How can I recall the past? when I can’t even remember your face, I can’t even remember your voice.
All I've got is your jewellery box and your writing in chalk, probably not worth a lot.
I save the box for the moments of loss that feel like I’m scraping nails down a wall with no foothold.
Within the lining I can, if I concentrate, recall your scent. Sometimes I open up your old lip-balm and wear it sparingly. Loose as it may be, it’s as though you’re reality and touching me.
Emersed in these moments, I forget, you’ll always be someone I never knew.

She never wanted to be a Mom,
and now her life is nothing but wrong;
What will she tell everyone she knows,
maybe she'll wait until she shows?
~
The Fetus who slumbers in her Womb,
one day will be running out of room;
She must Abort this one in her,
for shame she simply can't endure.
~
She makes an appointment at the clinic,
know one must know, no one must see;
She arrives the next day, still so unaware,
that her Fetus is growing, lots of hair.
~
They lay her on a Hospital bed,
where soon the Fetus will be dead;
The Doctor inserts a clear, long tube,
where it wreaks havoc, within the Womb.
~
The baby moves away from it,
it feels like she has just been bit;
Upon her face, there is a scowl,
it's much too late to turn back now.
~
The hose clamps on to her very, small hand,
the Fetus can't cope, nor understand;
It pulls the hand right off the arm,
yet Mother thinks she did no harm.
~
Next it grabs onto her hip,
and her tiny leg begins to rip;
Emersed in pain, she pulls away,
she'll not live to see another day.
~
At last it latches onto her head,
the heartbeat stops, this child is dead;
She smiles, her reputation intact,
a conscience is one thing she lacks.

Forget it...and forget you for even trying to think you could out run it. You can't handle this shiit nor can you hide from it, should probably quit or at least tone it down a bit, it's starting to get a bit pathetic.
It's already got you, it owns you, I told you. If you are hearing this then it's too late, there's nothing you can do. Sorry not sorry, can't say I didn't warn you. It don't matter if you believe it or not to be true.
It doesn't need you to accept it or to co-sign, it'll provide proof of what it can do in it's own time, in a lone rhyme that sends chills through your bones, directly down your yellow spine
Fuuck, they like to say they're just words but are they? These are like sticks and stones that break bones in a unique way, blacking out your heart and steal your soul away and it starts today...

...with me sitting here writing fear like a smear campaign, an assault on your ear that's so sincere, so severe that it'll appear to adhere to all you hold dear like an unwanted souvenir, make it real as the blood that'll smear from the front to the rear of my Chevy Cavalier from the people who use to be here but were met with the same fate as a lost deer wondering in the freeway just north of here. I know you can hear but have I done enough to make myself perfectly clear?

To make it known that I'm not one you want to mess with unless you've got a death wish, if you want to rot on your own cot in your own personal grave plot I've got the perfect spot to lay you down, plant you in you're own ceramic flower ***, but then I thought I oughta bought a big enough plot of land to lay down all who fall from this onslaught, a verbal Juggernaut but you can still come at me and take a shot if you want

And if you do, if that's the case then by all means, name the time and place cause I prefer face to face, I have this twisted trait that allows me to demonstrate how to create a ****** case, how to keep pace and champion a death race, how to get CSI looking at a piece of cheese on the end of a string i placed under a milk crate after a wild goose chase, not a trace of evidence just a message on the back of a bookcase to further the foot race, so check your shoe lace, you don't want to trip up and fall on your face while running from a phrase like trying to escape your goth days, a ridiculous phase

I lay it out plain and simple, just one well placed word or thought out syllable that will cause a tsunami title wave ripple that'll ******* any defence like Clearasil on a pimple, not a complicated riddle unless you're the monkey in the middle. It'll sit a little easier if we can keep it civil after the acquittal, critical thinking will get you through the hassle, to the end of the castle to save the princess but that's not the end of the battle, the system we're in is not a Nintendo, no Atari with a wired joystick paddle, these words are the detergent just added, nowhere near the rinse cycle, one wrong move could be fatal, if you think this a fable you could be one of the ones to wined up on an autopsy table

But it's damage to your psyche not your body that brought you to one knee, words they said couldn't harm obviously do have that ability, I grip that knowledge firmly, hold on tightly like it's a master key, the bounty is set and out, don't try to flee, got your mind hazy, to foggy to see, no friendly face here, no card to get out of jail free, these words that flow so easy from me hold you in captivity and break you down slowly, fully emersed, wrapped in perverse words like a mummy, held captive in this verse like a dummy, a cursed hostage with no request for no money, no escape once I've got thee and test out my theory that clearly I can do just as much damage with word trickery as one could do with assault and battery or a quick slice of a main vain artery but with no evidence visually I get away scott-free

So listen with caution, this cautionary tale is not spun to further the friction, there's not a fraction of this that's fiction, it's just that I can't stop what's already begun, what's done is done, I've won, your defenses are broken, the threat was one not as obvious as a gun so you thought it innocent fun but the jokes on you son, as soon as you read the caption it was straight to the coffin, my words just happen to often be a little somethin' like Jason, Mr Voorhees on a couple ****** sprees, tape shows once the chasings begun it would do no good to run, a fusion of life and illusion to cause mass confusion and frighten to the point you die of a brain contusion, written in a way that there's no coming back from, fallen from grace, in continuous motion as you fall through the bottom of your rock bottom, a deep chasm, a dark ocean, it's going to be grousome but by that point I'm on to the next one cause I know the outcome, you were ****** from before you could even apply caution,  before you realized you should use a life line to call someone, its already become something that could never be undone, don't look for a cure cause I can assure there ain't none. There's no fun in the remedy so I take action to make sure there ain't one

©2023

I will write a story.
But it is not for you.
And nor is it for me,
but for the tide that goes in and out,
everchanging,
gaining and losing,
winning,
yet never reaching an end,
a ******, a finale,
spending its eternity just moving against the sand till its belly is rubbed raw,
but no pearls will be formed from this graize,
no beauty found in its torture,
only pain and sorrow and lost souls
and a mournful wind that sweeps and stirs the sea into a fit of emotion,
into a writhing curling mass which is lost to all and which all is lost to,
but nevermind, for we are on the land.

