"hypothetically" poems
Enigma entity’s ethology entelechy as it relates to clairaudience clairvoyance.
Everyone has a personal futurity fatidic or existential metaphysique.
What we need is a universally acceptable form of id conclusion.
Unfortunately we can’t even agree on the social stigmatisms of ego’s expression.
We are relatively extraneous interpolations of adhesively practical extremity that succeed in a hierarchy of functionally integrateable forms.
There is no functional deontology, even though its visage would seem to portend cogently fecund probity for all.
We are not ethereally sublime, we are corporeally preternatural.
Objective is individual; obligation to each other is not a mandate.
Though many might find it inherently indispensible to some it impedes success.
The depths of debauchery this debacle ensues are almost intrinsically endemic to our race.
How am I going to get there becomes more important than ‘what are we fighting for’.
So, if there’s no unity of purpose how do we decide who we are fighting for.
Will it be good for all or lead to oligarchy and subjugation, the seemingly inescapable byproduct of capitalism, the inherent decadence of socialism.
It’s times like this that make me love the constitutional fortitude of Americanism.
Theoretically I have an inalienable right, hypothetically this leads to anarchy so I’m not allowed to mess with your rights.
This is mandate.
The republic for which we stand.
Mendacious tales of unity, not merely the obstinate tenacities of I, but also the cogent fecundity in the infamous we-ness of us.
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 6:04 PM UTC
He was a frat guy.
he spoke loud at the dinner table across the room and I listened
Someone touched him as a young boy
And daddy's expectations and denial of homosexuality fueled his sons speech
Speaking hypothetically about the colloquial term for jacking off two dudes at once and if that name increased quantitavely what then was the appropriate term for jacking off 100 dudes
His friends laughed
Aug 24, 2014
Aug 24, 2014 at 10:20 PM UTC
*November 29th, 2014
Dear Chris:*
I miss you dear, I'd like to say.* Though it's been six months, thoughts of you are here to stay. My words turn to putty and I wish to form them like clay because there's so much to you I wish to convey. I've been traveling and unraveling the belt loops of life, and striding through gliding on ice skates from strife. I don't know if still I can sing the same tune. Our dreams from the Bay have been vexing me; perplexing me since June. The ring you gave me has my fingers swollen like my head, just like a balloon! And I don't know if it makes me sullen to confess when you asked for my hand, even hypothetically, I was to be your wife complete with white dress. Somewhere along the line that dream has changed. Though I feel that this letter was written selfishly. I really must say.. All I know is that I miss you Chris, I have missed you since May.
-Adeline
December 1st, 2014
Adeline:
I was wanton and flagrant when your letter was received. I was bounding and bursting; hardly contained in my seat. Your familiar fragrance beseeching my heart's conceit, and in your confidence said that you're missing me. Until the usual silence declares again it's already half past three. Time to wash away delusions that are causing my hope to reek.
Still..
Certainly there will be another chance to hear from you next week.
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 3:02 PM UTC
I thought I had this sorted out
I thought knew what to do about
This whole me and you thing
But I was wrong
So, so very, very wrong
Because just a couple words from you
Has me hoping all over again
Even though I know it's an if-then
Tricky type of situation
If she never knows
Then we can still be friends
If she ever leaves
Then we can be more then friends
Like we used to be, hypothetically
If it all works out right
Then you will be mine.
Dec 10, 2014
Dec 10, 2014 at 9:28 AM UTC
Enigma entity’s ethology entelechy as it relates to clairaudience clairvoyance
Everyone has a personal futurity fatidic or existential metaphysique
What we need is a universally acceptable form of id conclusion
Unfortunately we can’t even agree on the social stigmatisms of ego’s expression
We are relatively extraneous interpolations of adhesively practical extremity that succeed in a hierarchy of functionally integrateable forms
There is no functional deontology, even though its visage would seem to portend cogently fecund probity for all
We are not ethereally sublime, we are corporeally preternatural
Objective is individual; obligation to each other is not a mandate
Though many might find it inherently indispensible to some it impedes success
The depths of debauchery this debacle ensues are almost intrinsically endemic to our race
How am I going to get there becomes more important than ‘what are we fighting for’
So, if there’s no unity of purpose how do we decide who we are fighting for
Will it be good for all or lead to oligarchy and subjugation, the seemingly inescapable byproduct of capitalism, the inherent decadence of socialism
It’s times like this that make me love the constitutional fortitude of Americanism
Theoretically I have an inalienable right, hypothetically this leads to anarchy so I’m not allowed to mess with your rights
This is mandate
The republic for which we stand
Mendacious tales of unity, not merely the obstinate tenacities of I, but also the cogent fecundity in the infamous we-ness of us
Nov 9, 2013
Nov 9, 2013 at 7:25 AM UTC
Milked and Pasteurized in infancy
I come of age and choke on the breast I've suckled and wrung.
