You’re poisonous and I’m addicted to
the burning in my throat, it’s wildfire
with each word you share, lightly brushing stories
of the topics I most detest and cannot
force myself to simply forget. So
instead, I try to shrug it off with darker tales
from my past, but you continue
and surpass them with ease,
these claws of flames only rising,
tearing into my soul, soon to combust with
my distress and rage.
I dramatize an unethical kiss with a boy,
you mention five more; I hint at a taste
for Captain’s, you prefer wraps and bowls.
The newly tasted nicotine tears at my
lungs, simply to spite you: you smoke it,
so why can’t I?
Backfire.
I am no longer smart
enough to accept things as they are,
to my knees I surrender to your soul, but
I cannot let go of the grudges and the confusing discomfort
that comes with learning certain personal traits of yours. I cannot
live in vulnerability below you, but these concrete bones
cement my legs to the floor,
so, instead, I blaze my own morals with
my own choices, putting my health at risk
with my own stupidity,
creating new vices, this poisoning smoke,
and a dependence on more
than just myself.

How ****** is it I experiment with sobriety,
Deceive others to believe I’m functioning in society,
Feel relieved only when drugs are inside of me,
****, molly, benzos, oxy, LSD, DMT, ketamine,
Feel more at peace in my dreams than reality,
Its hard to believe others dramatize that part of me,
Traumatized yet still I abuse losing my vitality,
I’m a fool to use to cope with the stress of my adolescence morality,
That’s an excuse from my poor mentality,
I should be a young lady, but I don’t see it at present, am I an abnormality?
Actually, It wasn’t my plan to neglect the lesson that might stand in place of this confession,
Showing symptoms of depression, but all hopes is not lost, I can buy happiness I gave it a cost,
my discretion I tossed aside I'm exhausted and losing my mind,
I'm inclined to combine refined lines designed to unwind my kind,
Remind myself I wont find the dragon,
My life will end with a magnum,
a drug induced tantrum,
mental phantom hold me for ransom,
I hope you can handle this rancid anthem i grant you,
but I hope you can't relate because no ******* should have this fate,
moving weight through their plate is no way to spend consecutive days,
still So much hate,
Irate till I escape,
pills will sedate me, and I wait..
But remember..I wanted it this way.

I watch
as they crumble
some only for a moment,
a flash of the inner turmoil
a glimpse, a blink, and it's gone
others, like staring into an open wound
a gaping hole,
still throbbing, still pulsing
bleeding, slowly

I sit
head in hands
trapped in the cycle of disbelief
and fooling myself into relief
I feel the passive observer
unable to act, or speak, or move
just sit

I stare
the panels above my head
offer a temporary distraction
this time, it wasn't just a dream
yet it feels more like that
than ever before

the Reality
rolls under my door
and drifts through my window panes
like a noxious fog
curling in wisps along the blue tiled floor
defying thermodynamics,
cold rises, heat sinks
seeping into my pores
filling my lungs, running through my veins.
I Know.

yet I still imagine,
fantasize, dramatize
a cruel joke, a terrible mistake
a diagnosis totally amiss

the phone Rings
a tremor of relief begins to quake inside of me
soon to be dashed
by the words transmitted across that line

I run
outside into the morning sun
the greenery astounds and amazes
the thirst of the Earth,
quenched at last

as a child I always looked up to the sky
to the clouds
as the End, the finality
high above, unreachable, untouchable
and yet, here I am,
Earthbound, temporal,
running through the gentle misting drops
of a cloud

I don't sleep.

I pace.
I ponder.
I plan.
I plot.
I worry.
I wonder.
I wax.
I wane.
I relive.
I rethink.
I rehash.
I regret.
I contemplate.
I evaluate.
I deliberate.
I ruminate.
I analyze.
I strategise.
I dramatize.
I fantasize.
I brood.
I delude.
I stress.
I obsess.
I oppress.
I'm a mess..

& I don't sleep.

I finished moving into my residential college as a storm began
- fat raindrops, as big as coconuts, falling from a black and fouling sky.

These northerners were acting like a "tropical storm" (Henri) was a big deal.

