[A] is for
An
Archer with
An
Arrow through his
Adams
Apple, very
Applicable, to the
Ample
Amounts of
Amiable
Attitude,
Adorning his heart, in
After
Action
Attributes, that impart, the
Admiration, of
*******, in this
Acting out of
Arrogance bit. he is,
Astute, in his
Allure, and
Aloof, in the
Air, of
Aspiration, in which, he was
Alienated in the
Agony, of
Asking
Assassins, the
Aforementioned. lights, camera,
Action. recipe of the
Ancient
Admirals of
Avian
Aliens, that
Attacked, with the
Arms and fists, of
Arachnids, now
Aching to be
Activated in sudden
Allegiance to the
Answers, of the truth.
Accumulating wealth for
Anarchy's of
Abating
Angels in
Atrophied,
Alchemical
Academies of the ever
After life .. . of silence.
****** strengthens in these
Accolades of violence, in
Alliance to
Appliances
Appearing in the
Arson of
Apathy, happily, to
Anguish in the
Amputation of my
Abdomen, if it meant i'm a real
American, even, when, only
Ash, remains.
Acclimating in its remains
Attained, the
Articles of my pain, in
Affluent shame, next time ..
Aim... oak
[A]?

[B] is for the
Bah of
Black sheep, and
Big
Bit¢hes, fat cats,
Bombarded in the
Blasted,
Bastion of
Blackened
Benevolent
Blokes,
Berating the
Blasphemous,
Be-seech, of
Brains, to feel
Bad, about the
Blotching of
Binary codes, erroding, the
Blanked out
Books, of
Belittled
Bureaucrats,
Bowling
Back the
Bank rolls of
Betterment, from the
Back of the
Blackened
Bus, as i'm
Busting guts, in the
Bubbling
Butts, of *****
Benched, but
Beautiful, in the
Battle, in the
Bane, of existence.
Baffled, in the strain of
Belligerence, in
Beating the
Beaming
Butchery into
Billy's
Broken
Brains, in
Bouts, of
Battering
Bobby's for
Bags of
*******
Before, affording to
Build
Bombs, is just
Beyond
Breaking
Beer
Bottles on the
*******
Benefactors of
Boulder
Bashing with the
Beaks, of
Birds, with no
Bees. just a
Being, trying to
[B]


[C] is for the
*****
Courting the
Choreography, in
Computerized
Curtains,
Circumventing the
Cultured,
Contrivance of
Chromatic
Cellars,
Calibrating, to the
Contours of
Calamities,
Celebrating the
Cyclical,
Cylinders of
Cyphered
Calenders,
Correcting the
Calculations, of
Crooks
Coughing, in
Courageous
Coffins of
Canadians,
Collecting
Cobble stones, from
Catacombs, in the lands of the
Conquered,
Capturing the
Claps of thieves, sneaky
Cats, of greed. its
Comedy. oh
Comely, to my
Cling of
Cleanliness, and for your self
[C]

[D] is for the
Dip *****, as they
Delve
Deeper in the
Deliverance, of
Deviant
Deities,
Dying to
Demand
Dinner
Delivered in the throws of
Death,
Deceiving
Defiance of
Darkened
Dreams,
Demeaning that which
Deems the
Dormant of the
Dominant, to be
Demons of
Deviled
Devilry,
Dooming us for
Destruction.
Deploy the,
Damsels in
Duress.
Defiled and
Distressed,
Detestable and
Dead. in the thump of
Drums,
Dumbing down the
Debts of,
Dire regrets.
Dissect the
Daisies of,
Disillusion, in the current
Days,
Diluting night into
Dawn,
Disconnecting the
Dots of the
Dichotomy, and arming me, in the
Diabolatry, of,
Demonology, as i watch me
Dwindle away, the
[D]

[E] is for
Everything in nothing,
Eating the
Euphoric
Enigmas of
Enlightened
Elitists,
Exceeding in the
Extravagant
Essence of
Esoteric
Euphemisms,
Escaping the
Elegance of the
Elements in the
Eccentricity of
Eclectic
Ecstasy,
Exhaling, the
Exostential blessings, of inner
Entities, and renouncing the
Enemies of my
Ease,
Easily to appease
Extraterestrial
Empires,
Extracting the lost
Embers of
Enlightenment, in
Excited delight, but to later
Entice, the fight, and
Escape, like a thief into the night of
Everywhere,
Entering the
Exits of
Elevators leading no where, to
Elevate, this useless place,
Encased in malware in the
Errant
Errors of
Every man,
Enslaved, of flesh and
Entrails,
Enveloping the core of
Everything, that matters,
Enduring, the chatter, of
Evermore,
Ever present in
Everybody
Ever made to take
[E]

Funk the
Ferocity of
Foolish
Fandangos, with
Fanged
Fanatics,
Fooled in the
Fiasco of
Fumbled
Fantasies,
Falling through the
Farms of
Freely
Found
Fans,
Flying in the
Fame of
Fortune.
Fornicating on the
Fallen
Fears of
Fat
Fish getting their
Fillet of
Fills.
Feel me in the
Frills

Granted with
Generosity.
Giblets of
Gratitude and
Greed,
Greeting the
Goop and
Gobbled
Gore,
Gleaned from the
Glamour of
Ghouls in
Gillie suits,
Getting what they
Got
Going, in the
Gratuitous
Gallows of a
Game
Gaffed by
Giants.

Hello to the
Horizon of
Hellish
Hilarity, in
Hope of
Happy, to
Heave from
Heifers, to
Help the
Hemp
Harshened
Hobos in
Heightened
Horror, to
Honor the
Habitats of
Hapless
Habituals,
Herbalising the work
Horse, named
Have Not, in the
Haughtily
Hardened
Houses of
Happenstance.

Ignore the
Ignorant
Idiots, too
Illiterate to
Indicate the
Indicative
Instances of
Idiom in the
Irrelevant
Inaccuracy of
I,
In the
Intellect of
Idle
Individuals,
Irritated with the
Irate
Illusion of
Idols
Illustrated upon the
Iris,
In the
Illumination of
I.

******* the
Jobless
Jokers, and
Jimmy the
Jerkins from their
Jammie's, in
Justified,
Jousting off the
Jumps, in
Jokes, and
Jukes of
Just
Jailers,
Jesting for
Jammed
Jury's to
****
Judgment from the
Jitter
Juiced
Jeans of
Jesus.

**** the
Keep of
Khaki-ed
Kool aid men,
Kept in the
Kilometers of
Kits,
Kin-less
Kinetics,
Knifing the
Knights of
Kneeling
Kinsmanship,
Keeling over the
Keys of
Kaine, with the
Karmic
Karate
Kick of a
Kangaroo.

Love the
Levity, in the
Luxurious
Laments of
Loveliness,
Lovingly
Levitating in
Level,
Lucidly.
Living in
Laps, of
Lapses,
Looping, but
Lacking the
Loom of the
Latches
Locked with
Leeches of the
Lonely
Lit
Leering of
Lightly
Limbs, that
Lash at the
Lessers in
Loot of
Lost letters,
Lest we
Learned in the
Lessons of
Liars.

Marooned in
Maniacal
Masterpieces,
Masqueraded as
Malignant
Memorization's of
Motionless
Mantras, but
Merrily
Masking
Mikha'el the
Mundane, who is
Musically
Mused of
Monsters,
Mangling the
Monitor, but
Maybe just a
Moniker of
Marauders.