Explore an open door of opportunity to meet the man who settled the seed.
Disappointed to find only horses, cracks, and neverland keys.
Recognize a social scheme of getting in, getting off, and moving on.
No longer ignorant in bliss,
Apparent to me that daddy left and all that's there is mother mirage.
She's climbing a ladder to complicated bliss,
Pockets full of posies, pills, and thrills.
Mind full of confliction,
self-deprecating inhibition-
hypocritical actions to condone.
Bake a cake.
Make a mermaid sandwich to oblivion
Talk metaphors to your minion.
Fake a place.
Call it home.
Be the hammer in my stone, help me tumble n' bow to your throne.
Sold me sideways lies and theory
Hypothetically, it seems to me that $commission$ was gained
from blackened eyes and skinned up knees
Come to find the wrinkled hand that led me was none but my own.
Guess your conscious forgot it's name
Guess your soul forgot my name.
Careful Grace that saved a wretch like no one.
She's carefully steppin' around your toes,
She's gracefully getting tired of recreating this unreality.
You're a fuckin' rabbit in a hole.
Lit a match and you've lost all self-control
What breaks you makes you.
What takes you, stakes you out to come and **** you, fake you
Knock on hidden hills door to get more
Swallow the roof that disproves your critics
Keeps you loose and ******* the alphabet dry.
Swallow Cold Alphabet Soup. I try.
Feb 16, 2013
Feb 16, 2013 at 1:01 AM UTC
Let's say
Hypothetically
Someone was
Keeping score
And I had a
Perfect
Unsurpassed
Record.
In that case
There would be
Three hundred and twelve
Pieces of paper
Somewhere
In my house with
Five to thirteen lines of
Text on each of them.
And then suppose
Five and thirteen averaged
Out to somewhere between
Seven and eight.
Then do the math
And tell me what seven or eight
Times three hundred and twelve is
And then think about how
For each line of text on each
Sheet of paper
There is another
Sheet of paper in some
Binder somewhere
Or a pile in the righthand
Corner of my room.
And remember
I'm just one person.
And then think
About the butterfly effect.
Do you know
What happens
In the mail room
When you're not around?
Do you know
Who uses the copier
In the dead of night
Or the morning dawn?
Do you know
Where we go
When we
Die?
Or even
Why we're
All alive
To begin with?
It's sure
As hell
*(Or should I say
As unsure as hell
Because no one can
Agree on anything
Even a universal a
Concept as hell)*
That we're not living
To make paper
To print out our
Personal whims on.
And then think
About the butterfly effect.
Aug 9, 2016
Aug 9, 2016 at 8:30 PM UTC
A leitmotif of your average smug **** is a proverb here and there.
Spouting them off like the receptor has no care.
Their evidential naivety is blatant and almost impossible to bear.
As an audience member you can do nothing but hide your malevolence and stare.
******* in maxims that are apparently laced with benevolence and care.
You know the kind of oxygen waster I’m referring to.
The type of person that watches BBC 4 and likes tofu.
The kind that does the Financial Times So-fucking-Do-Ku.
Look I’m just saying that clichés annoy me.
I’m not asking you to love me, give me a reach around or employ me.
In fact you don’t even have to enjoy me as I tell you of things that matter not.
Suture yourself hypothetically to a geographically different mind. That mind being mine, oh that maverick-esque mischievous mind of mine, looking at this from my perspective.
In my transcendental endeavours to rid the clichéd ridden world of the afore mentioned adjective.
In the opposite of anachronistic times, we might successfully, surreptitiously rid the world of moral coated rhymes.
We can do this; all it takes is a few. One of which needs to be you.
Break out from being solipsistic, even the blind, the meek, the autistic, those that besmirch the edge of coffee cups with their lipstick.
Yes, I mean you. Here is what to do…
The next time someone spouts off a cliché, punish them, make them listen to an album by “Hearsay.”
If someone says “An Apple a day keeps the doctor away.” Then simply say, Steve Jobs had thousands and the here’s the definite answer, that consumerism inducer still died of cancer.
