Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Umi Dec 2017
When everything ends, an angel plays a tune
When evrything ends, there's no flower to bloom
Will everyone then be in gloom ?

But don't lose hope he hasn't blown into the horn
Lose no hope and don't **** the unborn
Gentleness and patience is what we need
So don't be sad, don't fall into greed

Cheer up and take a look at the deep sea coral reefs,
Be impressed by their beauty and their great depths,
Don't be sickened by peoples beliefs,

And remember the man who disappeared without a trail...
He was swallowed by a by a whale...
It was Jonah until he had Prayed!
"My lord is forgiving, O mighty one"
And then there was aid

So don't lose hope my dear children
There is help. So don't fret,
And please also never forget
That mama will be here for you, remembering you the moments you smiled ~

Formed of light and beauty, the angels of the lord
The gratest of the greatest who keeps his word,
Oh God, you are the highest notning can compare to you
You taught me everything I knew.

This one angel who does wait,
Is the one who knows our fate,
On that day, heavens and Hells gate,
Shall be opened for those who are righteous
For those who are trescious

Enjoy every moment of living oh children of earth
Our life could be taken any second...may even at birth
Enjoy the beauty of this world and remember..we're transient

Forgiveness isn't easy, grudges lead astray
Just pray (for them)
And you will find peace
And your hatred then shall cease
Just avoid the devil...please pass this test

I have attained realisation through my incapacity...
My submission and my broken mind
Is it enlightment which I will someday find ?

In pleasure and delight
Don't you see ?
And as long as you are pleased with me..
I cherish your glorious might..

For joy and expansion is my state...
The two things which I will wait (with)
And my motto and my cover

And the words which came from ours messengers mouths,
Have healed my hearts sickness
Has saved me from drouth

Be reminded of our short life
and don't be troubled with other folks strife
Just remember the blessings you have been given
and maybe, hopefully you will be forgiven

And under these drifting clouds even though the ages fade
With this unchanging life I can keep shining for you, and aid

And overcoming even time and space
May my gaze though fraught with sin leads you on to a happy life

Oh you humble soul,
Please do tell me, what might be your prescious goal ?
Is it this world you want to stroll (through!)

Oh you angels with all of your wings,
I would like to be amongst you it would be of the best blessings
With all your beautiful dressings
I would like to be an angel, sweet innocent and pure
That would bring me happiness for sure

I will work to be righteous....until everything ends, and that angel plays a tune


~ Umi
This title took so long to finish, I do hope you can enjoy it
No, Time, thou shalt not boast that I do change.
Thy pyramids built up with newer might
To me are nothing novel, nothing strange;
They are but dressings of a former sight.
Our dates are brief, and therefore we admire
What thou dost foist upon us that is old,
And rather make them born to our desire
Than think that we before have heard them told.
Thy registers and thee I both defy,
Not wond’ring at the present, nor the past,
For thy records, and what we see doth lie,
Made more or less by thy continual haste:
    This I do vow and this shall ever be:
    I will be true despite thy scythe and thee.
PJ Poesy Nov 2015
Harvest old love letters
Separate timid words like seeds
Save those for Spring planting
Passion's bulk pull out as meat
Provisional muscle is for roasting
Adjectives become good gravy
Stamps and envelopes licked
A dessert of dearest's DNA
This savoring of paper junctures
Recaptured affection, even agonies
Wooers of commodious cursive
Pen pushed to olden days
I relish reading your languid thriving
Though you are long gone
Reacquainting these letters habituates
Deliveries of your love
Vernarth sequence

Prophecy I -  “Eighth month of sailing in systemic plenitude”

“Since they will not hunt us down in all our Itheoi cycles…
nor in other lapses from where the fine eye could have sewn the buttonholes of the shroud, where there will be life and if there will be a short time without life...
dragged by you for a long time where the sun is melted over the word, staying stored and locked in your pocket to collect it blushing,
tomorrow's jump without a yesterday declining..., without a tomorrow in the heat of a bonfire...
lamb in bait handled being the portal of those who have been slapped inside their cheeks… who will not shorten the cycle that transcends all the oblong sepulchral vaults or who abound in the nonsense of sanitizing nights of ***** despot life having to measure themselves in your flourishing duel by Aiónius of the cleanest dew of its solid stroke and announced delineation of the new one that has been retraced again being more than a brief syllable created again fertile, in the biosphere mouth so as not to see you omnipresent mist, meditating not having you and that dares to meditate on your future that will have to be reserved for yourself by professing it when you are cold in front of you and insinuating if in living followed by letters to be flooded pondering like a paralyzed sleeping part that wants not to be covered with feigned warmth and that does not fit in all the parts of me being who wants to be consul of some shelter with all those who sleep also half dreaming in the company of the lost afternoon that never ends serving Saint John in Katapausis here, perhaps Aiónius del Ibico 1 as a magnificent and net unit that sees the luminous truth when we all come out of a prophecy alive even if it's dark ".

"What a reckless job of losing value,
I am already in Katapausis in the eighth month...,
I entered as the light opened with my hand turned into the light...
being already a katapausis meaning in Sabbatarianism.
Quasi-unit method exhibiting cohesion to the rest motif
With levers in my hands and intra-sabbatism in his dissertation...
of an exegetical and theological nature that has transpired soft insomniac light, We are a people who do not have to fear or air to deposit for a future warehouse above the Sycamore or birds that guard all the Gold above my hands on the Sycamore…”

"Stay in my house, if I don't come back it will be yours
stay at home, it will belong to everyone even in the apocalypse...
that more reckless will be silent as a work of losing value,
Katapausis is the threshold where my life enters and leaves at once,
stay at my house, if I don't come back it will be yours...
Open windows by meekly closing them to that confronted obverse to you...

He comes from a den relativized on reliefs in weathered beads...
they will be soluble mineral beings convened moving away from the most distant and closest to the least distant…, from waters of underground siphons… there we will all be floating… like vertebrate invertebrate animals”

Vernarth, after not entering the grotto not having found Saint John, goes outside where he goes on a campaign for three months before he can be received by God's law. Here he meets with Reader and his pelican, as well as Eurydice.


Prophecy II -  “Seventh, Inter-synergy energy”

“Three months I have waited in the middle of this mountain,
symmetrically arranging the steps to be taken, not going backward
prana of life walking in oceans of life walking…
us and them… how much must separate us to reach us?
what I have not tried to separate…, what I have not been able to achieve…

I think I died early in the worlds that haven't risen yet,
I think I was reborn late among dense curves that overwhelm us with straight lines
soul, principle, matter, and material distinctive ontology
Ghost god of parallelisms beings and activities in affinity...
starvation body of low energy ceasing creatures in embryo
incessant firstborn to infuse other confining souls
trails demons slip where my ashes hands are sore
wounded doctrines to engender and doctrines to ulcerate...

As the prophecy uses the sea carrying messages resolved from shore to shore
close to a Virtual why in the twilight your Faith that must be glandular… matter of soul and body exposed to predisposing theological and chemical, in pursuit of the corruptible whole in vice versa if he does not burst with atheistic impatience.”

Eurydice takes a zither and sings tempting stormy actions to Vernarth, Raeder and Petrobus put their souls in line in the first linear principle, Together with the matter of corporeal fire proceeding to the definition where all the parts are confirmed without distinction dancing next to them creating the greatest bond of faith in body and soul, thus spending the three months in a few words of light of the sated fire.

"In the eighth-month katapausis, eight times your permanent peace must rest in
cited state; once it is translated into Sabbathisms and it will be the same state… When everyone finishes their dance in the cave and enters believing they have the courage to enter eight times in connection with rest…, plus eight times in connection without rest.
In some verses, the urgency of the entrance will be accentuated. The main issue “is that history will be repeating itself exactly where the Israelites were at Kadesh-Barnea. A related term either synonymous with Kadesh or referring to one of two sites, is Kadesh (or Qadesh) Barnea. Various etymologies for Barnea have been proposed, including 'wilderness of travel' but none have produced a broad consensus. What is the consensus? will we stop believing or lean on the shores of a preacher rain of Jehovah or lean on the shores of a preacher sinful waterfall or lean on the shores of a preacher confessing rain or lean on the shores of a preacher wet wind inquisitor...? where ever the aromas of its faithful winds served will go sacred to everything named before and many before the confessing rainy…, waterfalls in favor of the temperamental inquisitor wind”.

Astheneiais”, in Greek is and will be a weakness, in Hebrews a moral connotation and will mean not only physical weakness but a conscious weakness and trembling in temptation. Our Lord also understands us in this weakness because he was tempted in every way as we are. Since he himself was tempted he knows from experience what it means for us to be tempted. He was not tempted in all the particulars of our life, for example, He was not tempted as a husband or father, owner or employer or soldier, because he was none of these things. But he was tempted in all three areas of human susceptibility: body, soul, and spirit.

Prophecy III -  “Sixth, Resilience…”

“They were on the perimeter trying to keep me together at his command,
I go every day for its pantry, food, groceries, bookstore supplies and ink, oils, and other essences for the environment in continuous handwritten obedience, I have to leave for Skalá where some residents are waiting for me who have ordered to bring materials from Gricos and Psili Ammos to project your home,
If this has been written like this, it is because my pleasure in walking has written it, in the company of the one, he has written for the one who walks next to me the god Ibicus!