Never to
Navigate the
Nautical
Nether of
Never
Nears.
Not to
Nit pic the
Naivety of
Nicety.
Notions
Neither take
Note
Nor
Name the
Noise of
Nats in the
Nights of
Neanderthals
Napping in the
Nets of
Ninjas

Ominous in the
Obvious
Omnipotence of
Oblivious
Obligatory
Opulence,
Of
Other
Oddly
Orchards
Of
Offices,
Ordaining
Orifices in
Offers of
Ordinary
Ordinances in
Option-less
Optics,
Optionally an
On-call Oracle, in
Optimal,
Overture.

Perusing the
Pestilent
Pedestals of
Personal,
Parameters,
Pursuing the
Petty
Plumes of
Piety with the
Patience of a
Pharaoh,
******* on the
People with the
Penal
Pianos of
Port-less
Portals, in the
Paperless
Points in the
Palpal
Pats of
Pettiness.
Poor, but
Prideful.

Quick to
Qualify the
Quitter for a
Quick
Quill in
Queer
Quivering of
Quickened
Questioning,
Queried in the
Quakiest of
Quandaries.
Quarantined to a
Quadrant, of
Quagmires.
Questing the
Quizzing of
Quotable
Quartets.

Relax in the
Relapse of
Realizations, and
React with
Racks of
Rolling
Rock to
Rate the
Rep of the
Rain-less.
Roar in
Rapturous
Rendering of the
Random
Readiness in the
Ravenous,
Rallying, of the
Retinal
Refracting of
Reality.
Realigning, the
Righteous
Rearing of the
Realm, and
Retrying.

Steer the
Serenity in
Sustainability, and
Slither through the
Seams of
Slumbered
Scenes.
Secrete the
Solo
Sobriety of
Sapped
Sassys,
Salivating upon a
Slew of
Stupidity,
Steadily
Supplied in
Stream,
Suitably
Slain in the
Steam of
Sanity.
Sadly, i
Still
Seem,
Salvagable.

Topple
The
Titans in
Tightened
Terror.
Torn
Territories
Turn
Turbulent in
The
Teething of
Totality.
The
Telemetry of
Time,
Tortured of
Torrent
Theories,
Told in
Turrets of
Transpiring
Terribleness, from
Tumultuous
Tikes unto
Teens,
Trading
Toys for
Tea.
Thrice
Thrusted upon by the
Tyranny of
Tanks.

Unanimous is the
Ugliness in the
Undertones of
Undreamed
Ulteriors
Undergoing the
Unclean in the
***** of
Utterly
Upset
Users,
Uplifting the
Unfitting
Ushers in
Underwear-less,
Ulcers,
Undergoing the
Ultra of
Uberness.

Venial in
Vindictive
Viciousness of
Vindicated
Venom,
Venomously
Vilifying the
Vials of
Villainy in the
Veins of
Vampires,
Validity of
Valuable
Violence, is
Valiant in the
Vaporous
Vacationing of
Vagrant
Vices.

Why
Whelp in the
Weather
When you can
Wave to the
Whirling
Wisps,
Whipping Where the
Whimsical Were
Way back in the
Wellness of
Whip its,
Wrangling my
World,
With
Waterless
Worms, as
War shouts are
Wasted in the
Wackiest
Walks of
Waking
Wonder.

Xenophobic
Xenogogue, of
Xenomorphic
Xeons, turn
Xyphoid, in the
Xenomenia of my
X, my
Xenolalia of
X, to
***. im lost in the
Xenobiotic zen of
Xerces, on a
Xebec to the
X on the map.
Xenogenesis, in the
Xesturgy of my
Xyston
Xd

Yelling
Yearned from
Yelping.
Yard
Yachts
Yielding, to the
Yodel of
Yeah
Yeahs, to the
Yapping of
******
Yuppie
Yoga
Yanks, over
Yonder.
Yucking it up with the
Yawn of a
Yocal.

Zapped from a
Zone i
Zoomed with
Zeal in the
Zig and
Zag of my
Zapping
Zimming
Zest, upon a
Zombie-less
Zeplin.
Zealot,
Zionist, or
Zoologists,
Zeros or ones, just
Zip your
Zip locked. and
Zzzzz
Zzzz
Zzz
Zz
Z
Zero

This is an ode to Adderall,

that wonderful mixture of

dextroamphetamine sulfate

dextroamphetamine saccharate

amphetamine

aspartate monohydrate

and amphetamine sulfate capsules

that all combine together

to form a prescribable pill

questionably similar to the Schedule II controlled substance street drug

commonly refered to as "Speed."


This is an ode to the children

who are bundles of energy caged in a classroom

incapable of concentrating

on the miniscule tasks given to them

by pedagogical authorities that

promise societal success and economic happiness

to those who complete their work on time

without a fuss or a doubt as to why they're

filling in bubbles on paper in the first place.

The confused children who watch

as others with calmer brains

fixate eyes on textbooks

rather than out the window.


This is an ode to Society

deeming these individuals as broken

choosing to wound then medicate

rather than proliferate.

That took their inquisitiveness

and locked it in a book with the label "DISORDER"

stating that you will never be anything

unless you think and feel the same way we do.

And much like a mad doctor

lobotomizing those whom he thinks insane

they synthesized a pill

to dampen a torrential brilliance

allowing them to place their sedated children

back in the box where they belonged.


This is an ode to the college students

chained by academic standards

expected to excel towards great things

if only they reach that ethereal diploma.

The students who crave the artificial focus

the increased capacity for concentration

with the broadened spectrum of perception

the sense of purpose in the tedium

the ungodly ability to think clearly

and perform the meaningless tasks they expect of us.

The students who go through illegal means

to purchase said drug

to swallow or snort

and dive back into the mountain of responsibility

with a new found sense of productivity and motivation.

An ode to the students

unable to find purpose in studenthood

the ones who find more virtue in watching the sunset

burn clouds into firework oblivion

before then blessing us with uncritical night.

An ode to the students

who discover more education

in climbing to the top of a mountain

and yelling a nonsense decree of passion

just to watch the echo

bounce from shore to shore

in cathartic reverberation.

The ones

for which our pill

is the only possible manner

of assigning purpose to purposeless assignments.

These are the ones

who must binge

cram for days before

the big exams

going whole nights without sleep

or food.

The ones slowly cracking under the increasing pressure of academia

spending more time questioning why they must complete their homework

instead of actually completing it.


This is an ode to my brothers and sisters

who stand in horror at the mold we must fit into

crafted by an unknown unshakable entity.

The ones who lost the appeal of cookie-cutter success

in exchange for a small understanding

of the way things really work.

The cogs that twisted off the machine

and now sit lotus-posed in the corner.

My fellow birds with broken wings

still expected to fly.

My fellow carpenters expected to build their estates

yet not given the proper tools to do so.

The ones of cursed cold clarities

perfectly capable of clutching

those fifteen minutes of dynasty

yet refrain from doing so due to

the immaculate futility of it all.


This is an ode to a drug induced rant

that no one will read

the one that I chose to write

instead of doing my **** homework in the library

like a compliant student.


This is an ode to the pressure-oriented procrastinators

that delay and yet again delay

their petty necessary obligations due to purposeless and exhausted motivation.

Swallowing substances to summon some sort of incentive

to fill in the bubbles

and cater to the Society they find so confusing

the ones who only under influence of synthesized chemicals

find reason to squeeze into that culturebox

that cascades down a bumpy man-made conveyor belt

branding a diploma onto your forehead

injecting an occupation into your veins

transforming your pupils to dollar bill signs

demanding you breed children

to do the same as you have

and you'll never be happy unless you do these things

right?