“Surely New England gets storms?” I ask, from behind my mask.
“What about NOR_Easters?” I say, like a meteorologist.
“Those are different.” I’m told, with no other explanation.

“Did you bring this storm from the “SOUTH?” I’m asked, accusingly.
(This was after I told them about coming from one ”bulldog-college-town” to another.)
“Yes.” I reply, “It was in my luggage.”

A silly question but they have a point - the storm feels like it’s involved and fulfilling some obligation to dramatize my college move-in story.

“Time to quarantine!” I’m informed - “Yep, can’t WAIT!” I lie.

One disaster at a time.

There is the loud talker, so please protect your ears.  She may go on, and on, and may never yield.
There is the loud talker, who may love to show-off.  She may continue to speak, even if she have to cough.
There is the loud talker, who love to dramatize.  She will give you a great performance, right before your eyes.
There is the loud talker, who is always using her tongue.  Around this type of person, you just cannot have fun.
There may be hope for this loud mouth person, politely slip away.  Find a nice quiet corner, so you can bow and pray.  
Ask God to heal her deep down, especially, her inner ears.  She does not have a clue, that she cannot properly hear.
By, Author & Poet, Sandra Juanita Nailing

It lingered in the twilight expanses beneath where I rest my soul and head,I heard its mumblings, incoherent not upon my ears was either understood.

Clinging to the expanse of what was underneath,  it was a warm night
but beneath was breath chilled and frigid that my hair stood on end.
I saw its exhalation from form to nothingness.

My mirror in the corner I would swift fully gaze, but all I saw
was darkness and those eyes that followed me across the bed.
Like a cobra it did gaze upon my movement hypnotic in essence.

Wanton curiosity of a mind so young, a finger, a thumb, a hand now I wave under the bed. But nothing heeds my gesture under my creaking mattress i wave in oblivion by nothing signals back.

I rest my weary eyes, then slumber to those places where my innocence does dramatize the actions of the day. but while the blinds are closed it reaches from its depths, it knows i now slumber its time to play.

I walk on the ice skating as I go, but then my feet are constrained and as the moments pass, i am entombed from below to up above, but just before my sight freezes i see a hockey puck, shattered in tears i fall.

Awoken by this moment  gazing upon the floor, there is no darkness
as there was before. Instead there is light, orange in  its glow, it
seem warmer till engulfed in combustion and I awaken once more.

A merry go round of images one as contorted as the former, now I seem to be on a merrygoround of distorted reality. Concluding this is a dream as i moved from one cunvulising moemtn to the next.

I say "No more, as my eyes begin to bleed, as fingers sink deep into the pots. "There is no going home for I am here now till i drain you till your death, I awaken once again to a place I know the best.

But I am indenial as where i rest only faint whispers are heard upon my breath, for this thing that lingers beneath has all but finished its ingestion of my essence as i have only a few ceaseless moments left.

Darkness envelopes me, I'm a prisoner within in a cell, in the middle a bed. A place to rest a weary head, I had fallen prey to that which hungers sleep. For the energy it took now I'm now in tormented death.

I am not a winner because I haven't fallen into the trap of sensitivity
I have lost because my peers dramatize every little thing
I am not a winner because I don't support implausible charities
I remain a loser for ignoring activities
The world sees me as a demonic result of the old generation
My morals are corrupt along with my "hypocritical" religion
My story has no lies, yet I receive smug looks and dry eyes since I'm not a third world survivor
They believe I'm the reason why
This world is so racist
Why girls continue to say I'm a sexist
I am not a winner
Because my struggles are incredibly
Un-credible
I have lost
And I will never be seen

Remember, when you said that you wanted to die?
Because of those countless accusations regarding your lies
I told you to stand up, live, just give it a try
But you still keep on asking me all your thousand whys
I'm speechless, unable to answer because of the thought I'm not wise
I punched my stomach, cause of anxiety, wanting to **** the butterflies
I still showed care towards you even my emotions were on disguise
You hugged me and whispered, "I'm HOPELESS" then you cried
I was there, I've swept the tears beneath your eyes
"I'm here for you and I will stand up for you" I replied
Slowly, our lips collide and they began to dramatize
This memory was just a proof that my efforts aren't denied
A precious moment of victory from suicide, because you SURVIVE!