They always asked me why to mention why I have to do this for them… I will tell you that I used to serve leaders who consolidate the Hellenic geography,
without them, everything would have been invaded by unled foreign hands… in that rest, I have to attend to the verse that precedes it...
which says that we have already entered where I already intend to argue the following…

Resilience and exhortation that from the beginning I have taken since it began... now I will abide by and present your messages in a very predominant note, I was Hoplite Commander of the Falange and Hetairoi, now a Christian who does not dispute living a life of obedience to those who are not and are not without his martyrs...
like those people to whom God swore they will not enter my rest
whose amen will be preached in the passive voice verse!

Remain as the verb indicates with the real facts, the word
independent of the present, independent of who and when…
Saint Gabriel my Abrahamic angel will give me white strength and frolicking lilies like baskets of hermaphroditic lilies procreating only-begotten forests at the altar.

Stand tall over the Abrahamic fire without knuckles or shields,
rethink your beloved woman and take a sudden step to heal your wounds there is so much grass to cut and so much poetry to chew...
up the mountain towards Skalá at night after drinking wine
Epitrapezios Inos setting fire with innocuous saffron atmosphere
lips of fire and bread, for a good offensive fight.
Greek fire naphtha, cinnabar, and anthracite.

Wake up united with the deep disorder
Grant the color that deserves to have your day as a constellation
with the image that rests on your angular and calloused hands.
stopping spaces of loss more than all the centuries that waited for the minimum incense to a good warrior, sweet wine for open bleeding wound not his… the thunder that hides baptisms in all hearts empty of blood...

“While Vernarth was praying in the oracle he felt a thunderous supra sound As if the gates of hell had opened...
As if millions of seconds of angels were to be dispersed from the sky
To reduce more seconds of silence to the thinnest pleading eardrum

A few days ago I saw a ghost that was chopping wood...
I couldn't realize that he was really Him...,
I also saw him cutting thousands of volumes from a library...
Also, not realizing it, I saw several, like more than eighty manuscripts..., of breaths that still did not prosper in the hands of San Marcos...

A gigantic door slam is felt again...!
again it was the angels that came
at the wrong time in his return..., but now in his repatriation
they climbed through and into the Garden of Eden.”

Vernarth, evicted from the habit of the unknown, was apprehended by his craftsmanship of him, he was still attentive to be received by San Juan. The longer he waited to be arranged for an audience, he did not postpone what his memory pointed out to be more than an experience plotting capacities in the face of his own limitations. From that moment on, a gigantic gate slam is felt again! the angels who went back one after another with their polished golden-white cloaks relapsed..., but now making the Garden of Eden their own,... being theirs in what was theirs, that they would be in the house of a wise gardener of Eden perhaps being the same Katapausis manger at once!

Raeder says: hugging him profusely! time has to fly like little angels, having them by your side as companions of the time that is leftover on their wings, giving it all to your enjoyment of living and feeling it lost in you without finding it. ! khaire mi Vernarth!, I have some karidopitas with nuts and yogurt accompanied by baklava with nuts in delicious syrup from Kalymnos. Petrobus jumped for joy and fluttered like a hummingbird to steal a few pieces! Eurydice and Vernarth did the same. That night they told militia stories while they ate the morsels, so they fell asleep as if it had been the first time they had fought such a great menu. Euridice assists in the same with his fresh clean face, creating an atmosphere of conciliation to renew the dream of a day that will dawn close to his waking up far from the criminals. Vernarth takes the staff from him from then on and divides books and manuscripts into two portions so that he has time to take steps to really feel that he can walk close to Saint John.

Prophecy IV -  "Fifth, Nature, Manuscripts and Jophiel"

“Zeus wakes up trembling, full of headaches saturated with Herbs for headaches Jophiel speaking this time with the Kabbalistic language of the Torah...with golden commoner super zone of the Organikon Sorousliston Papadikon….age-old music that supplies Zeus with protein albumin, to make him more human…Zeus accepts Jophiel by placing his head about the house of Jophiel; a divine island to throw cards…brings the second ray to the Sahasrara at the crown of your head, pacifying love that is the suspicious and risky loser of everything risk in the head especially when a feeling is born!

Zeus turns his head and Jophiel twists it to the opposite side
about the ruined zeros that he did not count from the plasma of his dependency, Zeus feared having albumin at risk of human transmutation... happy to be able to cry he imagines slipping into the middle of a lake and he sees that he falls on Hera's poultry harming none, Zeus pours brimstone from his mouth and milks inelegant prose from the scythe…

Trina flame whose son bears glorious her bearer,
thousands of lives being clumsy for the wisest destitute
being what in the present you were more than past trine
when you harbor from Hanael's Blue Sodalite quarry
the imperfect perfects when you listen to your
body how it beats, how it breathes... you realize that it is perfect
as is Jophiel and discerns repairing the wisdom in the decisive punt
where gum rosin myrrh and multi urban frankincense go
towards the soul plane architecture of the human plane.
Hardened Zeus overflows glazed sallow emulsion of war
coagulated exhausting guarantor of everything is well,
books of the silent world of nails that do not sound sheets,
Hanael in massive books divides sounding with her iris gel-colored nails encrypted library manuscript of a thousand years, the voluptuous organism of a thousand years…
flapping unpredictable millennia and wiry hands,
colossal capstans…, annihilated with a thousand years…
a silly propeller that spins like a sickle rolling over a certain holistic tabernacle of the small portion of the next day when Zeus awoke to the diaphanous threatening light with sunless cloud waistband…
His face is seen with frowns and he looks at his face as well
without seeing folds…but in front of the Aiónius.

The geranium appears in the representation of the natural whole kicking the Sickle, much more here lost of our spiritual being
Zeus Jophiel's hardened shoulder heats up only to lean on Him...
light on his shoulders fires on both of them…
how long it takes to save us perhaps twenty times what supports us even tired and much more unwrapped than the treachery of him alone and without being followed without knowing
nothing more than a thousand-year-old shell through which he would drain…perhaps a tortoise-like millennial angel walked up to the omega! joy preparing to give you live hopeful,
that if it would be timely to give you more life...
Here is Aiónius reordering the world together with Zefian…
He shares everything eternal of all your life that floats in the sea,
miserable mix space where capo dastro separates the end
where all the wheres cannonade the hoarse fire...
cement that joins brick wall and plenary adobes
love without nature that castrates your beautiful woman
that hides her face without mascara looking for it...
let's go outside says Vernarth..., we still have a few seconds in his solvent... sensible, full, and arc well-being...
as if you were floating in the air floating more
also needed me to teach you before your limits limit you,
and make you angry from the miserable sense,... Don't listen to me anymore...!!”

Vernarth puts his first three fingers on the capo dastro roosters crow with his skin vibrating beyond the sleep of Raeder and Petrobus. Reader wakes up and says…; My Vernarth I will make fire and heat water. Petrobus runs with his wings to look for sacred wood. Eurydice comments…, I will prepare the praiseworthy sacred breakfast.

When they were preparing to do all this, Jophiel and Hanael appeared to him, joining in the breakfast that would feed all the days and millennia of the world. Unleavened fruit, honey, and milk multiply above all, satiating hunger with satiated satisfaction.

Prophecy V – Fourth, Limbus Necropolis

“From so far away…, so far away that I listen to your sacrosanct cries…!
from the Koumeterium of Messolonghi…, rocking my elbows and hurting myself
moving in rare pleasant crypt upon crypts disconsolate stones
not so far away..., keys held in the eighth cemetery...
Who is to open the heavy door now...?
I come from Messolonghi 555 km in linear figures to Patmos...,
narrowing concave… doubtful in extension, passion princess cloud
He must welcome me benevolently in the night nymph consort...
Limbus N cloud, Cloud Cemetery lofty lofty hypogeum
soul of Limbo, before seeing the nut that girds the face in the graceful Grim Reaper resurrecting restless…, sinning… grail sacrament without Being or being…?
Necropolis Cloud, expectant mortuary technology...
amaze me if there is a byte for me...
narrow conscience, unseemly to amaze me?

Here the lost mist of the Nothofagus God phoneme-photon vanishes with divine mass light to build the Áullos Kósmos. The Sacrament of Limbus will provide spaces and assemblages of meters for thousands of areas of infamous wandering the Ouranos, approaching the Áullos Kósmos to host him and rescue the children of the meter that was missing in the numeral rule of the Megaron acroteria before going up to the Necropolis Cloud. Vernarth, mere body formalizing principle...
extinct delicate evocation of the shadow of Elpenor;
Achaean warrior of Ulysses grandiloquent who even has otitis
and verse where flu spreads influenza
heartbreak from far away reverberating in the elite of lexicons…
arriving equidistant ... the last one arrives threatening with his Kantabroi staying neither divided nor captured, taking refuge in outright failure twilight of megahertz, farce propaganda surrendered fear will not fall even after …

Vernarth falls from the Koumeterium Mesolonghi in the Necropolis cloud privileging his status, he falls from this gloomy digital platform with a high alcoholic degree! from the high heaven after drinking hours he came in the carriage that was from Zilos, with the passion of heaven depriving his understanding stunned on some branches of will of Ziziphus…, stunned on branches of mercy….

Vernarth in a contrite accident with Elpenor, his psyche flies to the realm of the dead, Hades was remaining prisoner in that world taking the form of a Homeric icon or shadow. Vernarth was asleep after his binge, and Elpenor asks him if he wanted to join him with some concoctions. He was with blurred vision, a headache, and still lying down. But in the passionate horror of his drunkenness, he gets up quickly, saying to Elpenor: For me, it was one less pain to drink after having fallen from such a distance without being able to request and have had the grace of my mother's lullaby. For this reason, I hug you! They went together to the Cloud Necropolis to continue in the Limbus trying to alternate their physical body to gaseous liquid. At that moment Eurídice hits her with a piece of wood on her legs so that she wakes up from the bite of that nightmare that overwhelmed her to finally be able to wake up. Raeder had gone with Petrobus to Skalá to seek inputs of gnosis and his own inspiration for accents before the welcome in Katapausis to come in the blink of an eye of San Juan, necessary redaction for licenses and to be admitted to his library.

