Funny to think how
fork to lips and food to mouth
spurs digestions
Fueling
body parts which could not move
or function without fork to lips
and food to mouth.
And if we actually stopped eating
for once in our lives we would  starve
and our organs would cease to function
because forks not raised to lips
bring no fuel to body parts
So that they cannot move
Or function.
Funny to think how fork to lips
And food to mouth is
An act so simple but
If we didn't do we'd die without.

Alone in a room
A comforting thought.
When outside open, flailing
It is the only thing you want.

But when inside the covers
You feel only dread.
Taunting thoughts tease
Dancing in your head.

You jump back in the waters
Helpless and Scared.
Imaginary sharks nip at your organs
You feel a pierce at every glare.

The pain is never temporary
It follows in your sleep.
Every breathe you take
Is a hopeless cry, a never ending weep.

You eat peoples words
A poison sent from hell.
Digestions through intestines
Another soul to sell.

Alone, away, together
With this new order
You never want to feel
As a person in disorder.

-e.m

It's a trick of the imagination
It's a tremble of words
A trickle till saturation
A treacle of the absurd

A blink to regain reality
I think therefore I have a malady
A drink and a pill
To recall of some storm
A brick
A window
A breach amongst sanity
Some ink to **** on to the page
Pad torn
And I'm a fink
A sage
A bone
And a bore
Minimum wage
On form
To earn
An audience with royalty
Score one for mortality
I'm a scribble
I'm a scribe
Free to reside
And shake up a globe
With ruin ingestures
And muddy brutality
And wonderless digestions
I am my own worst memory
A victim of vanity

grateful to the grave
       I plank right out
my bed a cross pounded
foundation of maul emotion
fast out kipping
not in keeping
a widowing and not a kingdom
              milling out gawping
a fish mug
              tourists chugging at the gallows
dread heaves ugging repulsions
          my sleep is a gagging panic

livers of the hours
   the minutes are a live toil
     difficult digestions
       the sour beat n' breath
a particle flecked arena

   this slumber is harmful charge
(a battery matter)
capable of a faulty
              reversal of surge
depleting sleep
          not a springtime emergence
   ejected from the unconscious

         : a drained agent
reduced and submissive for duty

DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, still moving?

that ego of mine
will be the death of that spine
that nose in the sky
in dooms when thinking a fly
like black & white tiles
still moving right & left not high
can't help the crave of the cold
the one for the illusionary stillness been sold
yet what coldness do you see?
the one that shelters a shell of pure heat in me?
foreigners despise them borders
them feels excluding a hexagonal soldier
do you indulge that part of my be?
the one them thoughts seem to poke my free?
or that urge to write the sights surrounding
worship the floor those souls float a grounding
don't ask which is which
let it comedown on me let it slip let it stitch
a reflection of the past some mindless ghosts fabricated
a reason to a reason to be reasoned on my chapters situated
clinging lines & yearning for the words to utter record letters
something for the universe to swallow in feathers
have them digestions rip in shreds their tongues
nauseate the trachea from those lungs
but I rest it forgive forgave & let it be away
forget not shall stay
tired of the things they never admit to a said
yet my satisfaction of looking back entrapped a bled
makes me deny a defeat
for the respite of jubilance wasn't a retreat
pushed my feet to that lake
put a pen to a paper & called me on stake
never have I ever said yes to a dawn
for that dusk my hopes come clean & drawn
jumping on one single foot loose
holding my own form on an one-ended-noose

                                                ­                      ------ravenfeels