No one knows what I’m thinking about when I think about Her.
And no one knows how close Her and I were.
We went together better than lemon and lime,
But now I have a major problem because I think about Her all the time.
I try and try but I can’t get Her off my mind.
If I try to talk about it, I already know what it is I’ll find.
I will be told I’m stalking,
When all I’m doing is talking.
How could I even think of hurting Her, the one I truly love?
It’s as impossible as God mercilessly killing a newborn dove!
All I really want to do is apologize,
Everyone else just wants to dramatize!
I know it seems like I’m overdoing it,
But if you understood even half of it, you would ease up quite a bit.
I know that me future behavior is judged by my past,
But everyone is jumping to conclusions way too fast!
I will say it again; NEVER again will I hurt Her!
If you were me you would understand; Oh, if only you were!
For if you were me, you would finally see,
The honesty that is inside of me.
Love for Her is number one on my list,
I would keep going, but I think you get the gist.

I would like to go back a thousand years ago,
just to sleep.
For I'm drenched in thoughtlessness.
I ache for some relieve.
And I'm trying, solely not to burn up.
and I do not mean to over dramatize, but I'm lost.
Which I guess is usual for being 20.
Only 20, as I eat myself up in tv shows and confusion.
And I watch the world get married and have babies, but I don't want that,
No I don't need that.
Nor do I really want that.
As profs talk as if I care, about their useless pieces of info they throw at me, except the one about dinos. I like that.
But anyways I sit and here they look at me as if I really give a ****.
I want a job. Don't they understand.
And I parked in the wrong spot today,
and the critique went bad and I overpaid on an earl grey latte and wasted my day watching friends all day.
But we all have those bad days.
And I'm trying trying trying so hard not to think bad thoughts.
But the weather is rainy, and I'm still tired. This ever longing tiredness. But I drew today. I drew my sorrows away, and no matter what those stingy profs say, I can draw. I draw to keep myself together.
I draw so I don't think the bad thoughts, to keep my jealous thoughts back at bay. So I quit making a fool of myself, the only think I know how to do is draw.
And I have a wide open summer, of no plans, or prospering, or any real progress.
Isn't that sad?
To dread your own summer.
Maybe after having summer so many times, it loses it's freedom quality. It becomes just another season to endure.
And that's sad. It's sad when you can't look forward to summer.
Cause summer was once a fantasy.
A sense of adventure accompanied summer.
And I look at summer now with a dread and inability to really be ready or excited for it.
That's really sad.
And I'm not writing to make you sad, but I'm writing out of my inability to understand this sadness.
I'm trying to hold on to something...
Maybe this sadness will pass into something I can hold onto.
And coincidently were talking about the blues...in class.
Not really helping my melancholy frankly.
I think teachers are so wrapped up in their own cynical life they like to spread it onto others.

No need for blanket statements
To keep you warm at night
A fraction of a volcano
Is all we need to be reminded
Of the sweetest things in life
We sow the seeds of discontentment
And select our portion of the heavens
Because when it rains it pours
And when you're ****** you snore
As loud as a thousand sleeping serpents
Disenchanted on a semester out at sea
Feel free to dramatize your shadows
And create your own cages
You can decorate them with candles
But portraying fear is not the answer
We may personify victory as a dancer
Until we are all cantankerous old shadows
And flaming arrows land on our papers
We are out of place like sand in a limo
I birth poems for Eros
Images appear in your rear-view mirror
You are my hero
Imagination is a flavor
That I would love to explore
You are the color of my endurance
And if our performances are frozen
Then we'll have no more gas for the fire
Tonight let's get a little closer
And tell the stories of our ancestors
Only your magic highlighter
Could turn all of these
Strange words into poetry

I close one eye, but with the other, I see everything bright,
and I'm telling myself “let's move on", let's try my luck"
with a smile like a curve that makes everything right,
I'm not allowed to scream, to cry, or to get stuck.

For whatever path we choose in life, the truth or the lies,
we all pay a certain fee, it will rain on our shoulder,
and even if we don't get there, we don't dramatize,
we travel with a restless soul, like a solitary soldier.