Prophecy VI - “Third, Rethymnon City and State”

“Vernarth heard the sound of a bouzouki, spoke of a 40-day fast that Greece celebrates before Easter, at the Rethymnon carnival they come from all over Greece to attend as a family during the week with animations, evenings and concerts, dances…theatre, floats with Venetian art in the picturesque old town and modern city, in this ancient city …

Rethymnon Political Ellipsis

“Like territorial extension, past-future organized infamous scene…Vernarth imagines being with Etréstles in immediate predictions
with years and thousands…, clan hobbies, Rethymnon manuscript…
while he thus deliberated…, thus rejoicing in the immaculate extramural grotto thus being as if it were comparable to a Neolithic village; being together lost with eagerness to appear from political power... palaces, kings, pro-organized religions..., rancorous superlative temple, priestly-eucharistic, nationalized sovereign citizen... commanding Parliament of the Hellenic politai people
the competent anti-value entity of the substratum political state…
sedentary-agricultural or nomadic-livestock culture…, vertical Hoplite culture!”

In Thessaloniki street, he would meet his brother head-on...Imagining how he would be...? Well-dressed-shiny, he would be in a passing tavern usually naming himself tradition and terms of questionable validity rather than those of a retro-linguistic family, in the remarkable urban-city dialogue called seditious inns with networks of political territorial extension, reaching the colossal size of multinational ideals of a complex stratification, social meeting place, future ministries to whom to delegate?. They would arrive at the tavern in Rethymnon in Crete, they order coffee, biscuits, and Mosaikó chocolates. In an unexpected moment, he suddenly wakes up from this deep, hallucinating, and futuristic imagination! His brother appears immediately, not in Rethymnon but in Katapausis with the goddess Lepidoptera!

End Ellipsis Rethymnon

“At the moment his imagination breaks just when they were preparing to toast… Etréstles in this same interval appear in Katapausis Reader and Petrobus coming in a singular pilgrimage from Skalá…this is how the syllabic song of the arcane ***** is heard emitting from the grotto…, yellow lights and saffron…. Saint John and the Gospel celebrating the Eucharist…Vernarth would believe for the first time that the hermit would come, but No…!
his brother was to be in the intervening yellow-white light
in front of him nothing more than Etréstles visiting him”

Likewise, they would no longer be in Rethymnon,
but the carnival would already begin in the region of Patmos...
eating delicacies, and the Sousta towards the circle of the Sun in the hands…They have been two months with the sweetened Moon and the Sun posing its mass of light in her… soft palm next to her waiting for him in the proximity of a Hebrew silence

Estretles says Khaire Vernarth! from Piacenza who did not see your joyous lux! I can see now to the sound of yourself the stoic zither...
countenance light, the orbit of your eyes, pale asthenia without photon without light, expectorant suppuration of your sacred Lynothorax, Absent in front of the long and fatal transverse lapse!
Raeder makes a speech to Zeus Photon Child Lux
Fulminant spends time where it remains greater than the minimum...
Patmos is the time of the Messiah…, retrograde years…
polis Helennic city-states.

Culture-state… state time chorus in tune
Philosophical poetic-epic Olympian Aiónius global leader
Homeric poems..., Raeder I am..., a naughty Politai...
you Vernarth are Politai Hetairoi militia
candy wasted by me Raeder… sweetened in my memory
polytheistic, cultured and declined…
theocratic referendum or democratic right,
Exciting porridge of my Kourabiedes cookies
butter, icing sugar, flour, eggs from the icy cliff
vanilla or Mastica resin, ***, Ouzo, mastica liquor…
or other alcoholic beverages…, which bubble on the underside of Aiónius soaked in my mouth with water from petal buds
coated for you with sugar on the tip of my tongue…
reflective cops in a wonderful dialogue of a tasty recipe...
It's time for everyone else to snack too!!

In that second Raerder was choking on a Kourabiede biscuit,
but there was the guardian of the Petrobus who piloted the
throwing hieratic water on the inside of his mouth,
forcing him to take heart from the buttress of his speech
shooing thick crumbs from his skinny dialogue spitted...
Gerakis, ray, tabletop oak bull, scepter for those who rule with him and not...My Zeus friend I invite you to play marbles,
I invite you to tell us that we are friends...
we're both fine… only Space-separated us…?

Raeder runs towards Zeus' thunderbolt from his right hand.
he jumps up and takes it from her, in exchange for this she gives him his marbles...The entire earth tilts over the Aegean..., the earth's axis tilts eight degrees, altering the cerebrospinal fluid of the Hellenic geopolitical conception..., with Zeus poly infarcted over descending magnitudes of inter-politics, millennia and headless governments...

“Apokalypsis lightning restarted, emerged from a New World”
Prophecy VII -. “Second, Alikanto Aion, Quantum”
"Kalymnos, golden tetra steed Alikanto was grazing under the metallic moon...
transiting its quantum physics…, golden legs…, four golden domes
the super host being in Apoika Andros next to the villagers,
commemorating troupe and advent…, Heraklion next period
celebrant anniversary, progeny bearer of Kanti Cretense,
close cycles of the sacred fire, domestic environment, and private zeal...
funerary hidden cult… streets in the hieratic family dwelling
fertile women… totalized and lustful ****…
productive longevity and harvests…, family Apoika
next successor belligerence…, funerary plexus…
culty predecessor…, treatise and imprecation of law, theme and legible religion domestic scene, family civic servant ceremony

Goddess Hestia austere, head with eight sacred candles dressed
Olympus lacking without gods…, only Goddesses embargo!
Feminine Hestia Domestic Goddess, an emanation of the female oval to ovulating…Pritaneo, the central decree of the political harvests… foreign exchange grains to be minted monetary stock exchange of Athens… Pritaneo ford on the rise, ford on increase Aion... hesitant dart swoop into eternity,
Alikanto Perpetual Aion…Speaks with both hands
synchronized and tilted tongue…
stutters and swallows, in six paranasal sinuses
saturated with fiery saliva..., and an Internal voice saying say...
what makes sense to feel and what does not turn off...
sleeping waves in the poison of love igniting
intra-Vernarth love…, billing infected holy blood
methodical coupled time…, Gaugamela the bronze extremity,
of a lost leader…, won leader!

If I had to run to rewrite retro Adhoc poems and chosen trova,
With a shy Trojan verse, I would dare today if I kissed her in front of me… she!
she would jump from the hyperesthetic-Ouranos…, inhuman to the Aion world
aurora celestina, bleeds big and defiant today in your star
In herself Ella…, pestiferous condemnation sweetness and aura between her…she just be, she herself be supported be…, Oh… Goddess Hestia on your opposite leg unbraced arm, meadow and vein braid… assaulted by lost and thirsty love written everything if she tempts…, everything wields darkly if it took you to our Olympus… at night loving you whole..., emptying everything with no inappropriate hand singing don vine fissure and intimate company, may it be exterminated... passion outside with nailed stake..., iron embedding..., nails wounding...exhausted supra lips supra yours…, mid sand writing full to her…
tip of my Xiphos… blood made written with written maiden mythology,
letter sword Spatha…, cyclamen balm made whole if I had you!

“To the loves of the world I say…, cover your ears fungus of boredom, your torn ears squander ignoring more than sordid saying...my blood kills, my blood revives! I **** my blood and I **** everyone, with your blood scattered, ***** blood scattered…!
do not leave me alone until nightfall… I only ask for holy water,
emptied from your mouth goddess Hestia who flies tons over me...
I only ask for a spatha romantic blood sharp, ******, and scattered...
to write to the love wars that I have lost...
to the wars of love that I have won, slicing the jugular of the
treacherous and wicked emperor"

“… Alikantus, he remembered the Hoplite commander in Gaugamela, he remembered when he dodged arrows with his head so that they would not hit his body or his pectoral. From such a present moment falling by surrendering to the evocation of him. He goes down to a stream and confines himself to the vanity quagmire, continues on his path reaching a suspicious lagoon, drinks sacred water, drinking again manages to perceive the effigy of Vernarth in the mirror of Aion's Hydor... calling him from Patmos! Law reminded his master how he died for everyone in the world just as the world would not let him bring more than agonizing for him because there was no more space said Aionius ... "

Alikantus then clenched his jaws too hard, falling out all his molars, he asked the Gods in front of Hestia to restore them fifteen days before arriving at the Ekadashi in Patmos where his master, thus loving all the lives of the world, as well as the hidden cries behind the Dypilons hiding the power of God… or laugh at gagged iris flashes and mummified sighs with lives that subsist!

Vernarth from Patmos called to him so that his eyes looked invigorated like the swarms of green and gray vanadium fire, of mood in the predictive table and close prediction. AlIkantus bids farewell to Kalymnos spraying sorrel and hyper-odoriferous flowers of the Apoika in Kalymnos loving from above, very close, flying, loving everything so much that he forgot to fly. He sometimes fell hard but recovered retried as a baby steed in the womb of a mother new species to be born again in Apoika!