This is an ode to those who reside in the shadows

of our broken social system

and conjure up great conversations

pertaining to everything and nothing

that are as wonderful and necessary

as the prints of your fingers

caressing down a comfortable torso

just before the sun rises

the untouchable indescribable realizations of life and love

that are completely irrelevant in their eyes

but are entirely necessary for our survival.


This is an ode to the overwhelming feeling of love

greatly exacerbated by a pharmaceutical delight

whereupon connections with other humans

become both incredibly appealing and oddly magnetic

for a few electric hours.

The oxygenating satisfaction felt

the instance just after the small talk architecture masks

fall to the floor

and right before we put them back on.


This is an ode to the minutes before the amphetamine crash

where the world still doesn't make sense

but we briefly don't mind

because a few fleeting moments of energy and purpose

in this otherwise detestable confine of reality

are all you can really ask for

as you complete the assignments

then step outside

to smoke yet another cigarette (they're absolutely wonderful on Adderall try it some time it'll **** you slowly but then again what won't?)

only to witness our Sun

breeding fire clouds in the east

illuminating the Western Abyss into purple-gold spectral oblivion

and in consequence therefore

between puffs of a necessary cigarette

you grin to yourself in quiet victory.


This is an ode to misaligned priorities

to those who when walking to everimportant final examinations

think not of the curriculum beaten into their skulls

but take careful measure to step on every crack on the sidewalk

who stare not towards the future

but to the beautiful reflection reflecting back from the broken mirrors

that are the weary days and weary ways

of this curious existence.

To those when stepping into the absurd spotlight of Society

unapologetically proclaim:


"Though I must play your game,

you will never win."

Even if I loved thee a thousand times, still thou'd never be real.
But still, in t'ese dark miseries and dreams of th' night-
ah, just like t'is silent night of ours
And t'ose fierce fairy tales of young hours
Thou'd still be shaken off my realms
As soon as morn comes-and unveils anew, my charms.
O, death, how lush and inviting thou art,
even though at t'is early age thou might
still be asleep and thus soundeth really far.
Thou art but as naughty as t'ose abundant peeping stars,
brimming with locks of divine warmth and wealth
T'ey shalt again, tease up my mind
Whilst capture my rude, hating heart;
and once more shall t'is gruesome life turn into a solitude
Beside promises t'at canst harm souls' benign attitude.
But as soon as thou art gone; thou might just be no longer safe
And to my conscience thy threat is no more than a slave
Thy delicacy is but servile and uninviting
In t'ose choruses of blood and suffering
For which our senses should nay be proud;
but only of our genuine voices and gravity
T'at though sometimes seem virtual,
but still, are crafted within reality.

And yes, my painting, behind thy soul was ever born thy art,
Locked safely within thy summer foliage and forests
But shall I, for your goodwill ever be sketched?
Ah, one swiftly done, and miraculously correct-
yes, one only, my love, for th' very sake of single jests!
For in thy eyes hovers my triumph,
and in t'ose bogs beneath-
yes, th' ones idling about thy feet,
are cuddled-just here like my little heart, my love.
A sacred love t'at is thrown about
But to which my thirst canst never shout.
Ah, as if my voice is hoarse, and not loud-
and soon I step into whose soils, shall be sanely caught.
Caught and swung around thy idyll-though against my will;
amongst heaven's sandy shoals, and t'eir creepy windowsill.
Oh, and be defected with t'ose blades of thy swords, how evil!
Bereft of my sanity, prudence and sometimes too-bitter delicacy
As I dance around to those lands of hurtful mockery.
Be my soul's delighted worry, and mouth-oh, but mouth of blasphemy!
Ah, how of which I'm now devilishly tired!
Though you might be my eternal sire,
and beside whom my virginal soul shall forever feel so sure
As if my pride shall never ever retire,
everything shall altogether be wounded and obscure
But comely and true, just like t'at shimmering white-lipped dew
With breaths so smooth, like one from my feelings for you.

Ah, my prince! T'is craze for thee is an arrogant little devil;
and its longing for thee which gradually eats away my soul
and at times ****** and tells me harshly what to feel.
Just like t'ose ill-hearted fruits of people's minds
For which t'eir villains wouldst even in death bleakly whine
I am but forever bound to thee;
just like thou art already inside of me;
For in majestic times of our days
Thou shall hungrily partake
my fruity; but eager soul, soul away
and marvel about th' visages of my purity
I shall always but love thee once more;
no matter how boastful thou art,
and detestable virginal pain might be!
For thou art always to me as pure,
though unconvincingly art forever in vain-
For t'ose loveless satisfactions thou hath procured-
and premature pain thou hath delightfully endured.
But healthily t'ese senses shall always love thee
And with such tragedies and tears
canst t'ey but forgive thee only
Because, regardless of how untrue thou art;
You lifted my soul when I was down
And cheered me up 'twixt yon last wound
Dark was th' night t'at day, ye' tender was the moon
As both would pass and dusk would fade away soon
And into my blood thou injected th' real meaning of virtue
Whenst I was all wasted and coldly blue
Whilst my thoughts had not even a clue.

Ah, painting, but still, our love is incorrect as a tragedy-
for t'is world is too exhaustive and greedy
And at times elusive whenst but not necessary-
to grant our love th' chance we needst best!
Oh, but hark; hark once more, my love!
Over t'ere are bursts and chants of a heartbroken violin,
Though spurned by heretic hanging clouds,
slandered by boastful chirping winds.
But, no matter; no matter how hard it might seem
Thou art still to me an indescribable story;
and in thy red cheeks lies my stranded vitality
Signs of virtuous tenderness and curtained loyalty
As though thou art but still with no sin;
No sin; and ah! No stain, no stain at all-of
neither viable crossness nor madness
Though thy cleverness is at times no more to be seen
As once thou said, t'at for thee t'ere might just be
no any further happiness.

Ah! And trapped shall I be, within poisonous vileness
Should I not be granted thee
For thou art th' only soul I love, and idolise
Through whom my life was once formed, and characterised.
For love, to me is like a whole pattern;
and thus needst to be complete;
Thereby in t'is sense-loving him is but like denying
my own merit-merit t'at I am part of, and sure of-
for it is not love, though he might; as fate might say;
just as reliable and handsome and sweet.
But still, he is not thee!
And by no chance, is being not thee is but the same,
as being thee!
How fraudulent, and gross-t'is comparison all be!
Ah! And so thou knoweth, t'at he is, too me-
more even not than a stunning evening doll
Like those ones I hath seen so often
strutting about posh malls
Whilst with heartlessness welcoming
and sneering at innocent cold falls
With faces too stern, yellow, and sometimes bold;
Too bold to be true, much less sincere
And wholly unlike thine-amongst those sins;
t'at for thou honestly admit; look still sparkling and keen;
thus so astoundingly charming my veins and curdling my blood
Until thy unread shadows but reach my heart;
With such braveness and th' frankness of a gentleman
Like at that moment-whenst we told each other's life stories, back then.

Ah, and lure, lure my heart, my love!
And play with it soon as we sit 'mongst th' groves;
I would like to lay again about thy breast,
as I whisper once more to thy chest;
t'at it is truly thee that my soul loves;
and invites to love from t'is moment to end.
Ah, but t'is love started I knew not when,
though never have I thought thou art just my friend.
And lie, just lie to me no more,
t'at thou, just like me-but needst me to thy very core,
with a love t'at seems impatient,
but is born still, from pure virtue and resilience.
Oh! How valuable thou art to me, darling!
Thou who art to me such a mindful; soulful treasure,
and betwixt thy impurity thou remaineth but pure;
Thou are a smiling cloud to my blinding sun;
but sunlight to my rain as soon as it is done.

