me believe this is what I want .
And I listened each time .
Listen to the distorted thoughts u through at me
.But I no longer will allow u to rule my thoughts or life .
I'll fight you .
The louder you scream
The more I'll Yell back ,
The harder the fight ;
The stronger I'll be .
Until the finish line .
Abolishing  u forever out of my life.