Prophecy VIII -  "First of Aionius, "Eleusis Prophecy of Hamor"
“Aiónius received news of Hamor's prophecy; cosmic orgiastic order
tyrannical snake victim throwing herself into her abyss and purpose..., banishment as an objective void to be decreed, even so ending the world from another world,
discontinuous terse march, slurred arpeggio, speech by Aiónius
there is no world left but if extermination…, undone threshold…, provoke in delicate chaos…!

As a child, I ran to the supreme world herding lions... I called them and they ran to me..., they came alone, some didn't...! Being young, one day Aionius went to the farm and counted the lions... Some came others No... Aionius..., in such a hamorio he was locking an earring from his ears, he hung them again, which happened the next day relaxed..., he saw a maiden who laughed hypnotized…, he sighed when she turned around saying with her poor gestures… Destroy it! The afflicted turned away not knowing what was coming… destroying the desolate world vilifying silky physiognomies, chipped and dandruff face slipping from yours being captive and arid…, tempts to flow libertarian imprint in foreign praxis, origin, and end,
me from the slime being born in my eighth life in nothingness ataxia…

The beloved Victim surrounded by snakes moved the stump of her arms
eaten away by the serpent that took refuge in thorns of forged steel...
she kept walking…, Aiónius pointed at her and kissed her gestures escaping frightened towards the valley in farewells... not fitting itself in valleys that were never anything she paraded with the current of her last word, the beloved again moved her arms following her in front of her the beast was on her, Aiónius buried from fleeing and coming… with fiery phenotype, abrupt vocabulary, says: “Strapping and interludes, after beings of impiety, the world of impiety, Hamor of the first wit… towards other refuges I will depart about a Yes devouring bare ring on it…”
escape curve that cuts the pelvis of my beloved
destructive be your curved world that before had to destroy me...
ultra pre-hellenic nymph Harpé passion spread on me…
Hailed libertarian praise, aristocratic vermilion accent, minority ruling? Overwhelming rigor expended, prophetic Hamor, prophetic expansive arsenal! It must come from all the supreme worlds with strokes and silhouettes conquering...true dream, confused hypothetical oscillate sweeping imploring and contracting popular decision, management and space of my Sickle…, sometimes uncontained… worse avenues in its radius and dark mourning badly wounded shadow! The vertex that finally launches opens the dawn and his Hamada flees... Leaving with the untidy serpent, about touching and causing rangers in the stuck earth.

Demeter and Persephone; based on Eleusis in ancient Greece
mystery myth of the abduction of Persephone daughter of Demeter…
by the king of the underworld of Hades, Abrahamanica's offspring
cabal, life in the descent, the search and the ascent…
Ascent of Indra lightning Vahana and lightning from her right eye,
Persephone to the reunion with her beloved daughter ascending.

Zodiac and mysteries involved, visions and sleight of hand
that of an afterlife, rain of seven trunks, long-lived Airavata
elephant, Eleusis jump psychedelic mystery, incision, and coherent rites, ceremonies and experiences of cold winters and life on earth
plants in gestation under the gift of Elitíaen and beings that
they are about to germinate and be born, beings in a chain of genes...
vegetable running on the earth, vegetable in March in its glory
September in the jaws of the purified phrase and inaccurate acropolis I…

Sacred obscenities, deadly tributes with the death penalty...,
wandering nights without clothes with obese and badly fragrant meats point and taco dances praising the harvest in honor of a dead Thracian bull, libating priestly vessels and bullfighting heads in a deliberately defined and improper triweekly ritual, revealed in Demeter and Persephone.

Only Hamor in his venerable pyx lies locked up knowing he is unable to open inside this lustful bewitching sparkles, the mystery of emancipated disenchantment that awakens from his slow consciousness without knowing how to go on passing in the sum of all happenings of Aiónius. ”

This is how he defined himself from the syncretism of Indra and the mystery of Eleusis, from Demeter and his daughter Persephone from the vile kidnapped underworld. Of the divine Goddess Elitia and the annual records of children born within a year in the germinating seed of the mystery of love that would begin with this prophecy with the initial "H" of the underworld exclaimed Hades and Greek heritage in this event. Vernarth and his companions listened to this prophecy, almost falling asleep, it seemed to them sweet pallor-bitter, love-heartbreak in the previous day before diagnosing having a presence in the hermitage of San Juan Apóstol for the superior company of a later day that was approaching as the greatest daring of all up in the mountains while disposing of Vernarth's Apologist obverse of Aiónius's.

Epilogue Prophecies - “Eleusis, Isadora Duncan to the Parthenon”

“Vernarth and Eurydice indulged in the jargon of agitated diasporas
of inhabitants fleeing the Rite of Eleusis, crossed hands and feet
They dueled on olive trunks with Theban thunder, vague Insurrection of the ancient world, and consonants of barbarian Pleiades,
acclaiming predilection of the Eremita San Juan to appear...
in a breath of peace resurfacing... but seeing that Vernarth was accompanied of Eurydice hid in front of them leaving only her aura near from the stream of a chrysalis!
In the dizzying succession of myths, good news reaches her sacred ears, waking up her trend and her high quarterly price outside the walls... being later received in the grotto of the hermitage in growing expectation and a link of longing that weaves to remind him of being a crusade piece.

The kidnapping of his reverie feared and timid frivolous crushing blizzard, he was walking surrounded by Falangists on horseback pointing at him and threatening him, scrutinizing in the distance loneliness of his past lives,
his regressive life, concerning key to origins of his illustrative Existence, stranded at this moment..., Vernarth makes a pact with himself to detach himself..., of his spirit, detach from their lives under a hypnotic and compelling law..., like a suspended index in the Sistine Chapel, homologous ship Ave Maria Messiah!

From Eleusis Vernarth vanished in aerial horse-dreaming,
he crossed through the pavilions with himself persevering some wake
riding his Alikantus ******* and standing with him to pillage the Empyrium niche Persephone's trace of herself and her ******* ******* them...
with devoted passion, milky way, and milky syrup chin howling...
Vanishing dancer, Athenian acropolis, Dionysian sanctuary of the acropolis… Stepdaughter-patron in the dance of Zeus and Themis lopsided frame of the season's wildness of all creation and defiance of Eleusis looking for her daughter and her children, priestesses safely taking off their corset and their pictures…
raging chastity, oligo blood, Itheoi music, outraged dance complaining, Possessed expressing being seductive but also a native *******... the underworld in darkness, free daughter, and iconoclastic Greek mythologist
inconvenient Victorian mania, a courtesan from Olympus, courtesan undressed! Isadora, Demeter, and Persephone… flooded with Aphrodite foam!

She “prayed songs with plexus and feet, plotting gardens around the world… full of baseboard feet where everything created in brief Apokálypsis was dying! By desolate Parthenons dancing in Muscovite ruins, maenades sweaty enclave and also throwing back his head as if possessed by ecstasy in her Bugatti and Leonidas…, enchanted by Aiónius! intoxicated and exorbitant with beautiful rosy placebo eyes... Hair with headbands vine petioles, her Nebris tight skin was wearing... in her hand's bunches of barberries to Dionysus with torches and live snakes a chaste crook naming Thirsus; rod topped with Kashmar branches wrapped in borders, vines and ivy, allusive link…, morbid ecosystem! covering her crotch in the Temple of her Kopanos dancing from the eternal fire cremated and in a romantic dimension remembering Byron's meritorious…
Hellenic passionate, and of Hölderlin poeticizing together with Aiónius.

Rudiment wound … ruinous on value exciting in those
of the imagined and creative in her perdition, Sicalipsis e impudicias
torn fire in the Metelmi and her ***** we are twisted,
epic worthy of greek tragedy dancing like waves of fire
in the forge in terrifying death of her children Deirdre and Patrick,
submerged and injured in the Seine in Paris in 1913, falling into the
water in the car that was traveling with her wet nurse… before…!
saying goodbye to them in urgent social commitments,
I Aiónius take you to the Empyrium.

What a dire tribulation in the prevailing misfortunes by not postponing it, retain the fate of whose children is quite a story with the kidnapping of theirs and merits of fulfilling commitments committed to solicitous artists... support, crestfallen inside a dresser or Bolshoi dancing statue, dancing empty with bare feet, frigid anemone, frigid Sea…

Arriving at the dawn of her last prophecy, Isadora Duncan accompanies her in full life beyond all limiting borders with the borders of her dance, the flat field of Eleusis receives her presumptuously associating in around for the dressings...
And left-handed dalliance self-indulging…, advanced barefoot to the Parthenon…!naked towards the world and the orb dug out of her before her undressed.

Reader and Petrobus jumped on this steep stone, emulating the meteorites that shone in the sky of Patmos such a party of nocturnal lights, such emery detached from a fleeting planet in the largest Hellenic scene saying: "Well-being to the Hellenic World all calm, dance and immunity to the firmament where Isidora rests in the Kantabroi of Aionius”
Prophecies of Aiónius
Chimera melons Mar 2010
forgot to button up
veils,scales, umbrellas
see this dragon rained

couches where dreams are cats
no body
just discarded fur and echoes of purrs

after reading the label it rubbed off
maybe its tasty
pretend until the last drop

apologies repeated sound like dogs barking
attention slowly goes missing
a chair to block anyone from entering

holidays celebrate themselves easily
the grocery aisles let them be known
No wristwatch no calendar
window dressings tell parking lots their stories

faces bloom less then flowers
secret coffeehouses for shameful breakfasts
phonecalls peppered with obvious lies
surprise its your turn
all rights preserved with marmalaide
The gaunt brown walls
Look infinite in their decent meanness.
There is nothing of home in the noisy kettle,
The fulsome fire.