And so the sea is left,
forgotten by us,
as we live,
and thrive and jump and play,
left to its own ruin,
its own regretful demise,
maybe one day it will rise from the sand that rubs it bare,
in a wave of foam and fury,
to revenge upon us who turned our backs,
left it in neglect,
in disgust,
as we ran about in our wealth,
our bellies clean of wounds
hardly rubbed by sand,
who could have offered shelter from the winds fury,
or comfort from the abrasive grit,
and deliver unto the oceans wound
a pearl of comfort
so that it may enjoy the peace and health
which we take for granted

but then
what reason for us
of two legs
to interfere in such ruin
of a thing so different and seperate to our own
so far from us
and complete in its seperation
that we may forget
and by such slip of mind
enjoy our comforts
unperturbed
uncaring
for any suffering
or demise
other than our own.
so far it is, so far
and we would much rather stay in here
warm next to our open fire
than shift  to the rough stormy sea.
they will have to save themselves
it is not our cross to bear

But then perhaps I was mistaken.
It seems we are no longer on the land.
But emersed too in the ocean,
seemingly as endless as the pain with which it binds us
they are not so far or different as they seem
This story i tell, it is for you and me both,
but mostly for the tide, the pull, the current, the sea which has dragged us down,
and been dragged down by us
through our own lack of care and
our neglect,
is dragging us and together we sink,
drowning in our foolishness,
they are not so far from us
nor so different

We waited for them to be saved
as they drowned
if only we had stopped waiting,
waiting for the sun to rise,
to turn their water into air,
a mighty pearl to free them from the wrath of the waves
the wind which traps them in dispair
and now, in turn, us
we starve
stripped of our wealth
yearning to be back
by our fire
warm and safe
in ignorance
of their reality
and suffering,
Surely if we could go back, it would be different,
we would lend some wealth, our hand of glory
gift upon them a pearl
so they may not be so troubled
and we hear, as a whisper ripped from some time long ago,
on a far distant shore, in the haze of the sun;
*Nevermind, for we are on the land.

i burrowed into my bed
vowing i'd never leave
emersed in the warmth
of my comforter.
it felt familiar, somehow

i stared at the TV
the ominous glow of the electronic light
tattooing its images
to the backs of my eyeballs.
it burned,
but in an oddly comforting way.

my head sank back
into the fluffy pillows
that caressed my hair.
their touch felt intimate.

my eyelids drooped.
it was happening.
i was falling asleep.
finally.

my phone bings, a text,
focing my eyes awake
preventing me from
falling into my
dreams.

my hand reaches for it
my fingertips caress the cold glass screen
i take one look
and then suddenly
nothing's comfortable anymore.

"Vic I made a mistake
breaking things off"

my comforter is smothering me,
the TV is burning holes in my retinas,
the pillows are rock hard.

because on
june 25 at 9:34pm
i realized
nothing beats your touch.

We all know
That life isn't always easy
But what would life be like - if it were?
Without the Peaks and valleys
Life would be absolutely flat
How would we ever appreciate
A landscape ... Anything like that
Therefore my love my life
I'll take the highs and lows
Appreciating the very fact
That you want to be beside me
On a journey... With a destination now
Something I had always lacked
I'm not sure just where we're going
Or where we will be when we arrive
I just know the joys in the journey
As you... My passion...makes it a Joy   
  Just to be alive
So now we have wings born of a lofty heart
Where beats the rhythm of love
So fly with me now unfettered...
... Yet never far apart
Connected to each other ... forever
By  the things that we have shared
Happily emersed in the Eternal knowledge
Of knowing you found someone who cared ... really... really cared !

And I really do know...
... That you do.

(  in tiny hands  )

(       x       )
0     0
O
~ ~
                                                       we of the unknown quality

•        •

surely

( not you ! )

Emersed in the darkness of worldly deceit !!

//                    Surely
Your love

Is true !

Totally honest !!

                                                   ( Surely it is  )

••

When you think of those who are counting on you !!!

YOU WOULD NEVER PLAY THE

FAKE - LOVE GAMES !

|||

Little child takes your hand

"""""

Oh no

You would not betray

///

No oh no

He's counting on you

Not to play the fake - love games

Thoughts
Like weeds
Creeping in
Emersed in prayer
I call your name
Come back
Come back
Come back

strange is the range
of the moral high ground
when taken then forsaken
without a momentary pause
Often explained as simply
because
as if treason needs no reason
to be anything beyond embraced
while evoking
stoking
THE fires
of history
erased  
as if...
unseen  would mean never existed
When truth of facts
are subjected to constant attacks
they may appear ...
to disappear
like the boundaries
of a moral high ground
So... to wipe clean
leaving around you
all that is seen
whitewashed
and pristine
as a snow-covered valley
surrounding a
large and beautiful lake
where you are
walking along
on this fantasy ...this table flat plane
no footprints
seem to be
left in your wake
if this becomes the moral highground
you choose to take
I wonder what  will be the cost
when you realize that you're lost
or when
in that emersed silence
will you wish you could reverse time
take it all back
once you hear  the sound....of the ice ......go CRAAAAK!?