We cry rivers of tears in our pain, seeking for our spirit,
we wear coloured masks, between war and peace,
from life's teachings, we build a bridge, we don't quit,
and wandering, we cross it, as long as our heart beats.

What would you do
If I reached out to you
Not for the first time
But also not the last time
Previously, you've been cruel to me
All for no good reason
And it's made me see you differently
I wanted to think that you had a good soul
I'm hoping you prove me wrong
If I come back once more
We don't have to fight
We can keep it between ourselves
I just long to speak with you again
Know who you are, maybe become friends
It's childish to continue avoiding me
When we used to be very close
And preferred each other's company
I want to get to know you
And I'm not hesitant to try
But do you really deserve it?
All you did was lie
I'm wondering now what your reaction will be
If I try to revisit what happened between you and me
Will you attack me with anger and disdain
Will you ignore me and solely cause me more pain
Or will you answer and begin to apologize
Allow us to move on instead of dramatize
The situation at hand could be better
It's in your control and all up to you
We used to work so well together
Don't forget how you wrote me a poem or two
They were about love rather than hate and doom
I know you must think back on those days
So when I reach out I hope to find
That you've changed your ways

I need a word
A word that means
More than
Miss
A word that shows
Need
Want
For a touch
A kiss
A word that can bring
Pain to life
And drive mind
Insane
I need a word
To snow and rain
A word more than
Distraught
Or die
I need a word
To dramatize
The ache
The murmur
The treachery
Of a beating heart
With memories
That I have yet
To silence
Forget
That I cannot
But weep
And let
Devour me
And keep my sleep
I need a word
Of ice and heat
Of marks
Upon his
Caramel skin
Scratches
Bite marks
Lend to pen
A word
Ye fairies
Of misery
Lend me a word
So I can see
The agony
Stained
Upon a page
Away from me
And lent to stage
A story
Play
Within
A book
Lend me word
So I may look
Outside myself
And free
Of me
Lend me word
Of Missing
He
Of broken
Jagged
Crooked lies
Lend me word
And lullabies
To end this
Ache inside my chest
Upon with pleasure
He did rest
Oh fates,  
Starfucked
And blatantly
Without
A word
Or ink
Or me...

Nothing
Invisible
Nothing will suffice
And so I end
Without words
Without ......

Goodnight........

MV

I dislike I despise
The stuffy minds
And the philistines
Wearing virtue signs
Like dressed figurines
In pop social themes
Or faux thoughts and prayers
Displayed on twitter feeds
For their attention needs
All superficial cares
And sophomoric ideologies
Demanding apologies
Like commodities
And all that that implies
I dislike I despise
Those who dramatize
Moralize and jeopardize
Like a line of merchandize
The free human mind
And all that that implies

i lie awake in the dark.
the moths are dancing around my vision
and the flies are buzzing in my ears.
the moon looks round and pretty today,
the sky is clear and the stars can be seen.
i wonder
if you can see them too from where you are.
i wonder
if you mistake venus as one of them, like i do.
i wonder
if you feel like collecting them all and making them yours.
i wonder
if they lead you into thinking of me.  

the next day i sit alone
on that green bench, the one near the river.
i think about how life is ironic
for making you leave the day i arrive.
i think about dark roads and apocalyptic scenarios,
where i'm waiting for you to save me.
i think about how this town is a play
and we're its puppets:
playing along the rules,
dressing up as characters that’ll please the audience.

as the lights go out and the city sleeps,
i ponder if you like me for who i am
and if i love you for who you are:
if what i've seen of you
is a person or a persona,
one that makes me exaggerate and dramatize,
that makes me turn three memories into a million
and three days of summer into a year.
one that makes me drunk off sun and daydreams,
that makes me turn hello into i've missed you
and goodbye into i'll see you again.