The atmosphere
Suggests the trail of a ghostly druggist.
Dressings and lint on the long, lean table--
Whom are they for?

The patients yawn,
Or lie as in training for shroud and coffin.
A nurse in the corridor scolds and wrangles.
It's grim and strange.

Far footfalls clank.
The bad burn waits with his head unbandaged.
My neighbour chokes in the clutch of chloral . . .
O, a gruesome world!
Timothy Brown Jun 2013
64 squares and 32 pieces
white and black or black and white
pending your thesis
whether your black or white
they all have the same features

8 pawns, simple creatures
8 x 2 is 16
infantry disguised as peasants
trying to get above the 7th
to the 8th and replace
their meager form for something more severe

2 rooks, sitting on the edge
2 crooks robbing everything perpendicular
to the perimeter provided the king
doesn't falter in his pledge


When the night rolls through,
the knights roll through.
Puffing green goo, these squares or cubes
will move an L make a 7 and ***** you.

The bishop will say a blessing
as he stumbles across the board.
Moving forward diagonally,
these drunken priests drink towards
a leader hung with dressings

The queen? That greedy broad
thinks everyone is a pawn.
constantly placing her place
in the face of those trying to take her place.

The king orchestrates the beat
carefully placing his feet before god.
His feat is living, no great givings,
giving up the wrong square will make his crown your treat
© June 18th, 2013 by Timothy Brown. All rights reserved.
Orchid T Aspen Dec 2019
From the vault of my popcorn ceiling
the widow was swaying on a strand
and striking at her master net,
tweaking its barest glint,
all to lure death closer
to steep it in glue
well enough that she can wait now.





,,
It happened in my head
as I listened to her legs
that I would die,
if I could only look down
and find her sneaking in my palm.





,,
I know she is far too beautiful
to be waited on like this,
to be stranded on a string
in the thinned air.
I think I make her miserable.
Be Not Bitter in Thine Writings,
for They Be Most Wondrous Things;
Catacombious Monstrocities,
Though You May'st Conceive Them.
Words Stray'd and Pluck'd into Near-Woven Dressings,
Gone Fade with Thine Temperament—
These Things that You Shrug and Forget!—
Shall ****** Adventures unto the Intrepid,
Kind Caretakers as yet Unknown to These Days.
© 2011  J.J.W. Coyle
tread Apr 2013
These are the same socks,
yes. As a matter of fact it's
been about 3 days since I last changed
my clothes and about several seconds since
I last changed my life.
Rob Sandman Mar 2016
Take a step into the Firestorm.
Lyrics/Vocals Skitz AKA Mr.Sandman
Track,recording,production-Jay/Eclectic.Collective.
Lyrics.(Copyright Skitz AKA Mr Sandman)

Spittin' fire-desolation of the Sandman,
blink you'll miss the decimation of your clan man,
musical massacre with an Irish style,
time to stop driveling,your old cold style-

cause I'm riled up,fed up sick of your ****,
sit down or be knocked down,listen to the skitz spit,
flammable fumes,verbs turn to flame,
grammar fallin like a grand piano from a crane,
straight to your brain a flash of white light,
wear a fireproof suit you might catch light,
pay stage crews danger cash cause I'm scorchin',
E.C.-Schizophrenic-Sandman torchin,
a four alarm fire,I cause high premiums,
show respect or you'll be rappin through a medium,
mic's a flamethrower leave you screamin,
think you'll burn the Sandman?,wake up,you're dreamin.

Venue's on my menu,get it insured,
I walk through the flames,immune and immured,
immersed in hip hop, a sun gone nova,
drop the mic kid, just run,it's over.
my tank's full,petrol for adrenaline,
flame and blood like my name's Targaryen
you don't want to see my dragon's fly loose,
spit heat like a turnspit-cook your goose,

Stage is flaming,boy you best ghost,
hit the fire bell,you get burnt to toast,
white phosphorus combined in my mind,
get your goggles if you're goggling,you'll wind up blind,
Armageddon approaches,best make your way,
last stage I blazed you may have heard of-Pompeii,
you're gettin calcinated muy calor!,
a Supervolcano eruptin' on a dancefloor.

(chorus)
Magma,Plasma,they're not even warm,
Air Ripped from Lungs becomes fuel for the Storm,
Melt Icecaps,Globe start to warm,
****** Aircon-I spark a Firestorm.

Time to raise the heat,time to raise the stakes,
you're a lost smokejumper,praying for a firebreak,
trees turn to shrapnel,you're out of breath,
"I am fire,I am Death"

Reverse Mic Fiend rhymes steal the oxygen,
lungs collapse as I spin the storm again,
a terrible beauty,and an awesome blessing,
3rd degree burns,apply cool dressings
thats if you're lucky when I spit the gift,
last MC challenged me burnt to a crisp,
by words,deeds,heat bleeds stage smokin-I'm just gettin warm
thoughts spark the flames in a forest I'm a firestorm
fuel air bomb combined with Tsar Bomba,
Mount Doom blowing about to get Sundered,
hate is stokin' me,fuel to the forge,
16kept the heat banked long enough it's time to gorge,
Smaug heats up-flames spew forth,
you're guy fawkes on a pyre of fireworks.

Wondering,and blundering it's time to burn,
time to get roasted,you fool's won't learn,
that I'm hotter than a sunflare,beyond compare,
you're richard pryor tryin to smoke michael jacksons hair
don't dare me to flare into action,
don't care Keisha fusion core reaction,
fukushima and cherbobyl are my barbeques,
couldn't help yourself, you had to light my fuse,
I refuse to cool down-I'm scorchin',
Firestormtrooper lit,time for torchin'
Firewalk-comparison? Huh,a cool breeze,
flatten the building like Tunguska's tree's,
eyes hotter than Cyclops,you're weak at the knees.
supernova 200 billion degree's

(chorus)
Magma,Plasma,they're not even warm,
Air Ripped from Lungs becomes fuel for the Storm,
Melt Icecaps,Globe start to warm,
****** Aircon-I spark a Firestorm.
To hear this Poem as a Song with my band Eclectic Collective Eire(or just E.C.) go here
https://soundcloud.com/eclectic-collective-eire/firestorm
Tammy,Tammy,call your mammy
daddy's run away.

Buildings built of stilton cheese and Wilton rugs,bugs that run round in my head,silver diamond ten gauge thread to tie my eyes up.
Tea leaves tell no lies,
I've seen them in a broken cup where broken people all look up to watch me fall.
I call the Master of Ceremonies,also made of Stilton cheese,eaten slowly by the mice,made from chocolate covered rice cake crisps and baked in ovens,gas mark seven and ask him,
where did daddy go?
he doesn't know and never did and slowly drops off from the grid,
in hidden thoughts behind veiled red eyes where riots run with teddy boys,who ride Italian imported scooter bikes,
twenty thousand Facebook likes for what,
a **** *** underneath the bed?
more bugs that run wild in my head,
another silver,sugar coated thread to wrap me in when I am dead,
but I'm not there yet
I've got to shift the fuzziness,the interfering laziness,be blessed twice by his Holiness,undress the dressings I am wrapped in,bleach my skin and reach inside to clear my mind.
Hal Loyd Denton Jan 2012
A Simple Walkway
By this device just an old ordinary taken for granted side walk there is no place it doesn’t lead
Hops scotch any one key skates on your shoes how they let you zoom oh the prints left there
A bike for Christmas feel daddy’s strong hands hear his feet running to keep up ever feel so freed
Remember when you were there playing mother walked by her perfume caused womanly fantasies

Up town on Saturday shopping day take the sidewalk get a haircut one two Jims the other to Dressings
Montgomery wards that great wide white stair way sports one floor clothes on the other
Get dolls toy guns all kind of assorted toys at Ben Franklin if not there find Woolworth’s full blessings
Whatever, hurry you know the Roseland will be starting the afternoon matinee action packed thrills

Live out the movies Carl Wessel Western Auto arrows fifty cents Coast to Coast BB guns
Can’t afford a bow take a mop stick and cut an inner tube into a strip nail on both ends watch her fly
If you’re not allowed to have even an air rifle use more inner tube a forked stick wa la slingshot what fun
Grocery shopping great on second St Piggly Wiggly or Wempen’s on the alley up from Bryson’s garage

Need shoes Summer’s store or Duez get a pair of Buster Browns this follow the side walk your welcome
If you just need a repair Ray does fine work Pen well’s store has all the dresses guaranteed no guessing
Hustle and bustle going on all over town activity nonstop great foot traffic go to town the past will come
You will stir up endless memories in this new time that could use those sweet happy times at the five
and Dime
mark john junor Apr 2013
Beyond the cracked lens
of your minds eye
the worlds bitter anger has gone
past without pause
i try to confine this mad fluttering of thoughts my head
and as the sun set i thought id be here forever
in this moment here in her waking dream
her scent lingers on the humid air
and her soft form is still marked there in the sheets

her young lust was a sweating beast in my bed
her need to rush blindly thru left me alone in the night
with the song ringing in my head

imposter...her flesh gripped me like the hand of accusation
but her soft wispers are comforting

this is not what i should have done
i have made a terrible mistake

rain pours slowly from the gaping wound in the  sky
forever trying to fill the voids between heaven and earth
between the dawn and dusk
well into the night i stand here with the redhead wrapped around me
like the funeral dressings of some long lost ritual
Skye Applebome Apr 2013
This is actually copy pasted from a suicide forum, but it's true.