And thick and tough just as yon bough may seem,
thou shall forever be to me more t'an him!
I shall do and always want thee,
it is thy picture t'at I keepest within and about me.
Ah! And to t'is world, I promise, I shall not bluntly surrender
as how my wailing heart it shall never disrupt!
For thee I shall swear with a thousand loves greater,
t'at from actualising thee, I shall never be stopped!

Then please, please me, o my love-once more,
and talk to me and look at me sweetly as just never before.
For I love thee brightly and gently, as how air loves breath;
and so shall I love thee purely and greatly, as how life loves death.

Introduction



During the thirteenth reign of king Josiah, the spirit of Yahweh came upon Johnson the scribe,

Then suddenly at once, he penned down what's now known as: The chambers of pleasure from the priestly tribe.

One day however, the detestable pagan Philistines, burned up the much adored work of art,

And when the entire community of Israel found out, they all mourned with a heavy heart.

But with the guidance of the ever beautiful and compassionate archangel, Victoria,

I, Tamar, discovered a secret copy between the border of Judah and Samaria.

Twelve elegantly worded songs in all, were composed onto a scroll by the man of God, Most High,

They will stand the test of time, for they were inspired by  Yahweh, who'll never let his servant's words die!


Song 1:
The Man

Darling, darling, cutie pie,

You're the apple of my eye.

Never will I leave your side,

Love you always til I die.


Song 2:
The Man

Anytime I gaze up at the sky,

My thoughts immediately race to you, my dearest wife.

Without you I would break down and cry,

For you're the one good thing that ever happened in my life.


Song 3:
The Woman

Kiss me with a thousands kisses, sweet hubby,

My rosy cheeks are in need of your warm soft lips.

Altogether faithful, pure and lovely,

One in a great sea of billions, my perfect Prince.


Song 4:
The Woman

Life without you my dear husband, would be very painful,

For you honestly are the closest thing to an angel.

The sheer thought of losing you would surely tear me apart,

So don't ever leave me alone in this vile world, sweetheart.


Song 5:
The Man

Doubt at one time managed to convince me  I would forever be lonely,

But then one day, you came into my life and now you're my one and only.


Song 6:
The Man and The Woman

Precious wife, this body of mine belongs only to you,

Your love is my antidote anytime I'm feeling blue.

Sweet husband, my body is yours to do as you see fit,

To you alone my love, do I wholeheartedly submit.


Song 7:
The Woman

Once I was in love its true,

But my heart got torn in two,

So I vowed never to love again, no matter what.

But my broken heart you fixed,

When we fell in love and kissed,

And thus I thought it best to give love a second shot.


Song 8:
The Woman

Forever will I treasure the day you proposed to me,

Deep within my heart I always knew we were meant to be.


Song 9:
The Man

My heart often skips a beat whenever I am with you,

You are the centre of my universe and my wish come true.


Song 10:
The Man

Oh Yahweh Most High who rules from above,

Please let me grow old with my one true love.

No one but my wife makes me feel so free,

Only she fills my heart with utter glee.


Song 11:
The Woman

All my life, not a single living soul gave me the time of day,

But you appeared and with your love, melted my broken heart away.


Song 12:
The Woman and The Man

The Woman:

Oh darling husband!

When im old and weary and my beauty is no more, will you still love me? will you still care?

Oh my precious wife!

In this life and the next will you forever be mine. Never will I forsake you, I swear.

The Man:

Oh apple of my eye!

Whenever times are rough and money is tight will your love for me grow cold?

Oh love of my life!

Forever will I be by your side. My love for you will never wax old!

The Woman:

My rock and soul mate!

Just as the golden sun brightens the whole world with her warm presence,

So too do you brighten my broken spirit with your warm essence.

The Man:

My one true love!

You are as beautiful as the early morning sunrise,

And as pleasing to the eye as the nightime fireflies.

The Woman:

My world!

Even if you were to forsake me, my burning love for you would always remain alight,

The Man:

My beloved!

And even if you were to forsake your vows, my love for you would continue to burn bright!

End

The Bleaching Heaven
This was the dire conditions a ranch on the central coast of California was pumping gravel from the well
The first time this happened in over a hundred years of them having the ranch the heavens turned away
Its smile the soil started after a long line of days to appear as tile that was breaking and turning up on
The edges it was an emotional assault everywhere the fierce fiery hand left nothing untouched the
Saddest of all was when the visible pain and distraught effects started to show in the trees the great
Black oaks, Eucalyptus, the pine started to constrict the full busy top crown had the drawn most pitiful
Wasteful sad look they were dying by degrees and the merciful heaven looked on dispassionately it was
Hard to travel about the country without having pain dog every move you make it was pronounced the
Land cried for answers your hands were tied as a prisoner in the same predicament doing time in Yuma
They didn’t have to add disciplinary parts to the running of the prison just being there was punishment
Enough a lonely coyote calls in the silver moonlight not for a mate’s responding call but where can I find
Water a song said it best I face the barren waste and I think of cool cool water then you have a rich
Diverse part of the country that is the envy of the rest of the world now it is a tender box a lighting strike
Or any man made careless act and all will go to blazes all will be left is a black charred landscape it will
Blacken your own spirit this is a terrible outcome when clouds are with held and their life giving
Moisture is held in check at times a benevolent father uses this hard means to instruct and show
Your path that you are following is leading you to a like destruction its undetectable when the spirit
Within starts to die all that happens is the outward life kicks on like a backup generator all resumes
And seemingly shows that everything is fine some don’t even know and have never tasted the water of
The spirit everyone has those moments of laughter something stupid is said or portrayed but what
About a river of laughter that surges from unspeakable joy this is not the shallows of life but when deep
Calls unto deep those cherished longings bubble up and are giving free course to your dreams but a
Wicked one who has interest and designs on your life with lies and superior knowledge diverts the
Course Of living water it’s easy because you walk in darkness by choice our desires have blocked and
Dammed up Holy and incorruptible cleansing now the water unseen by the naked eye a poison has been
Introduced it slowly and acutely effects all freedom of thought and actions that are only normal when
You are cleansed by the blood sacrifice of the cross this is detestable to the rebellious spirit we all live
With but it is the pardon the opening of this devil bound prison that restricts and limits growth all of this
Carries with it untold dangers to self and our families the penalty for sin is death you start the death
Process long before the final exit from this life you go to places that puts you at the mercy of others
That have no thought of you what so ever you’re just a mark something to further their strong and out of
Control desires truly the sky is as brass and below if you could have your eyes opened you would only
See the bleached bones of a new generation dying of thirst while an ocean of love and care is dammed
By the prince of darkness and you are his slave doing everything to continue your own debasement and
Loss what more can the Father do he died in shame and agony the heavens even turned black but from
That forever a great upheaval began your freedom guaranteed you want heaven to open you want
Righteous rain you want to see your country rise from a cesspool of drugs and alcohol that creates the
Atmosphere that debases mans place as leader and benefactor for the family and then turns to first
Cheapen women then violate them through the power of *** that no one can control the innocent
Children face the unspeakable terrors of those crazed enough to use them in the most despicable way
Way then they raise a lethal hand to end their lives of promise and beauty turning it to a disgraceful display
Of sick madness that no one but God can defeat the answer just say his name with all of your heart
Jesus