Im sorry i push
Im sorry i build walls
Im sorry i snap
Im sorry my moods swing

Everything is blown up
Everything is warped
Everything is twisted
A small problem to you
Is a tower ready to crush me

You wont understand
I know that
But dont get frustrated
Because i know

I know im being ridiculous
I know im being illogical
I know im being dramatic
I know im being exaggerated

I know

Yet i cant help it
Im trying like hell
Im working really hard
Im fighting through it
Im working on chipping at the tower
So it doesnt crush me

Normal things to you
Like school and work and a social life
It blurs together for me
It molds and warps into an ocean
An ocean of rough seas and deep water

In the simplest problem
I drown
I sink to the bottom like a stone is at my ankle

I sink so deep that i can barely see the surface
The end or solution of the problem is only visable through moving water
So i cant tell
I cant see
I can't focus

When i concentrate really hard
I can see it
I know how to fix it
I know what to do
But then it gets blurry again
The waves wash over me once more
And im alone
Drowning in the depths of anxiety
Completely alone because no one can hear me cry
No one can feel the burn in my lungs as i gasp for air
No one can hear the muddled and clustered thoughts that crash in my head

Im drowning
Im drowning and i know how to fix it
But its really hard for me
You say its simple
But to me, its not
Its like swimming in a rough ocean
With a rock tied to my ankle

So im sorry
Im sorry im not strong
Im sorry i exaggerate
Im sorry i dramatize
Im sorry im over the top
Im sorry i cant fix it
Im sorry im not good at this
Im sorry i havent gotten it quite

Im working on it
Im fighting
Im swimming
Im climbing
Im doing whatever it takes to be on top with you
Because i love you
And I want to be with you

sitting in the garden while there was no visible
sunset... no fuchsia tinges in the sky...
no blood orange... no moon or stars for that matter...
no moon: ah... it almost feels terrible...
just a darkening minute by minute...
a crow on the roof teasing a nibble consisting
of a nocturnal insect...
me... sort of too: taking great joy in killing
a mosquito on my forearm...
sitting drinking wine while looking at
the eucalyptus tree and the grapevine...

contemplating death: in earnest...
thinking of death as a she...
strange... the english language doesn't really allow
nouns to be either masculine or feminine...
all are pretty much: asexual... tools...
chair... table... although it's hard not to think
of a hammer as masculine...
death as feminine...
the sun is also feminine...
the moon... masculine...

contemplating death in earnest...
long gone the maxim: memento mori...
it's a bit different when you're thinking of death
via suicide... not yet...
not yet...
i don't need to remember that i'll die:
i haven't achieved enough to be lost to all
that's life: death is but the extension
of my shadow... death is seeing my shadow
at night...
my bride to be...
i gather: all terribly... gluttonous / pompous...
you can... alternatively...
listen about death at a funeral...
in the formal tongue of the undertakers...
i think of her in earnest...
she deserves as much...

suicide... well... there's only one detail missing:
the only thing scarier than contemplating
suicide is: contemplating a failed suicide:
an attempt at suicide...
oh... not by hanging... i or falling from a height...
or drowning or shooting myself...
i felt by body up to find the cruxes of where
i could find my... pulse (tętno)...

under my right armpit... and just above the collar
bone to the right side of where my:
bulging neck is throbbing...
well: i have to think about it...
i better think about than...
say... be so engrossed in life that i might
forget about... like i might forget
where i put my wallet...
i even conjured up a "suicide" note in my head...

it would read something along the lines of:
i wanted to transcend ******...
i wanted to find a higher variation of an ******:
the antithesis / antonym...
i hope i'll find it: bleeding out...

because, why should i be allowed to say:
i can encapsulate all that's life in the 35 years
i've already lived...
dying within the confines of a life expectancy...
say... 70...
in the grim scene of a hospital anaesthetic...
not in a forest at night
sitting under a dead tree...
or... in a field... among horses...
it's really unappealing...
                 it's already unappealing to be
be smothered when someone inserts a needle
into your arm and tells you that you did some
******* magic...

life no longer seems to be able to appease
me thirst... or hunger...
i'm not even going to bother having a Bukowski-esque
competition of reaching old age...
am i expected to live life to all its banal totalities?

life... seems to be its most beautiful... when one is
conscious of it: also having to be surrendered...
the living part of life:
for some... aspirations come... aspirations go...
vivo per se...
                      is another matter altogether...

for now... i'm greatly satisfied with how
this;