Self Harm: Before you self harm, Read this
....before you make that first cut remember:
You will enjoy this.
You will find the blood and pain release addictive.
Even though you think you can make a few tiny cuts that aren't deep,
And will heal easily ...
They will get deeper.
They will scar.
They will sometimes take months to heal.
And years for the scars to fade.
If you think you can limit the cutting to one area of your body,
Think again...
It will spread when you run out of skin.
Be prepared to withdraw from others and live in a constant state of shame.
Even if you are the most honest person ever to live ....
You will find yourself lying to the people you love.
You will **** back from your friends when they touch you as if their hands were dipped in poison.
You will be terrified that they will feel something under the cloth
of your shirt, or because it just plain hurts so much to be touched.
Be prepared to get so out of control you fear your next cut because you don't know how bad it will be.
Just wait for 10 cuts to turn into 100....Be prepared for your
entire life to revolve around thinking about cutting ..cutting and
covering up cutting.
And just wait till that first time you cut "too deep."
And you freak out because the blood won't stop...
And you are gasping....
And you feel yourself shaking all over.
You are having a panic attack and you are terrified but you can't
tell anyone.
So you sit there alone...
Praying it will be ok swearing you'll never let it go this far
again...
But you will, and further.
Don't worry, you will learn how to take care of your cuts so that
you can go deeper and deeper and avoid the ER.
And the better you get at treating your cuts the deeper they get.
You will lie to yourself and justify it when you find youself
spending 20, 30 or 50 dollars every time you go the pharmacy.
You will feel the flutter of your heartbeat everytime you go to the
counter to ring up your order.
Butterfly strips...
3 or four different kinds of dressings...
Betadine....
Antibiotic cream..
Medical tape..
Scar reducers.....
You will tap your foot impatiently hoping the line will just move
and no one will stare at you or wonder why you need all these things.
And at the same time secretly hope someone will notice...
Someone who is standing in line with an armful of the same
supplies...
Someone who understands but of course that never happens.
Medical supplies won't be the only thing you spend all your money on.
Be prepared to buy a new wardrobe...
Longsleeve shirts in summer colors, bracelets, wristbands, boots... gloves.. the list goes on and on.
You will start looking at everyone in a different way...
Scanning their bodies for any signs of SI...
Just hoping that you might meet someone like you so you don't feel so terribly alone.
You wont even think about it ..
As your eyes scan their wrists + arms...
Hoping just hoping they will be like you....
But they are not.
You will see their clean arms and feel terribly ashamed and alone.
You will start doing a lot of things alone.
You will always have to wash your laundry in private so know one sees the blood stains on your clothes and towels.
You will always be cleaning up the blood..
Scrubbing your bathroom floor...
Wiping the blood of your keyboard...
You won't be able to make it through a day without cutting....
Next thing you know you are in a public bathroom somewhere breaking open a scab with a sewing needle that you keep in your wallet for emergencies.
When you get really desperate anything will be a cutting
tool ...scissors...a car key...a needle ... a paperclip..even a pen.
Doesn't matter what it is if you need to cut bad enough you will
find something.
Say goodbye to things you took for granted.
Like wearing shorts or sandals...pedicures...sleeveless tops. A
normal summer day at the beach or in a swimming pool will become a far off memory for you.
Get ready to itch.
Because you will itch and itch ..."so much you will look like you
have fleas or a skin disease."
You will become an expert on your body as you destroy it carefully..
You will dream about cutting...
you will dream about being exposed.
It will haunt you day and night and take over your life. You will
wish you never made that first cut because while you absolutely hate cutting...
At the same time, you love it and can't live with out it...
Note: I'm hypocritical to send this, but it still needs to be sent. It actually got really far for me before I told someone and was told to stop and I finally did.
www.suicideforum.org
Diverseman2020 Apr 2010
Am I bitter than
The sour taste of grapes
Fruitless
Is my well being
To an end result
Measuring the true meaning
Before I fail
Into a salad of green spoiled leaves
For no mixture
Is capable
As my dressings is sealed
With an unclean hand
May the tongue of thievery
Wash my mouth dry
As germs settle in
To bask upon the glory
While conquering
My thoughts
dev Nov 2014
These memories are like wounds,
and even though they are old they still feel fresh.
You never said you were sorry,
you never stitched up my gashes,
so every time I am reminded of them,
they start to bleed again.

In flashes I watch them, the memories,
like old-time movies on cinema screens,
in black and white, so monochrome,
the least my mind can do,
at least spare me from the colorful detail.

I am trapped in that theater,
forced to watch through ocean waves,
until a boy comes with a golden key to unlock the doors.

His smile comforts me,
covers up my cuts like bandages.
His voice, my morphine,
makes the pain fade.
But like every medication, the relief wears off,
the boy disappears,
and I am alone again.

Left to wonder when the delicate dressings will rip,
and when the blood will pour down my chest,
infinitely.
Ryan Galloway Jun 2015
How do we judge
Patterns of love
For I have found myself
Trying to look
Past the water wrinkled pages of my tired book
Having just used it as cover from the pouring rain
Stepping into this crowded café
And immediately being struck
By the sight of you
I quickly divert my glance away
Yet finding my sight slowly circling the room
Slowly coming back around to
The arresting sight of you
Having realized that I had already given my order
Defaulting to an autonomous response
Showing that my mind was currently preoccupied
I hastily hand over a five
Having missed the exact price
As I walk away I look your way again
And of course I don't pursue
Sitting myself across the room
Viewing the setting in which I would be resting
Insuring it was visible by you
Quickly looking at lighting
And the surrounding set dressings
Of a slightly worn couch in front of a hearth
I set my book down
Making sure it was obvious from across the room
Hearing my name being called
I turn to gather my mindlessly ordered coffee
I see a glint in the baristas eye
Having seen me organizing my setting
And my quite obvious glancing
She called another name
And rising from her seat
The girl I had been admiring
Arose and let her eyes rest on mine
Bringing this suddenly heavy question to my mind
How do we judge patterns of love
And if it's possible to achieve at first sight.
Tommy Johnson Apr 2014
I'm your dark reflection
Hear the people singing

Fighters, lovers
Lonely women on they'r own in the cool spring time air

Look me in the eye

In this mirror will you see me
Deteriorating?

Come miss, let's go outside and go for a walk

Golden sunshine, starry night time
Afternoon rush hour, it is crunch time

I am doubtful next to my boyfriend
Walk me to The Grand Canyon
Where my secrets can fill it's spaces

Salads with dressings of kings
Licorice candy, water of plenty
Sleep in my bed he said to the sightseer
Calling her attention to his desires

I'm leaving now
You are to forceful
My body is temple
It's not yours it is mine

Give me your goose
Your golden egg laying goose
I'm down on my luck
And need a karat or two

Walking the highway
All by myself
I am in transit
There are no pit stops

Look in the mirror
Lady of fortune
I am what you see
But not what you are
Penne May 2021
What do you drink to get the purple out of my tongue? What do you take to forget? The picture
of white lady on the mirror chanting ****** mary. The video of being spanked. The layout of the patterns. It is all made into a trail. Wishing to cloak, I thought it worked but it was only a blanket. The blinking lights of the window.  It manages to ***** me and remind me of competition in traffic. The list. Lists. Numbered. Keep scrolling. Will it affect my life?

Needing to fit the box of a ten-year old, I sleep. Then, I post. That was not myself. How did this whole page about me belongs to someone else? I never drift before. Why, I wonder. Here comes the businesses. The banquets. Watching a flute get Tarzan'd by a piece of rope hanged across the room. Out of the blue, I found myself touring with a foreigner. What does he want from me? Is it wrong to think this way? He only asked me where I live and how I am. I stop. I feel the chills burning through my hands to fingers. The bones get cold, but do not when plugged by nerves.

I-I'm addicted? I need to sleep more. It's healthy, they say. It's fun.


When was the last time I had fun?


The more I see the light, the more I hate it. I bring the shutters down. Relaxing. Freeing. Pink flower keep falling. Peach flower keep shimmering. How come I never thought of it before? Now back to sleep. Wait, I can't sleep anymore. But everything's so festive. Are the photos not alive? But they frequently chatter. To me. And you---no me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Branded into these pixels of prizes and sporks full of dramatic dressings. What is meaning again? I kick the blanket out of the bed. I threw my pillows on the other side. It's hot. Everything's so hot. My air conditoner is on max---what's happening?? No, sleep!

It does not take long for me to gasp for air. I keep denying it but it is always in the back of my mind.

The only answer is to get out.

I try by slowly lifting my legs and down to the floor. Do I really? Now? This is the only answer. I repeat thrice. I'm getting old.

A wind caresses my cheek. I forgot I was even in a house.

Dream's over.
🏙🏙🌃🌃   This is what I felt in the early years of using social media. It is like a constant depersonalization and derealization.
Olivia Kent Jul 2013
Annie Chapman, the maiden Smith,
******* daughter of a soldier born,
Parents entered joy of wedlock,
When ******* girl was still a baby.

Got married herself in 1869,
Had three children sweet,
First sweet daughter Emily,
Captured by meningitis bug,
Stole their eldest gal away,
Second child was a lad named John, born tragically disabled,
A third daughter born 1884 who ran away with the circus seeking some fun, when grown.

