"dysfunction" poems
The failed seduction
by drunken discussion
and skunk fueled
consumption, leads to
a compunction dysfunction
suspended in animation
the digital tides
of expulsion
catapult me into a
an eschewing propulsion
and the limitations
of re-imagination.
As far as I was aware
I was imprisoned
in nothing more
than the realms of
Skype and FourSquare
but for the Feng Shui
of trapped energies
and google-mapped memories
adorning the locations
of complacent hallucinations
amid the dark fibre
communications
with a female
of Nordic persuasion.
The compliments and comments
and poems I sent
were lost to the myriad
of random intent
I was attempting to be clever
and metaphysical
she on the other hand
was PHD level
and psychoanalytical
ergo my metrical composition
was utterly lost
in a conversation
on metaphorical reproduction
and the magic and mysteries
of osmosis
and the application
of modification
by transduction.
The moral of this tale
- if indeed there is one -
is if you are going to Skype
with a mentally superior type
do not before hand
have a blistering
smouldering
grass pipe
with a flagon of ale
lest you be a
gibbering earthling
destined to fail.
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 10:59 PM UTC
The lizard approached
the beautiful tree..
made his play
you might say.
Started to climb
with such glee
intentioned to stay
all the day.
He then went limp
down he fell.
What had happened
no one could tell.
He was checked out
when he lost his function.
Found to have
a dreaded problem..
... called...
Reptile Dysfunction.
------------------------------------
The Lizard might have
stopped to See Alice
before the charge or his friend
Viguana.
(C) 03-2014. John stevens
Feb 26, 2014
Feb 26, 2014 at 5:53 PM UTC
I observe your flaws
Thought I wanted perfect after all the dysfunction
But perfect is ugliness I now know
Embrace the scars, weaknesses and out of the norms
I love to see them, see you as human
Brought back down to earth
But you're still in the clouds
Still bright shining
Saviour
Guidance
Goodness
Still perfect but not all the way through
& that's just the way I love you.
Nov 22, 2014
Nov 22, 2014 at 9:06 AM UTC
Head down inside the sink you tried
Sick as a dog you wish you died
Pick up yourself, no time for suicide
Rest your health, no need to do it twice
I think it's time for a new tattoo
Make it mine, The man you wish you knew
Make your statement that your love is true
No need to wait then for tomorrow to prove
Euphoria
Sweet Euphoria
Complete Euphoria
Euphoria
Sweet Euphoria
Complete Euphoria
Give me more of them endorphins
Happy chemicals keep me happy again
Fly away from zombie world and depression
Electro shock, lobotomy, dysfunction
Give me more of that legal stimuli
To enhance me to the feeling of being high
Step away from the world its all a bunch of lies
Tried to see it their way, can't say I didn't try
Euphoria
Sweet Euphoria
Complete Euphoria
Euphoria
Sweet Euphoria
Complete Euphoria
Mar 12, 2017
Mar 12, 2017 at 8:42 AM UTC
So I'm a little down.
So I'm not like everyone else.
So I'm battling something people don't know much about.
So I'm different.
So I'm "dysfunctional".
So I'm not from a traditional background.
So what?
Does that mean,
I shouldn't be allowed to attend my college?
The one thing keeping me going?
That I should be locked up in the loony bin?
All because my brain has become numb to some pain?
I've found function in my alleged dysfunction,
some traditions occasionally get broken.
Exceptions to the rules are made.
The world is full of suffering,
but it is also full of overcoming it.
So where do you get off,
telling me how to deal with something
you've only read about in your
guidance text books?
Where five minutes into meeting me,
that you feel the ability to dictate how I should go
about my life?
I've lived 20 years on this Earth
without your input,
sure, it hasn't been perfect,
but I've made the unconventional work.
I mean, ask anybody that actually knows me,
if they would ever consider me "conventional".
So don't sit there, and hide behind words like
"I just want what's best for you", "I care about you", "I'm concerned",
"Its your choice to go, but if you don't:
the police will forcibly escort you,
or you'll not be allowed to be in our college community."
Scoffing at the word community,
because whenever someone tries to use that word,
usually it is about discluding people, rather than including them.
"So, either be discluded now, by your 'choice', or by us making you.