Ground smolders and smokes

Luminescent men, humps at the front

**** and poke

The air acrid, the smell of burning stone

On a wall three boys

Gaze, eyes wide, mouths

Marleyesque, dropping

Bewitched as the florescent men

Smooth and calm the steaming earth

Spraying water from a can

To quench its thirst

The seething, black

And exhausted ground

Murmurs in sick response

To its own fragmented curse

A yellow dragon near by

Belches black blood

Oozing from its innards

Through Gothic gargoyle mouth

The lime coloured men shovel

This toxic *****, smear it

Across the gasping earth

That lies, ripped like a jagged

Wound on a dying man

The lime colored men

Mount the yellow dragon

Speed off, leaving

The scorched ground

Burning and hissing,

With sulphurous smoke

A million sizzling angry snakes

The three boys run away in freight

Dropping playthings as they fumble

And tumble in their horrified flight

The black earth cries, bubbles

And consumes their toys

Passes sentence

Makes them L'Enfant Commune

The lost boys

Then there is a quiver

A tedious tremble, a treble;

That played like stretched

Elastic flicked with

Forefinger and thumb

Making the heart numb

Extracting false confessions

A stench of putrid untruth

*** charades of delicate

Ravaged faced youth

A drole de ménage

Slave to the hunger

Of the unknown demand

The French grooming

Of horses, that may charm

The curious but leaves curiosity

Still smouldering in the

Hidden depths of the

Universal mind

Sanumbolists in the

Fullness of a dream of

Ineffable torture consume need

The boys cry out, for the

Earth has stolen a liars tongue

Branded them abominable

With decaying enormities

Detestable, enamelled eyes

Lurk and peer from

Behind gauzed curtains

A corpse of understanding

That inspects the invisible

Images of imbeciles

Parchments dripping in powdered

Crystalline drops smear the pavements

The boys wave their arms

But no-one sees them

There is the rise and fall of cryptic waves

That ebb and flow scorching

A shore of silent sorrows

Lapping feverously at the

Arc of a whirlpool

Whose decreasing concentric

Circles **** the boys down

Into an eternity of hot tears

Leaves them without parents

Gives their brothers and sisters

Into a slavery of barbarous belief

A ferocious language

Banning the boys from all beaches

Provides tyrannical pilgrimages

To black robbed priests

Possessors' of serpents' hearts

The yellow dragon returns

Lemon coloured men spill

From its foaming mouth

The boys hide behind

Dead rose bushes

Ah, but their tenebrous

Trembles creak in the

Blotched and bloodied

Butchers sawdust

A fabulous elegance cradles them

Making the smoking dragon angry

It spews molten bile taken

From the bloated stomachs

Of white beasts

The luminosity of the

Lemon coloured men

Increases to blindness

They wave tattered antediluvian

Bark and scream from

Their dark, deceitful, anchored armchairs

From railed and spiked alters

Spitting bitterest gall

The lemon coloured men

Butcher the fabulous elegance

Leaving the boys naked

Prey to the perfections of

Puerile generosities

That vows to extinguish

Their human desire

Vacant eyes with

Nauseating sight strut

A cruel distortion

Terrifying voices offer

Demonic destruction

The boys weep, but

no-one hears them

A violent paradise

Of popular poses tries,

But fails to caress them

The dragon burns the boys

But no-one smells them

Their terror turns to molten flesh

The lemon coloured men

Spread it over the earth

The beast' heart beats

Joyfully in its bulbous belly

Sacred men smile while

Pitiless priests provide

A comedy

The boys become a hallow

Antique night their left

Legs held up for all

To see

Delirium devours the minds

Of a subjugated people

The deadly hissing of the earth

Like a silken spectre rises

Making scintillating shudders

Through the spiked splinters

Of time

Intelligence is reduced

To the rubble of religious

Intolerance

Lime, yellow, lemon drips

Heated plastic from false eyes

There are cries, sights and sounds

But no-one hears, sees or speaks

No real people are left

Similar boys watch from a wall

Huddle together and weep

You couldn't relate to my life if you tried
Degenerate pride, in my pride, the family all died
I took a trip, slip from the front door
Walking to the house of a man with some more
Of the poison of my mother, the mater, my pater, the father
My brothers and sisters slumped against a wall, injecting
It gets harder
I'm a martyr
But I fall farther
Brown brings ardour

In the haze of detestable days, bus journey raves
To the estates, I'm in a state, I hate fate
Try and place blame, struggle to get straight
But straight to the point, you're a mate
Pass the plate, and the joint
I'll do a line, get straight
Straight to the point...

Where was I?

Back in the house, forgot how I got here
The emptiness too much to bear
I miss my family being here
My mother the seer
My father drinking beer
I close my eyes, open, hope they appear
The loneliness of the kitchen feels so queer
I pop a few pills and realise its been a year
Since I saw them here

Fading to black and I awake in a wrack
Fiending for some smack, panic attack
Light up a pipe, smoke some pale crack
Keep me going on this lonesome track
So I pack my bag, down a glass of Jack
And get back on the beaten path

To the corner where I find her, solemn in a slump
Hard night's day, I give her cash and we arrange the jump
Pump pump, I dump my junk and feeling drunk
Walk silently in a grump, she re-adjusts her skirt
and returns to her bunk
To her lifelong funk
before being packed into another John's trunk

The streetlights are cruel in the winter night's haze
What beautiful days, in a daze, feeling amazed
Clasp my hands and I pray, am I crazed
or is this mournful delay
A year ago today,
my love took my family away

Bitter cacophony, a swarm of raucous screeches
scratching against the infinite sides
of the sleeping labyrinth
desperate to be heard, to be known.
Climbing upon one another
using ladders made of lies.
Locust-like in movement
unite and disperse in detestable symphony
lazy and hollow
harrowing torment.
Shut away in a little box
and scattered amongst the open
universe of the ethereal untouched.
Never to be noticed.

I am one to have my emotions under control.

Seventeen years of maneuvering around other’s
Peculiar mood swings
Taught me how to ignore
The chaos of human sentiment.
And so my features remain stoic since.

I have learned how to channel the anxiety
Manifesting itself in a jittery leg, shortness of breath,
And a discordant mind.
It is possible– Quite easy, actually–
To translate a torrent of worry
Into potential energy.

Three years in a closet
Is time enough to collect many pretty dresses
And forget there is ugliness in the world.
As much as I preach the virtue of honesty,
Lying has become second nature,
If only to keep these shark-infested waters
Calm for one more day.

I ought to be devoid of sentiment by now,
As much of a shell as that detestable Louisa Bounderby.
However, I recently found myself mistaken;
I am not a product of Utilitarianism.

Recently, I’ve been feeling–
Oddly ill.
With a loss of appetite,
A churning stomach herbal tea cannot alleviate,
Difficulty sleeping,
And a racing heartbeat.
These symptoms are purely somatic
And therefore, quite frustrating.

I met a girl last week;
I wonder if I caught it from her.

Apollonius was talking about
proper education and conduct with a young
man who was building a luxurious
house in Rhodes. "As for me" said the Tyanian
at last, "when I enter a temple
however small it may be, I very much prefer
to see a statue of ivory and gold
than a clay and ****** one in a large temple".--

The "clay" and "******"; the detestable:
that already some people (without enough training)
it deceives knavishly. The clay and ******.

selfish boy
took what wasn't his

young girl
more than a stolen kiss

deceitful boy
somehow gets his way

naive girl
wants him to stay

convincing boy
says all the right things

innocent girl
to the words she clings

irresistible boy
fills her head with lies

rebellious girl
morals she defies

detestable boy
destroys her heart

hopeful girl
love was short

thoughtless boy
drops her, he's gone

poor girl
still holds on

I have a lot of pent-up fear;
many things really do terrify me.