0      0      0      0      0      0      0      0      0
4 ­     0      0      6      0      0      5      0      0
0      9 ­     3      0      5      0      0      1      0
0      0      0 ­     0      0      0      0      0      0
3      0      0      1 ­     9      0      6      0      0
9      6      8      0      7 ­     0      0      4      0
6      5      0      9      0      0 ­     4      0      0
0      0      9      5      0      0      3 ­     0      0
1      0      2      8      6      0      0      9 ­     0

can end up looking like this:

5¹³    8⁴⁰    6⁸      7³⁷    1⁵¹    9⁵⁰    2⁴²    3⁴⁷    4¹⁵
4⁰     2³⁹    1²³     6⁰     8⁴¹    3⁴⁹    5⁰      7⁴⁶­    9⁴⁸
7²⁵    9⁰     3⁰      4¹⁶     5⁰    2²⁶    8²⁴  ­   1⁰     6⁴
2²⁷    1²²    5²¹     3³³    4¹⁷   6¹¹    9⁴³     8⁴⁴    7⁴⁵
3⁰      7²⁸   4¹⁸     1⁰      9⁰    8¹⁹    6⁰      5²⁰    2²⁹
9⁰      6⁰­     8⁰     2³²      7⁰    5¹⁴   1³⁸      4⁰     3³⁴
6⁰      5⁰     7⁴     9⁰       3⁵³   1⁵²   4⁰       2³⁰    8³⁶
8³      4²      ­9⁰    5⁰       2³¹   7¹²   3⁰       6¹⁰    1³⁵
1⁰      3¹      ­2⁰    8⁰       6⁰     4³    7⁷       9⁰     5⁶

that'll do for now... no great mystery...
but more joy from that... than from a crossword...
so... aged 35 i have hobbies of a 70 year old...
and by the time i reach 70 i'll be...
life's too beautiful to... what?
end it with loitering at a car-boot sale
on a hot summer morning?

i'm already starting to lose patience with what
life has on offer...
apart from repeating mundane tasks
repeating pleasures is:
life's great - when looked at in all its stillness
among birds... through wine-goggles...
cycling... most certainly:
i can imagine an eternity on a bicycle...
who wouldn't want to **** a beautiful
******* for more than an hour?
it would take a perpetual night to give
proper alms of hands and kisses and
phallus to that altar...
saying that... cooking... which is probably
the elevated variant of that stale *****
that's chemistry...
although... synthesising esters...
top tier... or that joke of an experiment:
pinching plastic from the event horizon:
i don't remember...

i think about sending someone a postcard from
Jupiter... what the naked eye can see...
n'ah... not Jupiter... no... Jupiter...
life must be fun when there are people
in your life that can complicate it:
dramatize it to pursue... whatever it is that
might be pursued...
but when there aren't any...
come now: find your peace... after that:
the zenith of said peace...

i have to be... self-consoling...
everything else in this world is becoming
a self- prefix orientation:
self-checkout... self-employed...
being or becoming self-sufficient...
"independent" is about much fun as...
*******...

solipsism was only a theory: an idea...
but it's becoming more and more the modus operandi...
not needing other people in your life
is: not needing life per se...
i'm not willing to satisfy myself
looking at people put up veneer structures
and... occasionally meet up for a social
drink...

hell... once upon a time two bottles of wine would
leave me eating flowers in a pub...
puking into a toilet of a nightclub...
taking a snooze on a bench before
asking the police to taxi me home...
now? well i'm writing this...

the mere thought of death should be a great
liberation... i don't why society treats
suicidal thinking...
at best it is all placebo... the act itself
ought to be thought of as transcending ******...
it's the last remaining freedom:
every time i think of death and suicide
my mind turns into a phoenix...
i relinquish all my memories
and take to focusing on the stillness of the moment:
hell... there's even a concentration
of pareidolia
when peering into: not at:
inanimate objects... the earth is not flat:
it's also not inanimate: therefore
the perception gulag of animate vs. inanimate
objects is a farce...