All the while, literally 12 hours previous,
we had zero idea what was going on,
or even who you were. "
Seems like you really do have "my best interests at heart", huh?
Nov 8, 2014
Nov 8, 2014 at 2:57 AM UTC
The cranes flew and the city grew and what did I do?
put my head in the sand,
so I could no longer see the change that was happening all around me.
A land fit for heroes,city tycoons and wannabe Nero's and now't left in the stew *** for me or for you lot,
and how do you feel about that?
More money than sense and scant recompense for the builders who toil,who make the monsters that rise and eat up the soil, despoiling the land,more heads in the sand but holding out hands for that scant recompense.
Reconciling the bile in their throats with those city gent suits in their trilby's and coats and soldiering on until the earth is all gone.
A legacy indeed for them who would scramble in scrub land and grow things to feed the dysfunction of family,
what seeds we have sown,how defectively grown we've become and all for the buildings that greedily search out the sun,
somewhere up in the heights.
Oct 13, 2013
Oct 13, 2013 at 5:06 AM UTC
Dear Talia,
I don't want to be a tortured artist.
I don't want to be depressed and I don't want to be anxious.
Competitive sadness and disorders treated like accessories disgust me.
The world glamorizes mental illness, and I don't understand why. There is nothing romantic about being mentally ill just like how there's nothing glamorous about a broken wrist or a torn medial collateral ligament. There's nothing romantic about constantly being afraid that the world will fold in itself and **** you with it. There's nothing romantic about feeling like you could break down and cry at any moment.
This is the first piece I've written while being medicated.
I want it to be Christmas already.
The world dreams itself a halo, but can only attain horns. The halo is an illusion and the horns are an idea.
I'm due to take another Lorazepam. Would I look cool to the kids who idolize dysfunction and misinterpret pain as style, if I were to take one of these, with water and a distant glance, in front of them? Geez, to have their approval would to have everything and nothing at all.
I'm not sure why I've written as much about this as I have.
You.
It is 2:48 am and all I can think about, in this moment, is you.
I can't wait to spend Christmas with you. I can't wait to wear bad Christmas sweaters, and be the couple everyone hates, as we sing Christmas carols and spread holiday cheer.
I wrote this poem a few minutes ago. Sometime around 2:30 am. I'm not sure. I'm exhausted:
I sat on the edge of my bed, and on the edge of my life,
medicated to the point of pointlessness. Soft.
It was the nineteenth, not the twentieth,
and I wished I saw the fireworks with her fifteen days earlier.
My gasps tore the shingles off of the house.
And they hung suspended above the hole in the roof.
And God stared down into my room, as the shingles swirled skyward.
"I see you," I said, "but I don't believe in you."
I left home and ran until I was a dream that had passed itself.
I hope that was okay.
I love you.
Yours,
Joshua Haines
Jul 20, 2014
Jul 20, 2014 at 2:56 AM UTC
Home.
A single word can fill you
With a thousand feelings
And memories.
Some are warm, happy,
Fuzzy feelings that you enjoy;
Others... not so much.
Yelling, pain, insults;
Dysfunction, blame, guilt.
But "family" is not always
The same thing as home.
Sometimes home is a person,
Who makes you feel loved.
They make you feel wanted
And secure in their embrace.
They give you those happy, fuzzy
Feelings and light thoughts
On your dark days.
And you, my friend...
You are home to me.
Feb 25, 2017
Feb 25, 2017 at 2:44 PM UTC
Enter the designer:
*"Move gracefully while ties bind you suspended with 2 swords pointing at your throat
don't forget to show your fierce face while upside down and flopping uncontrollably
you must be my definition of perfection.
Now lose 5 pounds for my needle and thread cannot conform to your body!
It is my garment you must fit not the other way around!
Walk the catwalk and toss your hips to and fro, you are not good enough!
Chin down darling it is so much more becoming.
Oh how I'd wished you wore a shorter top making your legs run on for miles and miles.
Your plunging neckline becomes you since you have nothing up top.