I’ve never really been comfortable in the dark,
my imagination has never granted me that luxury.
Phantasms from almost 15 years ago follow me in the shadows.

I’ve always enjoyed looking out at a cityscape
from the top of a tower or building
but I’ve never let go of the railing.
I haven’t let myself come close to the edge,
my back against the wall.
I’m too scared of falling.

I’ve been harrowed by many things,
but one demon reigns over them all.

I’m really scared of disenchantment.

I’m scared that the very reasons that I was initially loved for
will eventually become the reasons I am detestable.

I’m scared my determination and perseverance
will turn into me being stubborn and close-minded.
I’m scared that my sweet thoughts and caring nature
will transform into me being clingy and suffocating.

I’m afraid that all the reasons you love me
will turn into the reasons why you regret.

I don't get why your ****** eyes can't see
I don't get why your short frame can't grasp
I don't get why your semi-average mind can't understand
I don't get why it can't seep in your dark skin and chubby belly that

I  l o v e  y o u

because you care for your friends with utmost loyalty, sincerity
because your eyes shine with fire for the things and the ones you love
because you never run out of wild stories and theories
because your laugh is more than enough to make me laugh along
because your crazy ways take me in an adventure, not chaos definitely
because you would rather be odd in this apathetic world for the sake of chivalry
because you give me more innumerable insane reasons
but actually, simply
because you

You may see yourself as someone unlovable, detestable
but please get rid of that nonsense
because I am here
and very soon,
distance and time would get in the way but
I will always be here and

**I  l o v e  y o u

Among the more irritating minor ideas
Of Mr. Homburg during his visits home
To Concord, at the edge of things, was this:

To think away the grass, the trees, the clouds,
Not to transform them into other things,
Is only what the sun does every day,

Until we say to ourselves that there may be
A pensive nature, a mechanical
And slightly detestable operandum, free

From man's ghost, larger and yet a little like,
Without his literature and without his gods . . .
No doubt we live beyond ourselves in air,

In an element that does not do for us,
so well, that which we do for ourselves, too big,
A thing not planned for imagery or belief,

Not one of the masculine myths we used to make,
A transparency through which the swallow weaves,
Without any form or any sense of form,

What we know in what we see, what we feel in what
We hear, what we are, beyond mystic disputation,
In the tumult of integrations out of the sky,

And what we think, a breathing like the wind,
A moving part of a motion, a discovery
Part of a discovery, a change part of a change,

A sharing of color and being part of it.
The afternoon is visibly a source,
Too wide, too irised, to be more than calm,

Too much like thinking to be less than thought,
Obscurest parent, obscurest patriarch,
A daily majesty of meditation,

That comes and goes in silences of its own.
We think, then as the sun shines or does not.
We think as wind skitters on a pond in a field

Or we put mantles on our words because
The same wind, rising and rising, makes a sound
Like the last muting of winter as it ends.

A new scholar replacing an older one reflects
A moment on this fantasia. He seeks
For a human that can be accounted for.

The spirit comes from the body of the world,
Or so Mr. Homburg thought: the body of a world
Whose blunt laws make an affectation of mind,

The mannerism of nature caught in a glass
And there become a spirit's mannerism,
A glass aswarm with things going as far as they can.

Love too strong for
those who bear it
is a curse invoked
by a deficit of worth.

It is not enough to
seek validation through
a proxy designated
Heaven on Earth.

With no center of gravity,
no anchor in character,
obsession is the limit
of the capacity to love;

Projecting impossible
desires and untenable
expectations amounts
to blasphemy of.

True love may not be
forever or easy;
parting may never
be pleasant to bear;

Love is not merely
what's pleasing or comfortable;
love is a crucible;
love is not fair.

Those fleeting failures
and moments of error
are chances at triumph,
a challenge to change.

Breaking our boundaries,
ballooning outward:
love is inevitably
savage and strange.

Unbefitting to cling
to the bridge that enables
a star in its wand'ring
to cross the abyss;

To carry the ballast
of vast insecurity
over that chasm,
untenable risk;

Or swallow the poison
of foolish dependence
on whimsical paramours,
obesiance thereof,

To be hung from the neck
by detestable premises,
weak and debased
by untenable love.

Dearest Mother
I love you so much, so deep.
Why do your Children make you weep?
You adopted me, with a broken past
Filled with hateful ideals.
Thus,  saving my heart.
Although Im not your aesthetic child,
I love you more than those,
Who claim your side.
My bloodline, an embarrasment, they **** your body.
They steal from you, a detestable history.
Engraved on the future, a history past.
Of foreign Politics, your new prison Mom.
And why do your children embrace this lie?
Why are they standing idly by,
While you wither and die?
For fame?
For Fortune?
For Self..
For GREED...
This is NOT your teachings!
"UBUNTU" is...
You taught me to Love beyond the colour of skin.
And to love profoundly, my Rainbow Kin.
Your Spirit, dear Mother, I will defend till Death.
Help me return your babies
back to your breast.
Forgive my Ancestors, they have no clue what they did.
Their greed, their hate, their fear, killed your Kid.
Forgive your Children,
My brothers and sisters.
For their hearts are violent and full of blisters.
And Mom, I know this is not your way.
You show love and respect, the opposite of pain...
Though I may not be biologically yours,
You blessed me in your love,
Showed me that with you, there are no borders.
My Mother I love you. Im sorry for what they do.
Though Im not your birth child,
I know you love me too..
so WAKE UP my Sister
WAKE UP my brother.
Stand up with me.
Defend our Mother.
She is bruised and hurt,
Cant you hear her cries?
Because Her children are greedy,
And dont care if She dies.
Our "Leaders" **** Her out
For personal gain.
She is NOT for sale!
I wont play that game.
So Mom, I love you.
I cry because of what they do.
They claim your being,
They claim they own YOU!
But you cant be owned, or sold by any,
Because you are loved,
By oh so many..
Again I pledge my Love to you.
Im not alone, many of your Kids are good.
They embrace your teachings.
They keep your ways.
To live life in your Tradition,
And not in shame.
I love you too, my sister, my brother.
In Truth and Respect, another gift from our Mother.

Didn't learn much from school

but for a poker-face, how

not to **** in his trousers

and the surpassing value of quick getaways


'Twas losing that did the trick

especially that business of losing in love

I van detestable, desirous of love but

minus mandatory leveragables


Ends up instead, in a specimen jar

at his local sleep lab, filed under

'Good for REM Experiments'

and HAARPs started playing at night


Couldn't keep up with gollums

pimps or clockwork candymen

dispensing their oranger shade of pale

so he called up the creator of love


Himself ..... got the real deal

Seems the goodly church retailers

excommunicated him, for knowing too much

So, finally, he decides, to read and write

Child
You just want you own way
Child
You are passive aggressive
Child
You need guidance and safety
Child
To grow up and become healthy

Bad parent
You give too much then nothing
Bad parent
You care too much or zilch
Bad parent
You don’t work and then push too hard
Bad parent
Your relationship stinks

Child
You don’t meet all my needs
Bad parent
I don’t like the look of you
Child
You smoke and you drink
Bad parent
Your life’s on the blink

Child
You waste hard earned money
Bad parent
You just need some space
Child
You're just so **** embarrassing
Bad parent
Please get out of my face