If a woman says “When I say jump. You say how high!” Don’t even cogitate to pardon her.
If the grass is always greener on the other side – shoot your ******* gardener.
Aug 24, 2012
Aug 24, 2012 at 8:03 PM UTC
-
you took a half of me that i didn't know i'd ever notice was missing the second you looked in my eyes and said my name like you'd always known you'd become my greatest tragedy, because you already read from the script
-
i was drawn in by your devil-may-care grin and blinded by an immediate want to be wanted
i fell in love with the way you forgot to be who you thought people expected you to be when you were with me
and when you were with me ( i could almost swear you loved me, too )
-
maybe my confusion grew on the midnights you'd call me and ask me to come lay with you- just lay with you, like i was the only thing that scared away your demons
or maybe it came about when you pressed tears into my skin on a day that was supposed to be about me but ended up being about you and, honestly, i didn't even care what the day started for
either way,
i would've let every day be about you.
-
you never apologized and, if i have forgiven you for anything else because you make me weak,
i will find a way to never forgive you for that
-
i can assure you no woman will ever learn to cherish you like i did
i'll let you live hypothetically, though-
even if one did, i promise you she'd never be able to care about you like i would have if you'd have let me
-
you birthed the meaning of two words for me in those winter months, words my father prayed i'd never have understood
i can sing songs of unrequited affection better than any skylark
and i'm learning to tack melody to a sonnet about healing better than any plant who's lost their sun
-
i wish i didn't miss you this much
Jan 23, 2015
Jan 23, 2015 at 1:04 AM UTC
Eyes closed, counting the careful sheep
Bounding over broken fences breathlessly,
Tired and unused to tripping over traps
Spared by the seconds sat in contemplation's lap.
Your lids, lying lushly atop layers of
Dark pools of depth, spinning splendid tales of love,
Trust, and heartache, I can truly tell today
Was a day of definition for words I wisely said.
Lips moving in silent rhythm, rhyming, I imagine, with words unsaid.
And as I assume the memories in mind the moment falls silent and dead.
A quip, perhaps, spawned by sentries of silence growing lax,
Falling in frequent motion to the floor - hypothetically, for I cannot ask.
Your sleeping state causes silence to spread and create
An empty essence in the heavy air around us
Birthed from broken intentions and misapprehensions
I had upon our meeting of matters as such.
Please, presume to sleep through my present departure
Deprived of arrows from Venus's archer
Allow my invading presence to avidly intrude
Once more, though his objection's mouthpiece does not move.
Lightly, so as to lay loosely upon the morrow,
I brush bold lips upon the brow pulled in sorrow
But whose silent reverie starts in sleepy surprise -
But, to my relief, falls back to oblivion with a sleepy sigh.
Brushing trembling tips of fingers foolishly
Across the air that passes on the lips
That burn with oxygen's contact with it -
I start when I see his tired eyes
Regarding me with scant surprise.
Those dark pools of infinite sorrow lay sight
On me, caught sneaking silent vows of affection,
And a blush engulfs everything from my eyes to my knees
On which his wary hand waits in his wakeful state.
Several silent moments descend indignantly,
And I dare to risk retribution for crimes committed
But to my sudden surprise I see a challenge in his eyes
And abruptly I am bound to the ground beneath him
And though I know once I stole a simple innocent kiss
He steals now from me my heart through my lips.
Feb 28, 2011
Feb 28, 2011 at 8:13 PM UTC
the first law of thermodynamics speaks: energy cannot be created nor destroyed
hypothetically, there must be some type of energy created between two people
though this winter has lasted a few years, natural vagabonds are asunder, seeking warmth
for years, we were condemned to search for that other half of us to keep us alive
we want someone who will grab our shoulders at the edge of a steep cliff
we want someone who will appreciate the small things, like drinking tea together
if our atoms bisect and travel alone someday, i want to know i felt that fear of love
that loss is the kindest of suicides, it empties the entrails which scatters through the walls
and the ribcage grows a garden of dead plants and a unlimited drought occurs
god knows when the clock will stop ticking in my chest and my soul goes west
-kra
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 3:16 PM UTC
If I were white, blond and blue eyed, with
long legs, ample ******* and sharp cheekbones...
Or
If I were icy cold, with hardly any soul, and
simply on a mission to use and discard all men...
Or
If I were a lot less chatty and far more witty, said
all the right things and didn't laugh so loudly...
Or
If I were really good at water-polo, swimming, sailing or
some sport, had mastered an art or multiple languages...