Stick to greens mostly, a little mint and sage should spice up that lettuce bowl and drink nothing but water now I wouldn't want you to spoil the seams I've sewn for you"*
Truth:
Bone structures and pouting lips,
thigh gaps and protruding hips,
tiny waist lines and judding shoulders
You are Barbie, plastic as can be
you are a paper doll majesty
Dressing you up, dress you down
Don't dare grow old so don't let your hair down
There shall be no relaxing for you
From your high cheek bones to your flawless skin tone.
**Modeling icon of anorexia for generation upon generation
for little girls with dyslexia of the natural body image
Creating dysfunction in societies views
of what health and beauty is to all girls.**
Jan 24, 2014
Jan 24, 2014 at 3:15 PM UTC
Have you ever done something
and then could not believe
it could possibly have been you?
Have you ever said something
and then cringed when you heard it
exiting your mouth?
That would be me, sometimes . . .
Or, while mentally calculating
your accumulating grocery bill,
have you run into a friend
only to completely lose count?
I have stood in front of the door to my home
trying to lock or unlock the door
using the keyless entry fob from my car.
I have done this --- more than once.
I have, months after getting rid of that car,
searched for its keyless entry fob
on my keychain.
I have spent hours and days
searching for glasses on my head,
for keys that I was holding,
for the purse on my shoulder,
and have managed to miss them completely.
I have called information for a number,
written it down,
and then had to call them back
because I misplaced the number before I could redial the phone.
I have neglected friends and family,
duties and responsibilities,
not from lack of love
or sound intention,
but merely by allowing myself to be distracted.
If I had followed up
on what I knew at seventeen
whales, sharks, mankind ---
might already be saved.
Who knows what my focused mind might have accomplished?
But instead
I put myself to sleep
because the real world
was far too much to bear,
and living in books and dreams
so very much safer
than all the dysfunction awaiting outside.
I met my soulmate at twenty
and then left him behind
marrying one man,
and then another,
who never got me -
instead of the one and only man who truly did.
There's a reason that God protects children and Fools.
There's a purity of heart,
an innocence of spirit,
and . . . occasional lapses in intellect.
So, for all of the lessons I've learned and I've lost,
There are worse things than being a Fool.
Which I remind myself again
as I accidentally call my own cell phone
and then hang up my land line to answer the call.
In parting, I offer what I finally learned, which is
This above all:
To thine own Fool be true.
Cori MacNaughton
6Apr2005
Jun 17, 2015
Jun 17, 2015 at 12:54 AM UTC
Whenever I think of dysfunction I think of all of us together. What causes us to function is each other. We never function when we're all together.
If you looked at a picture of us you'd see fragmented faces and aching stitches holding up the frames of our smiles.
If you looked in my brother's eyes you'd see the red around the edges that tells you how much he hates it. He thinks he'd break the function if he let the blood spill down his face. He can't close his eyes, he won't blink, he won't make a mistake, he's so tired, he has to fix it, he doesn't know. He's still bleeding.
If you looked into the creases of my mother's smile you'd see that she is tired. Her smile doesn't know how to smile all the way anymore because the creases have to hold up everyone else's. They're growing weary and fading into a slant. You'd see that she's tired of holding us all together.
If you looked at the pieces of hair that fell across my father's face you'd see a few gray hairs. You'd see that nature took a few too many spins on his life and that things aren't going right anymore. His shadow is following him from underneath the ground.
If you looked at me you might say, "she looks fine."
I am fine.
I'm perfectly functionally fine in the most dysfunctional meaning of the word. I'm smiling, see?
Lies.
Lies make you appreciate the truth, but who wants a picture of a family in misery?
If we were never so broken we would never be this whole.
We never function when we're all together but we function because of each other.
We dysfunction together.
Sep 21, 2013
Sep 21, 2013 at 9:44 PM UTC
To be raised in dysfunction is to expect failure.
It is to expect every mans words to be rough and spiteful spilling from their lips like venom.
To be raised in a fantasy is to fear ones own reality.
It is to become acquainted to forms of love being shown as slammed doors and drunken slurs.
Gas lighting women to wonder if one day they will breathe or step the wrong direction
It is to expect everyone who claims that they "love you" to belittle you to strip you of your identity and your sanity like ***** clothes tainted by the fumes of their words.
And in the gaslighting, which burned very bright, you would have enough of a glow to paint the roses red.