Child
I want the other one
Bad Parent
Well I’m all you’ve got
Child
If you weren’t so detestable
Bad Parent
That’s enough now just stop

Child
Just leave me alone
Bad parent
We could have a hug?
Child
Never, I think you are horrible
Bad parent
Ok, fair enough

Oh, I am destroyed!
My soul is in uncertainty; moving about has it been,
in awesome dreariness!
I hath been like this since yesterday afternoon,
and whenever I think of that scene again,
my soul blasts with fury;
as I am naturally entitled to no right to his love,
or whatever this yearning feeling is deemed to be called.
He who in nature now belongs to someone else;
cannot stop wander aimlessly the exiled layers of my mind;
how cruel!
This is absurd indeed!
For I had kept no such desires towards him since
the very outset; no movement of his startled my *****;
no shadows of him ever shrouded my mind!
But why should I feel this envy now?
This gritting pang of jealousy,
oh, how despicable to me!
To my elegant and eloquent ****** soul,
how detestable it hath been!
Yet its infamous flame would not just burneth away;
this agonizing envy, hatred for my frantically oppressed
passion, for my inability to seal it away, forever!
Oh, how I dread to even recall
the very mention of her name: the presence of
another female creature like me,
crowned in dull whiteness, blessed in stony praise and laudation,
yet cheeky in her own very world of mirth, charm, and
indulgence. Another venerable being loved, so entirely
loved, by his *****!
How cherished and fulfilled my love would be,
if that gift hath been bestowed onto me,
I that so tenderly long for his touch, just one small
look of admiration, and I would fly!
I who can love him more fervently, and ardently
nurse him in the wreaths of this murky winter,
in my mind is this
picturesque glance
of us relating stories to each other, of our distinct life
histories, in the brisk, glittering snowy evenings!
I who can gaze at his perfection from afar, and
would still shower him with my sweetest bliss of
happiness. My fabulous, precious treasure forever!
Yet how distant is he from me now, how unreachable!
What a fortunate woman, what a foolish wretch
I am, to long for this claimed treasure! What a
poignant mistake of mine, to recognise the flawlessness
of this prince just now; whilst I hath been chanced to know
him for a series of fortnights; how ill, narrow, and
imbecile I am! How unworthy I am of him! He is
everything, and hast everything already; in his little, yet
impeccable realm - alas, I am only to celebrate the
entirety of my poetry, nothing else! My words, that shoulder and
perseveringly witness all my unspoken love for him day and night.
Nevertheless I blest thee, my love, may my grace be
with thee, thou art the sole king to whom I am
mostly devoted! Thou art the embodiment, and the
completion of my ever wildest imagination, thou art
the vivid realisation of my solitary soul! Thou art the
secondeth half of my body, thou art my blood, and my very
truest womanly essence: thou art part of my all senses and the
whole of my being.
In my bones flow thy veins; their natural greenness
melt perfectly with my remote and lonely profusion. Thou art
the first man I hath loved sinceth my initial steps
onto this foreign region, thy smile is all brighter than a very
shimmer of truth. Our short meetings procure merriment, and
delight, in my life, in the worst times of my turmoil and
devastation. Thou hath made my study days - the
hectic ones, confined to the pale shades of my books
and their anxious words - sheer and jubilant. As
astonishing as it hath been, my heart gleamed and
glowed towards thee - oh, if only thou wert free,
to entwine thy love onto mine! I would never once
hesitate to return it, I would welcome it, rejoice in it,
the most yearned, longed, missed, and sought-after
present on this idle earth! Oh, how through these decent words
I wish thou could hear, and comprehend my deepest
feelings; I love thee, not, and no longer as how a
desirous tutee should look up to her guide; but as
how a woman is bound to sincerely love a man. My heart was
crafted for thee, I wasth born for thee, and in it does thee perfectly dwell; thy most
reliable source of love, dreams, and tenderest affection.
I love no-one else but thee.
I love thee, I love thee, I love thee.

She hides behind herself,
picturesque scenery flashing
before her sad doe eyes
only to crystallize before her
like memories
life washes over her
but not through her
at any given moment
she could fade away
gone with a fluttering
of butterfly wings
what is love
(baby don't hurt me)
but a rush of pheromones,
a shotgun blast of hormones?
a necessity
a necessity she doesn't know by name
or by face
but by the lingering aroma
of cigarette smoke
and detestable good byes

Despite your resignation and sudden departure,
shooting in the direction of Not Me as soon as my lips parted
and those fateful words escaped,

you never left.

The refuge of cool bedsheets in bedclothes on a bed too big for me
houses nightmares and a silent love affair,
neither tangible nor real,
but when the sun peers through the curtains and my REM becomes
remember, I do it; I sit up, kick back damp bedsheets and bedclothes
and let my feet dangle from the heights.

A cantaloupe, a fragrant pollen drenched lilly, ginger beer,
these are my companions in a desolate Whole Foods.
I stroke, smell, drink, relive the ecstasy of my own reveries,
the ones I created before I lay eyes on you,
before, when your name was merely a source of laughter,
like some fat obnoxious cartoon on television,
lovable and detestable in one viewing.

I walk to my car and turn the ignition-- that makes my fetal position
in fifteen minutes
significantly more realistic.

Somewhere between the interstate and the inter state of my mind,
the threads unravel and dissolve,
and the knot that stated not, no, never,
says yes, you **** well can, now, and always.

My stomach began to hurt about two days ago. That was the morning I woke up to an empty bed and throbbing head and no messages from you, no "hey darling I got here in one piece," no "goodnight dear." But then again I never date guys who talk like that. My stomach hurt all day and I wanted to talk to you so bad I gave into temptation and you said everything was good and you had "forgotten" to text me and I brushed it off later and didn't ask for the story when your friends kept teasing you about "the married woman you hit on."
My stomach still hurts and it's been two days now and today I told you it hurt and you said "I'm sorry" when all I needed to hear was "I love you, I'm here" and I cried harder than the sky did all the way home and tried to take a nap but now I sit here trying to scrawl down thoughts in the messy way I do when my mind screams with the need to spit them out. I can't understand how it always ends up like this, always hurts like this, LOVE ISNT SUPPOSED TO FEEL LIKE THIS. You've taken my mind in your hands and molded it and my body bends easily to your will and my words will never tell you how much you hurt me because I can't lose you and my head needs to get it out and everyone tells me that my poetry is best when it feels the most real well it feels PRETTY ******* REAL RIGHT NOW and the sickest part is that its when I am most ****** up that I can create the most beautiful things.
You're an artist. Finger-paint my messy mind because no brush strokes could do it justice. See the way that side is always a little smudged, darling? See the way my hands always shake a little, spiderweb lines that map out my grotesque sickness? See my broken inability to understand why you couldn't possibly love me, I know you can't love me, I've seen me I've felt me I've heard me.
You were perfect. Take that label and shove it up your *** hahahahaha. Or maybe stick it on my chest to be worn like a badge of detestable irony, I wish I could hate you but every time I try to breathe out the words "I'm leaving" my mouth says "kiss me" instead.
And all my friends and their cookie cutter boyfriends live their days in warm snuggles and cookies and I breathe blood bubbles and think about throwing my toaster in the shower just for ***** and giggles.
You were mine, are mine? Never mine.