Or
If I were the kind to have casual *** and just move on
like nothing ever happened other than casual ***
Or
If I were more of a chase, played hard to get, and wasn't
automatically responsive to all and any whimsical...
Or
If I were not Me...
Would you feel anything for me?
Would you care?
Would you?
Oct 22, 2012
Oct 22, 2012 at 7:35 PM UTC
What is love?
Baby,
Don't hurt me,
Ha Ha.
What is life?
Old.
Past-question,
Death.
If you knew you were dead
Would you continue to go to work?
Like weeds,
Growing on corpses.
I didn't understand life,
I don't understand this.
This dream,
This dream in death.
Free will,
Does it exist?
I eat
Because I am hungry.
But **** am I always hungry,
I cut myself
Because it hurts,
And **** it hurts all the time.
Can't count the cuts,
I miss the blood,
The way it trickles,
But I don't always cut.
I miss making decisions,
Could word this hypothetically:
Like it was for the audience,
The ghosts of the dead that watch life.
Did they have free will?
To die?
To watch the entropy,
Do the dead souls experience entropy?
Oh audience!
I hope you appreciate
All the effort I make
To balance my thoughts for you
Or make them entertaining
Or philosophical,
That is, make it take longer to process,
That you may miss the next.
I write because the thoughts
Are bleeding out my ears.
Did I choose, Me, did I choose
To pick it up?
And have these black lines
Wrap around my neck
And softly choke me,
Forever.
A testament to silence,
For the ages,
Just letting nothing know
That I was thinking of it.
And **** knows!
If the nothing-forever
Could pick up my book
Even if it wanted to.
Silliness.
This self destruction.
Perpetual,
As all things are.
Inevitable heat death of the universe,
Revert to singularity
To explode.
Then let's do this again.
Christ.
What am I doing?
Pain perpetually?
Until when?
Is brief non-existence
The only reprise?
All I have to look forward to
Is sleep.
And ****
What is the ******* difference?
Between sleep
And death?
Aug 17, 2023
Aug 17, 2023 at 7:52 PM UTC
Second time's the charm
Oh, shame on you
We speak only hypothetically
The break couldn't be more concrete
It's hard
Hard as a rock
Placed between me
And this vacant space
They call ... you
Third time's the dawn
Oh shame on you all
Lover's hearts long to get home safely
But lately, it's chaos in these streets
Homie have a heart
I start to tell you
You're mine...
But you're not
But you are...
Til you're not
Broken poetry
Spilling from a lonely heart
No
I don't want to hold your hand
That seems complacent
With a void in your chest
Shouldn't there be room for me ?
Jan 24, 2013
Jan 24, 2013 at 2:48 PM UTC
Enigma entity’s ethology entelechy as it relates to clairaudience clairvoyance
Everyone has a personal futurity fatidic or existential metaphysique
What we need is a universally acceptable form of id conclusion
Unfortunately we can’t even agree on the social stigmatisms of ego’s expression
We are relatively extraneous interpolations of adhesively practical extremity that succeed in a hierarchy of functionally integrateable forms
There is no functional deontology, even though its visage would seem to portend cogently fecund probity for all
We are not ethereally sublime, we are corporeally preternatural
Objective is individual; obligation to each other is not a mandate
Though many might find it inherently indispensible to some it impedes success
The depths of debauchery this debacle ensues are almost intrinsically endemic to our race
How am I going to get there becomes more important than ‘what are we fighting for’
So, if there’s no unity of purpose how do we decide who we are fighting for
Will it be good for all or lead to oligarchy and subjugation, the seemingly inescapable byproduct of capitalism, the inherent decadence of socialism
It’s times like this that make me love the constitutional fortitude of Americanism
Theoretically I have an inalienable right, hypothetically this leads to anarchy so I’m not allowed to mess with your rights
This is mandate
The republic for which we stand
Mendacious tales of unity, not merely the obstinate tenacities of I, but also the cogent fecundity in the infamous we-ness of us
Dec 9, 2015
Dec 9, 2015 at 3:30 PM UTC
literate legends of the past
wordsworth, tennyson, shakespeare, poe
philosophers preaching wisdom
whilst churning words of woe
if born a century onward
their genius contribution
would re-direct thought
and our retribution
clever wit, used correctly
relays a message indirectly
be loud in voice
be strong in deed
plants that blosom
have nurtured seeds
learned men, with miserly souls
different values, different goals
hypothetically speaking, if resurrected
could this system be corrected
past vision blurred, future masked
the valley victim duly asked...