Perfectly red, everyday they would have to be red.
Because to be raised by you
Means blood, and we are blood.
But that does not mean, I have to bleed, for you.
Sep 29, 2016
Sep 29, 2016 at 8:39 PM UTC
Women are often inspiration for beautiful things
For they are
Compared to stars, summer days and flowers even bird sings
This is par
For all these were made to entertain them
Created so alone would not be men
Not as servants but as equals
Better than the original, a rare sequel
Maybe we had it wrong
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Or shall I compare the day to thee?
In the end we find ourselves on our knees
Saying “take my hand please”
Ladies know your worth
“I’ll give you the world”
No you’re worth more than this earth
Find a soul it is forever
Here is mine, it is my pleasure
But do not take what is yours for granted
Knowing your own beauty you can become enchanted
Narcissistic
The forgotten poems of gorgeous destruction
Compared to cold, dark and other disasters the planet consisted
But without you there is dysfunction
So thank you for your contribution
It makes life beautiful when the world is blurred
When we lose sight you are our restitution
Our lives together in this institution of love
This beautiful constitution signed in blood
We can make forever our home
So no longer do we roam
For I don’t condone giving away what you own
But I would give away my throne to avoid sitting alone
With a look at how a man feels
Change your perspective
Take the chance to know him
Now that you’ve heard tHis stupid little poem
-My Words
Jul 17, 2018
Jul 17, 2018 at 9:17 PM UTC
Defining Lego Moment? What is that, I don’t own one!
Life growing up was unacceptable – it was chemical and dispensable
My life has never been a bed-and-breakfast - early childhood memories got me ill and susceptible
Tryin’ to find a good early childhood memory is like NOT passing “the test”, because I wasn’t in class. So I ask, what’s next?
Defining moments were replaced by worries and doubts, fears and shouts
My, oh my, why couldn’t I have been brought up in someone else’s house?
I’m just me. So why can’t anyone see I’ve got dreams I want to turn into reality?
I know, maybe I’m adopted! Oh, I could only wish that I belonged to a different home
So who knows, maybe I’m supposed to grow old in a world where survival is at the core of my bones
Future me, I hope that you see, I’m not like them, nor do I ever want to be “like them”
-----------------Fast forward to today ---------------------
I thank GOD for the life I was given and the road that was driven
I’m here because of those dreams which started out as fears - I’m what I am because of those years
I know that I wouldn’t’ be here if it wasn’t for those days of dysfunction and tears
I’m at a junction in my life - I’ve realized that my unction in life is an exponential function that shines like a bright light
My tears have been replaced with people who are sincere and true
I no longer have to worry about the black and blue, now I can simply wave ado…
So I chose to become not what I saw, but what I knew was right in my heart. I leaned on God and learned from stressful nights that choosing the road less taken was all part of this plight
And here we are today….
Now, what does this say, about me?
It says that I’m a child of Destiny, not a child of Disney
It says that I’m a child of God not a child of the Devil
It says that I am…
Predestined presently, sensibly created even though I didn’t come from the best pedigree...
Apr 9, 2018
Apr 9, 2018 at 1:52 PM UTC
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Dec 3, 2015
Dec 3, 2015 at 1:40 AM UTC
hands upon the door
to the cell phone store
I had an awful sore
in my heart and core
something I'm mad at
before the phone shat
something like ****
that some cat spat
so I rant at the gal
even her pal
and the guy Al
who give's a hal?
"The phone's inferior
Where's your superior?
I'll rip him a new interior!
You're all about exterior."
"Look at me when I speak.
or are you too weak?
Talking while you tweet
Look at me when you speak"
what's with this culture?
digital gone vulture
your phone like a suture
trying to mend the future
"Sorry if I got all hot.
Diplomatic I am not.
Had to rant and shout
get the dysfunction out."
"Your phone hurt my ear
The speaker on too near.
On this much I am clear
Your phone hurt my ear."
Jul 21, 2015
Jul 21, 2015 at 7:48 PM UTC
When I was twelve,
my uncle told me that
when I got older,
I would only have enough
"best friends" to count on
one single hand,
and they would be the
best best friends I'd ever had.
And I can count my five
best friends,
but they are not
my best best.