Marriage crumbled,
Due to sorrow,
Loss of daughter,
Destroyed all tomorrows,
Son was put into institution,
So they could not go on,
Drifted apart on a tide of drink,
Only way not to think,
Separated fell apart in 1884,

Lady 'Annie', with sorrowful heart and hair of brown,
Known as 'Dark Annie'
Maybe because she wore a frown,
She was the victim blessed with civility,
Until the drink contorted her,
Bending her mind,

Early as the daylight rose,
She had found a dark haired fellow,
Wearing deerstalker,
Maybe a friend of Holmes himself,
Although it's sadly doubted,
Probably a client, looking for her wares,

Body slain, lain on the floor,
Not far from her gate,
Throat slashed, viscera scattered around,
Coating her shoulders , with blood spattered dressings,

A neckerchief in situ,
Had he maybe provided a most unpleasant gift,
No financial donation for this poor lady,
Asphyxiation for the lady, she didn't take her daily pills,

Queer perhaps,
Her murderer knew what to do,
Maybe vile ****** man was medical in origin,
Some speculation hinted,
The ****** weapon was an autopsy knife!

This is the story of the second Jack the Ripper victim.
By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Mike Bergeron Nov 2011
I want to react
But the act
Is getting too real
To enact my plan
To realize
My plan
The plan I have.
I have it.
Don’t believe me?
Me neither.

But that doesn’t
Make that ether
Disappear,
It doesn’t matter
If its clear
It’s still fuzzy
It’s still fuzzy
Where’re all the details?
You’re spinning tales
And I’m spinning
Towards fails,
Two more
Allowed before
The fall
It will come if they
All bring it about
If it comes around
Who am I to give
The go around
To the go
Ahead sound?
I’m not.

Neither are you,
So let that **** flow
And glue your ears shut
And trap itself in the
Negative space
And remember
Remember always
The face
That belted
The sounds
The notes
The subtle hints
At doubt
And expectations
That pass
Without
Fruition.

Lead me to perdition
Yellow canary
Fly fly fly
Out of the sunken
Black lung
And spread the
News when
You return
To confuse me
An olive branch
A laurel wreath
And an infant’s hand
Held in your beak,

I command you to speak
Of flying free
And color
And sun
And the hate that breeds
Within the youth
That believes in truth
But sees the vultures
Feed at the kissing
Booth
On young ladies
And beaus
And constant flowing
Prose
That’s just babble
Cuz no one knows
What that rabble
Really holds,
It’s not gold,
It’s not happiness
It’s cold
And happening less
Often than the
Human breast
Can use to soften
The hard day’s
Unrest.

Let’s
Build a coffin
Of wedding dresses
Cuz I’m coughing
And these dressings need
Changing
But the nurse isn’t coming
Even though
The alarm is clanging
Away above my door
But its so easy to ignore
A sack of flesh
Waiting to die
In their Sunday best
In a hospital bed,

With fluorescent
Lights
Illuminating
The dead
We gather in parlors
And iron our collars
And say how much we
Will miss
The missed,
But what will we miss?
The memory of a kiss?
It’s a memory
In the contemporary,
It takes time you see
For it to exist and
For my brain to be
Stimulated
By the bliss
In me
You instill
But still I’m in
Too deep
I don’t want to keep
Losing this much sleep,
It’s not good
For you

To see me
As you do now,
Towelless
In the bathroom
Powerless to
Escape the vacuum
Of the drain
In the middle
It’s dark when you look
Through
But you know where it
Goes?
A river of ****
That flies through pipes

Like this river of **** I
Write that
Flows in through
Your eyes
And out from
Your shoes
Into the sky.
Lol.
Rob Jan 2014
How can a hollow ache?
Or a poet write?
When the part that felt is cut away
Excised with a razor of reason
Bandaged with the dressings of the Sensible
To be healed, so it is said, with time
Yet like the morbid curiosity of the child who picks at the scab
Or perhaps more akin; the itch of an amputee's phantom limb
There is still an ache
How can that be so?
How can a hollow ache?
Or, come to that,
A poet write?
RD © 2014
Michael R Burch Mar 2020
A Page from the Deportation Diary
by Wladyslaw Szlengel
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I saw Janusz Korczak walking today,
leading the children, at the head of the line.
They were dressed in their best clothes—immaculate, if gray.
Some say the weather wasn’t dismal, but fine.

They were in their best jumpers and laughing (not loud),
but if they’d been soiled, tell me—who could complain?
They walked like calm heroes through the haunted crowd,
five by five, in a whipping rain.

The pallid, the trembling, watching high overhead
through barely cracked windows, were transfixed with dread.

Every now and then, from the loud, tolling bell
a strange moan escaped, like a sea gull’s wailed cry.
Their “superiors” watched, their bleak eyes hard as stone,
so let us not flinch, friend, as they march on, to die.

Footfalls . . . then silence . . . the cadence of feet . . .
O, who can console them, their last mile so drear?
The church bells peal on, over shocked Leszno Street.
Will Jesus Christ save them? The high bells career.

No, God will not save them. Nor you, friend, nor I.
But let us not flinch, as they march on, to die.

No one will offer the price of their freedom.
No one will proffer a single word.
His eyes hard as gavels, the silent policeman
agrees with the priest and his terrible Lord:

                                  “Give them the Sword!”

At the town square, dear friend, there is no intervention.
No one tugs Schmerling’s sleeve. No one cries:
“Rescue the children!” The air, thick with tension,
reeks with the odor of *****, and lies.

How calmly he walks, with a child in each arm:
Gut Doktor Korczak, please keep them from harm!

A fool rushes up with a reprieve in hand:
“Look Janusz Korczak—please look, you’ve been spared!”
No use for that. One resolute man,
uncomprehending that no one else cared
—not enough to defend them—
his choice is to end with them.

What can he say to the thick-skulled conferer
of such sordid blessings?
Should he whisper, “Mein Führer!”
then arrange window dressings?

It’s too late for lessons.
His last rites are kisses
for two hundred children
the wailing world “misses”
but he alone befriended
and with his love, defended.

But dear friend, never fear:
be absolved by a Tear!

Wladyslaw Szlengel (1912-1943) was a Jewish-Polish poet, lyricist, journalist and stage actor. A victim of the Holocaust, he and his wife died during the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising. Janusz Korczak (c. 1878-1942) was a Jewish-Polish educator and children’s author who refused to abandon the Jewish orphans in his care and accompanied them to their deaths at the hands of the Nazis at the Treblinka extermination camp. Keywords/Tags: Holocaust, poem, Janusz Korczak, Wladyslaw Szlengel, children, orphans, Warsaw, Treblinka, genocide, ethnic cleansing, racism, antisemitism, intolerance, injustice, ******, horror, terror, Nazis
Byron May 2013
I met you in the night.
And a Danish prince came.
He a rolling dream. Us a waning curve.
My blood boils to a grand hall. Russian dressings on the walls.
Lucid and incarnations, say surreal: advantageous.
As my grandfather grins from a good, far away.
And in spots of light we sleep among the hills.
Lawrence Hall Nov 2016
Pupils Fixed and Dilated

He was not permitted to die in peace
The only mercy granted was release
From fear, and mortars falling from the sky
There was no possibility of saying goodbye
And the river water stank, as did the night
His end was as flickering as the light
Pale gaspings, a fluttering pulse, dead sweat
D5W, battle dressings, and yet
The only mercy was in his release
He was not permitted to die in peace
Wake up, wake up, from deep slumber,
waits the land, for warming up,
beneath, hold its hidden treasures,
push forth, proud heads erupt.

All dance and kiss spring morning,
colours wave in gentle swale,
purse their lips, all delightful,
nectar scent ore hill and vale.

Flora fauna finds its rhythm,
young arrive on nature’s breast,
a touch so fine, enchanting wisdom,
behold majestic, times request.

Hearts are rising, cobwebs lifting,
hopes course through a brighter day,
eyes are opened, more observant,
her dressings for this growing phase.

This emblem flies for minds impression,
paints a picture for all to see,
kissing spring in all its glory,
igniting energy, pure simplicity.
Ginamarie Engels Jan 2013
He said "don't shut your eyes, don't close your mouth, don't hold your nose, this is what life is all about"
Start waking before sunrise, count your blessings, enjoy your favorite salad dressings
Count the sheep before you sleep,
Repeat positivity before you weep,
Make decisions with no regrets,
Chose choice C on every test,
Don't hold your nose, don't close your mouth, don't shut your eyes,
I was told once, I was told three times, "keep your head up, don't stop trying".
Damaré M Sep 2013
History in the making 
We make history because our love isn't basic 
Basically we're going to grow branches on our family tree 
Just to clear up any historicity 
And/or animosity 
You know what's catastrophic? 
Love isn't logic!!!
So you can remind yourself 
But if you don't align yourself 
You can find yourself by yourself 
So look what's behind yourself 
If it has always been your fault 
Then shift in your ways 
And hope that you can escape the aftershock 
Enough of the lessons 
Back to our blessings 
We can travel a thousand islands 
Or we can live on a ranch 
And for our dressings 
Vests and dresses 
Suits and knee-high boots 
Overalls; we can be free as the nevertheless too 
That's artistic **** 
I'm a simplistic dude 
Simple beauty is what I'm into 
Your mind and your organisms 
Your smile when your stomach tickles 
The way in which you sneeze when your nose sniffles 
When you're coughing you always act like you're headed to your funeral 
Then I have to tell you to stop being so dramatical
Love and history is grammatical and non-fictional 
It's true 
So truly historiography should only be studied by those who love biology 
The study of life and living things 
Human beings with cells and rib-cages
Meant to lock themselves up with attached strings 
To shoot bowing arrows
Loving each other all the way down to one another's bone-marrow 
She said I'm gonna miss you so I used my thumbs in act for tissue 
Our love will be on the cover of the book of love, volume 1 the first issue
Nat Lipstadt May 2016
Pushing out the daughters of older woman words...