what make thee of my vale?
once vibrant, now lies stale
thine vale like a garment, tightly twined
sceptical of progress, wallow in decline
thy forefathers fester in premature tombs
martyrs to masters, grafted in gloom
thy dwell on the dead, thou should view ahead
though mystery of history must ever be read
tread forth with vision, or stumble ye blind
don't dwell on the dead, or land once mined
Mar 9, 2010
Mar 9, 2010 at 12:56 PM UTC
Chances I was given
in advance by the stance and at a glance
you'd guess I'm ******* in my pants
Because
I'm anxious shaking hands, my girl made other plans; how I'm handed an eviction to your acres, my land
not to mention I'm getting canned
an outlier under fire
cause a liar hit and ran
drove me off a cliff mentally
freedom hypothetically,
isn't tangible in the world of the meek
********
Jan 3, 2014
Jan 3, 2014 at 8:25 PM UTC
Like a viser I advise that you finally find your eyes
Peaked and bordered by a toque the sun cant stop to shine
Yet light obliviates eyeballs well adjusted to the rain
Can make the same eyeballs rise to re-perceive again
In this corporate quest investment is on par with love
Always carrying cash like a box of rubber gloves
Defend against the right to starve and strangle on the street
Gain the right to put a diamond right above my seat
Altercations alter authors read atop the altar
The Council of Nicaea building progress not to falter
Piling future thought like a towered Jenga game
Is funny *** it's true to say the atheists are the same.
Preachy ******** carrying Richard Dawkins in one hand
Sapping all that's holy from a gold block into sand
Crying because life is now a fight or flight response
A nihilist is just another ****** fanatic ****
A nihilist is the strangest
A suicide bomber using words
Making sure you understand it's worthless and it burns
Bombing every holy site stacked deep inside your brain
Proving that within this life you've got nothing to gain
He pretends you come from blank and end up there again
Forgetting that's impossible,
Hypothetically insane.
If we came from nothing, return to nothing
Where's all this from, then?
Nothing can't exist by implication, but we can?
When I say that everything is nothing
What I mean:
Is nothing is the everything that we all can clearly see.
Feb 9, 2013
Feb 9, 2013 at 3:27 PM UTC
My new novel
Is now available
On the online circle
Of Amazon Kindle
As a soft copy eBook
And as a traditional
Hard copy novel
It set it in beyond COVID19 days,
Read what I write as a PhD scholar.
I know that China modified it,
Naturally, CoV won't affect us so much.
China altered it in the Wuhan lab,
They made it a novel Coronavirus,
They called it nCoV19, ask why,
Because they engineered it in 2019.
My novel talks about it,
This sin is punished,
Not just by India,
But also by USA,
And everyone sane,
There happens WW3,
The Negative Axis powers are:
China, North Korea & Pakistan
Indian Army has HuSaVe's,
Human Safety Vehicles,
Robotic suits that the DRDO creates.
China copies them,
Removes the human part,
And makes GHOST's,
Global Human Omission Safety Transformers.
The story is built with a lot of action, some technology and a bit of romance,
A lot of red shades make the story, some blues for it and a bit of pink,
For writing it, I wasted not a microlitre of real ink.
Indian Army comes up with TASIP,
Terrestrial Army Soldier Improvement Program,
And the protagonist, Ravindra Thakur is selected to be one of them.
He becomes a genetically modified soldier,
The DRDO has a specialist scientist Dr. Malakar who does it with his team,
CRISPR-Cas9 is used to elongate all his telomeres,
And now he has stronger chromosomes.
Ravindra & his batchmates can handle extreme doses of hormones,
Adrenalin, human growth hormone and testosterone to name a few,
These hormones can otherwise **** people in such high overdose,
But his sixth sense is strengthened and even the seventh & eighth senses top with those,
You begin to read it and if you can't put it down, blame it on me,
Cross-references to my previous novel help bring your heart closer,
Yes, the novel is sci-fi, army, diplomacy and hypothetically viable too.
Jul 4, 2021
Jul 4, 2021 at 4:24 AM UTC
There are things we know
don't be wrong in traffic
don't **** angry hippos
don't traverse rickety stairs
these are things we know
we are aware, and refrain
There are things we don't know
yet are aware that we don't know
neutonian physics
slavic languages
origin of universe
these are things we don't know
but are questing for answers
There are also things we don't know,
things we don't even know we don't know
I attempt to reduce this category daily.
and plus
this category only hypothetically
exists, and isn't that true about
Anything?