Well, let me begin my announcing to the HP community that I just pulled my ex-best friend's child's mother's hair out of my mouth without realizing how it got there since I haven't seen her since Saturday. Yeah, good luck pondering that breech of physics. Also, I realized that I've been breaking the magic rules of drinking at work as laid down by Cracked.com with impunity since before that majestic article was written, which kind of makes me feel like a badass and also like a terrible alcoholic whom the gods will eventually strike down. Or perhaps, everybody at work with me is also drunk and/or high all the time, a suspicion I've had for about a year now, but have not been able to prove, despite careful observation. Sure, the typically WOW playing awkward dude gets a box of not one, not two, but three bottles of beautifully crafted wine delivered DIRECTLY TO THE OFFICE every month notwithstanding. And does our supervisor say anything even remarkably reprehensible....no, not while she's on the clock. But she did steal my Don Corleone hat, and by thunder she still owes me for that thing, since I'll bet all the money I made this year that she got some fantastic head because of that hat. There are minor arguments in the breakroom over how ****** the coffee actually is, whether it's police station or AA meeting detestable, and on slow days people are chucking gigantic medicine ***** across the room while laughing at the destruction they cause. Then, Monday through Friday, woe unto you if you call the 24/7 line between 10 and 12 at night, since you will be picked up by me, the 3-midnight guy. If you're an idiot, or loud, or from New Jersey, or can't seem to be able to wipe that bleached ******* of yours without assistance, DO NOT CALL. I will be drunk, and while drunk I will take whatever ****** excuse you have for being a worthless and pointless human being and very tenderly, very politely, shove it up your *** on the end of a very thick nine iron. This is real life, and this....this is where I work.

There was a young man who sat by the Sea
Without fail, everyone knew, he would go every morning
The youth sat there to think and it made him feel free
Free to dream or not dream. When in bliss, when in mourning

He loved the Sea for its surface
Wind-kissed waves distorting starlight
He loved the Sea for it's depths
Churning into thick ink when absorbing the night

A love that began in small boyhood
Burying tiny toes within her cool sand
Though with the strong passion of man
The first time her wet silkiness tickled his hand

Oh, how he adored her! Through torrents and sun
Her whispers and shouts only separate intensities
But he would not go into her, for he feared just as much
She had told him, one by one, of her darkest propensities

So a sailor in heart, but in soul a wise lover
The boy, now a man paid respect to her glory
He and she, now and then, liked to play with each other
But she kept him from harm where she showed others fury

This went on, sunrise, sunset,  and day after day
Until all the young man's friends were stooping and gray
Still the lull of the sea seemed to pull him away
From reality and back into it, he'd gone mad, some will say

And the time had come finally to confess all his desires
To do what he had refrained from for so long
On a particular eve that seemed wilder than any
The hour to usher in his destiny, and feel her sea-song

The storm caused curling foam,
Both entrancing and detestable
But to him, it looked like home
Like a restful sleep, quite testable

He thought, could this tumult be wrath of the Father?
Or is this a sign--the return of the Son?
Perhaps, 'tis a warning from the Holiest Ghost
He was wrong, but just right. 'Twas all this, but in one

And nearby sirens sang
For the bravery of their hero as he was swept from the shore
And far-off sirens rang
For the fate of the old man, the sailor, who watched the sea no more

“Do I love her?”
Still this question haunts me,
Each second with her, thinking of her
Doesn’t go without its presence

“Do I love her?’
My lips go numb at the prospect,
My palms drenched with sweat
It feels as if she has a grip of my heart
And she’s squeezing each time
I attempt to wring myself free

“Do I love her?”
God ******, what a stupid notion
No, this is lust, erratic hormonal passion
I don’t find bliss in her detestable smile,
Nor her intoxicating laugh, and the
way her lips slightly quivers when
she pouts, it’s all vile. I just
want her body, not her heart
I repeat this lie to myself
To the point of redundancy,
Even my own lies have become
Pathetic to me

“Do I love Her?”
I’ve lost breathe, she’s swiped it from me
with her presence, how I can I be so weak,
so fragile, a person made of bone and flesh
shouldn’t have this control of me.
I refuse! Next time I see her
I’ll declare my hatred, purely out of spite.

“Do I love Her?”
I approached her so ready,
Prepared to cut her out of my life,
To free myself of the infection she is.
My moment of liberation was upon me,
Until she ruined everything by talking.
Being the thief she is, she stole my power to hate

“Do I love her?”
I’ve accepted my damnation to this question,.
now, when the thought returns
I nod

The Rose That Grew From A Crack In A Concrete
Black Rose That Grew From The Fertile Roots Beneath
Out The Crack Of The Earth
Blossoming Into A Fashionable Valuable Flower Of Worth
It's Not Impossible To See It's Possible To See The Rose Passion Of Thirst
Roots Planted To Be Phenomenal An For Search
Ones
Before Me Laughed At The Illogical Joke
But Knew The Astronomical Growth Would Be Abominable An Uncommon With His Philosophical Approach
See I Breed Off Diabolical Emote
The Detestable Weeds I Choked
It's Inevitable To See What Heretically Was Wrote
I Blossom And Bloom
Even In The Darkness Or Gloom
Wanna Rob Me With Doom
Ima Tsuanmi Typhoon
Purest To Water
You Can Tell By My Posture
These Thoughts I Can Not Harbor
Smile On My Face But Inside My Eyes Is Trauma
  Don't See The Darkness In My Ocular
I'm Simba Trying To Be Like My Father
King Mufusa
Rose From The Concrete But I'm Just A Little Darker

Part I: The Elegy of the ******

O we all hail from the pits of ashes, coals, and tar
And crawled out from the crater, of that northern cold star

All ye heart’s wish is to stand in the pope’s grand pulpit
All souls unknowingly swindled, ye vainly submit!

Then, if apes be to humans and humans be to gods;
Unto stones we spit out our apostasies and sobs

We strip our skins to this detestable madness,
From darkness once lurked, we go back with ill fondness

So we adorn ourselves with profane golden idols
On our hands, feet, and neck; to cover our vile souls

And ye stab thine own neighbor, to fulfill thine own ploys
Thou hath betrayed thyself, for that thirty silver coins

As a putrefied heart turn to a hardened stone,
So it breaks into dust, as gusts of shame strews it alone

Woe to me! How do I redeem my lost poor soul?
If the wroth Maker hath already taken my toll

it was slowly hideous and more. the vapid skull was fragile
mucous glistening ostensibly of nasal passage and a flagrant
gesture mounting swiftly every coming brief second and
fornicating methodically minute transmissions of air of repugnant
lungs.
the heaving damsel broached or slippery tousled follicles limp
in arrogance foaled softly on her scalp. i maybe was and she
new. the sport of delicious fresh cluttered blood plump and
detestable in beneath the sallow rubber husk rubbing slickly
on the small walls particularly.
a
the. a(shade of yes(dribbles when the smacking rinds of lips
bubble sudden noise in. and a. a and. she smothers the babe
of silence in putrid vocal aberration fetid slop of words. temporarily
she is. speaking quickly and inviting me to the back little room
to weigh and measure large and pale the vestige of my i. take me sit
me in another waiting. another room of waiting. waiting. waiting

waitingwaitingwai"hello I'm Dr.Hanson"

I loathe him.
I like the sound of that one.
Loathe. It stretches out the tongue and draws the lips together.
Loathe. Webster's says that it expresses utter disgust and intolerance.

Execrate. I execrate him and all he stands for.
"to declare to be evil or detestable"
Sounds ******, just like him.

I abhor him.
Abhor--to regard with extreme repugnance.
Abhor has that hard air sound in its middle like the sound made when
preparing to spit.
Yes. That works.
Except he's not worth spit.