~
it's almost May Day,
and the only niece,
husband towed,
all to a springtime glorious
drop by, dinner come,
......and there is poetry in their expectant eyes

a pronouncement,
predecessor to an announcement,
spring blessings uttered over melting smoked mozzarella pasta,
sweet balsamic fruited salad dressings of
of the unripened fruit of newer life,
seeded, deeded and coming,
soon enough

we act not shocked,
shocking them

oh yeah,
we figured dropping in sudden,
needed a really good excuse,
and a good one,
a new life,
a **** good one

old man granddad and now sooner
to be dubbed grand uncle'd,
children bejeweled cherry garnet carbuncle'd,
decorating his
red cheeked face,
redden a happy heart,
duly recorded, his thoughts,
twine cord wrapped and delivered,
4am punctual

we toast with three wine glasses Spanish Malbec,
one just air-filled, sorry Charlie

we all review the rules,
garnered from our
personal histories,
lore and the gore and the endless more
of raising children,
stanzas that never rhyme quite the way you planned,
and blessed is that good enough is
plenty good enough

am I excited, they inquire?

long pause, no, not excited,
thoughts quiet, paused,
words needed,
and in time,
drafted, recruited

something different,
more pleased in a way,
that comes so rarefied,
a distancing sense from the normalcy of life,
the taste
when life's hard work.
is justified,
yes,
justified

~~~
may first four and twenty ante merry-diem
4:21am 5/1/16

a spring blessing!
Yes I am, and this is my stature.
I’ve acknowledged humanity‘s expansion and extention.
The burden of proof is theirs and not on me,
To disprove me or dismay me otherwise.

But I tell you I am.
Regardless of the exterior and superficial ,
Of the mere sight that speculate and perceive.
Try and pierce through the dressings and you’ll see.

Come and remember the bare fundamentals,
Of similarities that binds us as one of a whole.
Like an outcry for silence in a sea of angry voices.
That begs you to feel and listen without prejudice.

When wounded I feel pain, like the likes of many.
When happy I exalt joy, like a child’s cry of glee.
When hurt tears burn behind my eyes,
yearning to be comforted by someone who gives a ****.

I am because I am,
A mind and a heart that pumps the desire to live.
I wake with the same sun and sleep under the same stars.
On the same ground, same air, you and I try to survive.

I am you when I look in the mirror.
I am because what sustains me sustains you.
That when cut will bleed the same color.
So therefore you are the intricate and pure just as I am.
You, me, them, and the rest.
Denise Nov 2017
Before…

Before I knew you as Divine woman, I longed for your presence, In time i knew nothing could break our bond…

but that was before I knew you,

I know you now, and time is of the essence I was right all along, you indeed are my true sister. My confidant. I call you Mother.one of four souls highly blessed due to their grandfather's highly respected works through preaching the gospel humbly,
truly one of a kind, everyone loves their grandparents and deem them special. and I am no different,
To have known my grandfather Neo Garvin, is to have known what it means to be touched by an angel,
He and My grandmother(still young and beautiful as ever) chose to choose one another until death bid them ado,
The reaper comes to collect the souls of the ******,
God comes and gets his children, he sends special hands to aid in the process, he is always with me that i know is certain, unlike any other thing in this world, with every theory, every question,problem and solution is a percentage of dis-trust in it..
conflicting irony they call it,
how can you dis-trust and love, they are opposite.
we are made in God's image, we are made in the image of LOVE, does that mean perfection is granted to all those who are believers?
depending on how you see life ,
the pitcher there, do you see it as half empty or half full
what about your gratitude towards your parents how do you see that glass?
Would seeing the glass as half full when you believe it is in fact as empty as a sponged, squeezed?
just give it a  paradoxical shrug, these kinds of situations are difficult, but normal, bound to happen right?
God chose belief in my ordanement , redeemed aren't I ?
Redeemed until validated my the ticket holder of my life and heart, the judge of my doings, the criticism I openly accept, as long as it's through verbal or small practical eveyday spiritual acts . I accept that I am chosen for his kingdom, that his love has an actual warmth, sitting in a melting *** of the fireplace infused with the cold air knocking, like an unwelcomed visitor .
The irony sets in
we'd all had a good laugh at that, we'd laugh so hard and got it all on camera, I think we'd have a shot and one of those zestful family movies, we'd at least get a premiere on abc channel  and its got just enough of a zoetiec vibe for lifetime.
the dictionary's failed attempt at defining the depth and the vague imprint it left on my brain, torturing me to awaken from my cocoon and speak,
for my ancestors and the divine woman that is Deidra, Thee divine woman(along with the help of the divine masculine) who taught me to open my mouth if you've got something to say,
Who knew that those words were seeds!?
I studied her as she sewed them everyday religiously, even on the rainy days when life seemed to be in the midst of hurricane force winds, she watered that garden the best she knew how and to me it is perfection.I'd try to convince her not to worry about my garden so much that she'd forget to have her flowers bloom
The divine woman a natural incubator , genetically undeniable that we are the divinity this world needs. She knew of my reaping harvest and that it would grow to be my inner voice, that is love.I am wise
you know what zoetic means to me?
zoetic is the slashes against my back until the age of seventeen, i think zoetic are the beautiful dressings that hold us
capture us, in fear of  running off into something so beautifully damaged people might -pay more attention to the clown than the performance.
one of those and even the "non spitiual people",
what right did i have to be set apart from the world
an evolving theory that grows only in fondness and size of it's essence,
only air , unparalleled
you dare not have a speck of shame you, look in the mirror if you'd like but careful not to interfere with his creation, or its is a matter of time before your left like ...
adam and eve...
floating.
to have that privilege, to my mother

I imagined what our past-times would resemble, that you’d vacate my soul with a message, in times, I need, remember.

maybe it would be poetic, or wise in hindsight, something that’d force my mind to clear the mess in the backseat to make room for a new shotgun rider

an inquiry you leave me with daily, as our hands unmesh and I drift off into sleep, that is the only time you leave, and quickly appear as i awake, without you, How could i face the day?

A stone immortal you are, with no works of erosion, to seep through your cracks, your spirit un-touched, you are the concrete to my heart, unfinished knicks and knacks. i’d never put  youdown, divine in me tells me “reach for your crown, it’s time we take a break, I’ll never leave you but it is now my time, to clear the backseat and make way.”.

as i watch her tidy up the backseat moving chaos and fear into the far right corner, she hops in the back and sits where I can see her,

navigating me, acting as an GPS, divine in me I trust in nothing less.
Sailing Night Queen

He cast and she luffed, her trestles ablaze gently caressed on a breath of summer’s breeze,
Held spell bound she shimmered and shuddered in moons gaze
Her crown seized diamonds above in endless cosmic miles sprinkled with translucent dusts,
Across the scattered velvet horizon, as above so below diamonds flowed,
And emerald Aurora’s feasted upon a distant lonely night rise

Brilliant white decks and curvaceous bow, lovingly slicing glass voids below
Mysterious and silent, her hull embraced yins cool labyrinths
Her keel a perfect balance, dancing deeply down in sweet sea juices
Stainless rails glittered around her frame, dressings for a queens’ gown
Sheeting tight, he watched his love sail on smoothly, entranced by the endless sparkling void,

His body still,

── immortality is, love bound

© Arnay Rumens / AN T2014
I wish to capture the strands of Light with vials so they'll be saved
and check this hindsight soon
Minus the pensive view as faded memories
and Darkness ensue
Intruding on my current's gentle sway

Bottle my dreams into penny-roll seams
and relinquish the dismay
It's what pain lends that builds strong men.
...Or at least that's what they say

Now scattered dreams on tethered beams
that once held the lantern
Salvation
Now dressings all withered; rotted; decayed;
-to reveal  the
Condemnation

And all the while in your mind's eye
Hundreds of miles away
Becomes the grim smile's wail
Like a dim Firefly's tail
or a fawn's capricious trail sold
So bold on it's heel!
When dawn reveals what THEY wish to convey

And if the rustling; bustling; craven;
-musical trees silent cadence disappeared
and was prosecuted, now Jaded
It was taken on volition none of it's own
and it's coy, inspiring, jubilant ways have all long since faded
Evanescence in essence entreat
Reveals countenance's yield:
Asylum or "Haven"
sealed by the messenger Raven's eternal heartbeat

I'd be content then with malice's malady
Rotund with lust for how I have dispirited thee
Hope for one moment, one moment Just
to scrape at the rust and know I am truly free
I'd ask for my kin to photograph this moment
To omit any confusion
I'd hold it close for I cherish it the most
When THEY boast of the grand illusion

And the echoes of children
Fallen from Grace
Trapped in Rapture nefarious
Too precocious for having known
this Forsaken place
Living in the Age of Aquarius

-Christopher  J. P.  Polizzi
November  5th, 2014
9:34 P.M.
government, rebel, liberal, America, rapture, apocalypse
Maxim Keyfman Oct 2018
the mountains follow me follow the mountains
the mountains come after me along with the water
along with the lakes along with the rivers
with fish and people and dressings
and ships and pirated and soulful
and love and all sorts of similar

paper airplanes fly in the sky
like my brains and not mine like light
my and not mine as my darkness and mine
but do not forget that my self
that's all my eyes have seen and read
hence I am sand and grass and mountains
and mountains and lakes and you and people
and everything and everyone

18.10.18

— The End —