Because they tug
and twist
and ****
and pull
on my heartstrings
in ways that could make
a grown girl cry;
and they do.
So I can tell you the names
of my best friends
that rip me to shreds
and throw my heart
onto a floor covered in
broken glass;
and you will be able
to identify the names,
because they might be your
best best friends, too.
Wanderlust
the beast to slay them all,
pushing my desire
and reinforcing my disability,
reminding me that I have
nowhere to go
and everything to see
Disorder
in my bedroom,
in my essays,
or in my brain;
all of them causing
someone (me)
to explode in a fit of
unwanted emotions.
Apathy
Towards my schoolwork and
busywork handed to me
by middle-aged "can't-do-so-teach-ers"
that need a handful of capsules
to numb the pull to leave
just as much as I do.
Dysfunction
in my brain's chemical makeup,
and my family's emotional one,
not to mention the relationships
I attempt to handle like a
one-handed juggler.
Imagination
creating scenarios in my heart
that could never come to be,
leaving me in a perpetual state of
disappointment.
So now I will tell
my nieces and nephews,
sons and daughters,
or countless grandchildren
to never trust the ones that
try to make something different
of your heart,
because they don't really love you,
they love what the can make you become.
Oct 13, 2013
Oct 13, 2013 at 9:32 PM UTC
Across the span of fissures,
Marring a weather worn land,
Two, of The Elements toiled,
Splinters biting into their hands.
Air and Fire,
Barefoot and tired,
From opposite ends of the world,
Planks in hand, their journey transpired.
Towards the centre that was chaos,
That was disorder and fear,
Of what happened when the Elements met,
When they had come near.
Colossal the effect, Air fuelling Fire,
Fire enveloping Air,
The energy too intense,
Their bodies it sheared.
Thus, eternally wary, since
That time of Destruction,
They sought to overcome,
A life growing into dysfunction.
For a land remains empty,
Without fire to be the Dark's fall,
For Air in an empty land,
Gives life to none at all.
Thus they build,
each passing step,
A fence with sins inscribed,
To remember the sacrifice.
To understand what they were,
When coming close would not hurt,
When they could let live in peace,
Instead of driving the world into the dirt.
Aug 19, 2018
Aug 19, 2018 at 9:03 AM UTC
#
A fine mist filled the room
the moment she began singing
Covering my presence;
concealing all that is congenital
in me
*--and the years and years and years
of my family-laid, dysfunction..
Of the harm, inherent in me
Of the damage to her Beautiful-Everything
I can do..
(Things are not OK
when my war-torn D N A
comes into play.) .....
I open the door and walk into the room.
Small fingers slowly sliding off of keys
as her glowing face falls,
now turns ashen*
An instant, Ichabod-like undoing
turning Steam, into stone..
*And still I reach for her;
the thin fabric of her dress
the only barrier between us--
..keeping the oils of our skin
from blending together
(the angel closes her eyes..
as the Glory that was hers
is now hiding in the corner
of the room)
I am weeping now--
This beautiful Lovedream..
This one perfect chance
since the day I was born;
For my deeply-protected spirit
to intertwine with that
of another..
Over the keyboards I reach
as I press myself to her..*
there is a danger here..
*--as much for her
as there is for me.*
Through the tremble,
I am so incredibly
uncertain
*Yet still I gaze at her--
consumed, by Spirit-crave.....
(Small hands slowly
reach around me..
Those beautiful orbs, for eyes
staring, so intently--
..A cherub-like face
around me, peering..
--Those eyes now closing
As gifted fingers on keys
bring forth the most perfect
tune.)*
And suddenly
a whole world, treacherous
becomes immediately safe.
#
Jan 3, 2023
Jan 3, 2023 at 12:39 PM UTC
no
of course not
a disease is a disorder
with symptoms and signs
an internal dysfunction
a...
disturbance
in the design
No
I am not infectious -
I touch this boy so,
and see!
He is still a normality
A ******* fiend
An hourglasss devotee -
I am not foodborne, no,
Unless you count
the macaroons
pistachio green
and lemon too,
what a taste
of boyhood,
schoolboy blue
I am not acute,
a one-time sneeze.