how i adore merely thinking about
my proximity to certainty:
the inevitable... the fatalistic crescendo!
i can ******* first kiss...
all the girls saliva as i down this cheap wine
mixed into a kalimotxo with some pepsi...
i can taste the mouth on her
all her snot and all that came together
testing the waters being a teenager...
kissing in the park...
having long hair having: LESBIANS!
shouted at us... getting a hand-job
under a tree... all the while: donning a catholic
school uniform:

thank god i haven't been confirmed...
one baptism is enough: not that i asked...
i wasn't going to fall for
a formal baptism... being ******* conscious
and what not!

maybe... ha! "maybe" i should suckling at ms. amber's
**** altogether... she only ended catching up
to me the following morning:
with a numbing that was never a hangover:
and most certainly a bad breath...

treating suicidal thinking: come on!
it's the most assured hard-on left!
it's like... all that can be conjured from the sensations
during ***... but thrice elevated!
i'll have to turn my brain
into a chemical soup to somehow argue:
some... "otherwise"?

a pagan in full attire of: his most earnest...
life is... then... life isn't...
i'm not going to live with accordance that
his farce can be somehow perpetuated:
i'd prefer jump the queue and give
my amends... i want to make my peace...
before i'm finally gratified the proper peace
of having my fingers stitched up
with cobwebs and my tongue ****** out
from mouth and being given
a lobotomy so i can:
cucumber the rest of my days...

reemphasising pareidolia:
  they're hardly human... humanoid... yes...
but hardly human...
in the clouds... in the trees...
maybe i'm being just a tad bit myopic...
perhaps i'm just ******* blind...
perhaps i "forgot" to rhyme and this should
all be served as prose sushi...
perhaps Anne Sexton had more time
to rummage in: the proper way to make
emphasis: perhaps she punctuated "better"...

i like thinking of death:
it makes all the little itches of life...
seem all the more, necessarily: robotic...
and that they can be understood as such...
whatever transcendence comes:
whether cycling, drinking or *******...
there won't be a carnival on my behalf:
as i... nonetheless sing their praises.

JDM around
Low to the ground
Tokyo background
When I turn around
They all stare me in my eyes
All around, it is all spies
The media is all a lie
I cannot dramatize
Underground meets
Racing on streets
Tokyo drifting
I take a seat
Get a break from this new place
As I am here and away
A new city, a new dream to chase
An outsider with a new face
Produced by Lovell himself
As I turn his good beat to hell
Not by intent
But by accident
It's just how I felt
Foreign lands, Saharan sands
I be the one to shake hands
With the man himself
No meaning
No interfering
An object leaning
On everything
I have to break it
Two parts separate
Hit or miss
Early or late
I am no one now
But someone later
Words out my mouth
Words to a traitor
You all listen one day
Then forget what I say
Talkin' to a brick wall
Not listening at all
In one ear out the other
Not even my own brother
Nobody cares
They all just stare
Somethin' on my face?
Just time that I waste
A whole life race
I can't keep up with the pace

The type that given credence
to the gutter dramatics of low-scale hybrids
or bothers about the malicious tirades of the semi-illiterates
or is fazed by the odious antics of the afflicted indentures
would be the type that had been subjugated to that evolution
and had grown eaten and slept alongside them in their sewers
such type would have either died, detained or fled long long ago

As it is I see what ****** ignorance
social and educational limitations and stunted minds does
I see how shame and guilt fights tooth and nail to hide
and I see how moral and ethical bankruptcy buoys weak witlessness
I hear them talk yet do not understand their street lingo
I see desperate acts by desperate nobodies yet it means nothing to me
though rather pitifully one senses their dire need to always battle
they all have a perceived complex of being slighted and thus
nurse the belligerence to always over dramatize and over-compensate  

I am far from numb or insensitive
neither am I a ******* who welcomes hostilities
but since I have not deliberately courted their displeasure
other than confront a gang of thieves and extortionists who swore me
vengeance for daring to call them by their professional names
I see no reason why I should fell threatened or intimidated by morons
dare I call their acolytes, errand boys and vigilantes by their expressed acts
And the truth is I cannot invest my valuable emotions on acts
and behaviours that mean nothing to me
If it truly did would I not be dead, detained or have fled by now
you betcha!