I am not
a short-lived
Green coughed
wheeze,
I am not
the plunger in your vaccines -
I am the pistol red and glitter
in your
genes
May 19, 2015
May 19, 2015 at 9:21 PM UTC
Dysfunction and happiness
Don’t usually go hand in hand
But that describes you and I story
The wise-man n’ Elle, a soldier n Simi
A bad-ass movie in a broken DVD player
More than ever our thoughts burn hateful
And deep in our souls, the will begets cold
Sealing us close and everything left to feel
An illusion of end that tarnishes our peace
Cleaner we walk and little by little we lied
We each run a race to attain the crown
I, the heir of Christopolis: a half man
A king with no kingdom – a danger
And you: heir of feline, an anger
A shy queen with no freedom
With no changes - so I ask myself
Is this a sample of psychological fraud
That people uses sensual relations n’ beliefs
To sway their cause to others; positive or not
Let us redeem your soul n’ gleam thou purpose
Sell me thou beauty for luxury n’ fame, she says
But the boy had his way with words: he opposed
Curiosity is dangerous n' assumption is powerful
Staring within her eyes with an abominable face
He turn n’ stormed away with grace n’ disbelief
Struggling not to outcry in compelling dismay
Twas nice to desire, but hers is not a proper
Piece of human sexuality; a noetic disorder
The lesbians and gays - the political tool
A change in the city, a proactive lie
That errs up as Satan - a musical fool
First he sings: “I bring peace and wealth”
Next they proclaimed: “It is a Human Right”
Another piece of the puzzle of human sexuality
But so the Book quotes – an abomination I hate
“No man shall have intimacy with another man”
Let’s not rearranged n’ be lost – it cost our health
For war is better than the choice of homosexuality
They know they are doom, so they tend to mislead
Some sit in shelters n' compose fraudulent grants
Lies, patriotism n’ tradition to keep society inline
For as long as they can, so afraid to lose control
But wealth and health must go hand in hand
For we are more of a lion than the least
Quite divine and above every beast
Jan 8, 2019
Jan 8, 2019 at 11:56 AM UTC
I don’t love being wronged but my love still beats strong!
I don’t love to exercise
but I love being fit and alive!
I don’t love sour grapes,
but if they’re good for me
I’ll take a plate.
I don’t love death and Gore, and I surely don’t love war, But I do love a strangers smile, won’t you come and sit a while?
Feb 14, 2025
Feb 14, 2025 at 9:33 AM UTC
Illegal aliens,
Holy and blameless
Invade from planet dysfunction
Land at our border
From their galaxy of failed Latin states:
Narco-thugocracies
Feudal kleptocracies
Where the girls get knocked up at 15
And illiterate drunks get macheted
on saturday night
Then go to Mass in the morning
as litter blows
through graveyards.
They will enrich us
with their diversity.
Jan 3, 2019
Jan 3, 2019 at 10:28 AM UTC
there were things
i had never imagined
i would understand
be; experience
and gape bemusedly at my
unbelieving ambiguous eyes
in the unnoticeably clear
smiling mirror of the bathroom.
things such as
being a creep
the creep whose wandering eye
wanders just a wee bit longer.
A microsecond length of
the not-understood, the suspicious,the dubious
the curious sometimes,
but really mostly nefarious lunatic, perhaps...?
the creep whose teeth clench into a
smile.
the lips parting
but only
Mendaciously...perhaps..?
the creep who peers into me
like a god
scouring my precious little secrets
my hurt points,
my loci of scandalous innocuous things
meant to be inside of me
for my self.
the creep who infringes
on my warm bed
of Safety.
***
********
erectile dysfunction
sneer
******
*****
me
father
mother
weirdity
all the complexes
that make you Feel
like a spider
whose web is shattered with
but an uncaring finger.
power.
Uncaring Callousness
terrifying in it's brutality
intent ,
and things beyond .
the creep peers in.
but i was only trying
to make friends.
a bit too hard , perhaps...?
oh the creeps of the world
i understand thy plight
the fact that you never understand
what you are
doing
but only after it has passed
that the black hole irises
of un-understanding visages
come to you
to inform you
that you have been
a creep, the Creep.
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 1:07 AM UTC