Oct 22, 2010
Oct 22, 2010 at 12:09 PM UTC
Under the full moon after a twilight evening I light this flammable paper I rolled as I hark back to our faded moment in the back of the cab that night...
I lay shirtless on your marshmallow soft like thighs while you caressed my back with a rather fade a way shy but intentional touch which sent sensual chills down my spine
We were both drunk, me more than you trying to decipher if these were just my chimera postulation episodes or a series of real time occurrences? Whatever the reality, it didn't matter as long as you were here with me in this moment, I was at a tranquil state in time and finally.. I understood what it meant to hypothetically float in space..
But as the moon faded into the morning sun and the cigarette burned to the filter tip I couldn't help wonder if nights like this could last longer or when will we re-live these drunk jiffs as sober moments?
Oct 19, 2022
Oct 19, 2022 at 3:04 PM UTC
Hypothetically speaking
What if I never existed?
Mistakes would not be made.
Hypothetically speaking
What if memories of me would disappear?
Sweeter memories would be made
Hypothetically speaking
What if I never walked this road?
There'd be no need for a disappointment such as I
Hypothetically speaking
What if I was never born?
There'd be no need to live a lie
Hypothetically speaking
When I don't exist
let the stars and moon be the only ones
who remember
I was hypothetically here
Feb 19, 2018
Feb 19, 2018 at 6:43 AM UTC
The Breach Interpretation: Is a mild chemical defect, found on the losing side of painful guilt itself.
Making (or, causing) such troubling acts of kindness, the very rhythm (full of justifiable results...), on the biggest possible gimmick...that could ever be committed.
That's just a rough outline of the very interpretation (of "The Breach") itself.
But the Breach part, is truly insignificantly broken from the deep inside out....
The Breach itself however, fully adopts the very different struggles between both "what is right", and "what is wrong" (with one's own personal image, and their own personal struggles at large).
But that doesn't mean nothing should be any different, then when it came to how right that very someone's personal image was, and how awfully wrong their own personal struggles were...when they interpreted it into millions upon millions upon millions of different fragmented individual pieces, (of their own collection). (And that's just the tip of the iceberg, when you finally console the very dynamic realization, of eventually, coming to terms with the long acts of perspectives...) That then obviously shows that those millions upon millions upon millions of different fragmented pieces (with their very own different properties and meanings), because nothing is truly conclusive in ALL these specifics areas and points (of a system that has more to offer, then any other order of things which could tilt at ANY moment...) Revealing a mere simple reaction in their form upon an even simpler side-effect.
Which tips the balance of power...and creates the most unsteady order of chaos that could become either an unstable universe (that could hypothetically become "stable", anyways).
Or just another standard, simplistic, normal sense of self full of such logical wit, (or the smallest of components of each), could then finally define both each others strengths and weaknesses.
Once this happens, everything becomes much clearer, (of course with time).
And this very interpretation of ("The Breach"), can then become fully "self-established" towards just what truthfully surrounds this very Breach itself.
Nevertheless, things now become more founded upon.
(When once it was truthfully subjected towards an unfortunate one-sided enclosure that didn't know how to officially become as one.) Because it was simply missing its other half that was an entirely unknown placement that didn't know it even existed.
The Breach Interpretation is full of all sorts of unbreachable flaws!
But for how much is truly unbreachable...fully depends on the sorts of acts you commit towards.
That's entirely why, this very interpretation is fully masked by the intentions of either others, (or your very own, intentions).
Because in the end, intentions lie their way too victory!
And that's the start (not the finish), towards an act of serious possible violence...(that truthfully defies the very expectations...), of what The Breach...truly is!
Apr 30, 2021
Apr 30, 2021 at 10:24 PM UTC
Hypothetically
Would you take ya time to get to know me ,
hold me and teach me the ways of your body,
let me get to be all that you dreamed,
ya
ever waken wish and fantasy's,
Hypothetically
Could I be the one that changed
ya life
made you think twice,
must be nice to be on the outside looking in,
Wishing as hard as
I can to be the one you call ,
****
Can't you see me standing here,
waiting to dry all
your tears,
caress you after dark,
make you say my name ,
Hypothetically
Could you look at me
like that,
make
me smile right back ,
touch you like no other
& take you as more than my lover,
feel the rain falling on us
as we made love
in a heated rush,
Listen to your heart beat
as you fall fast asleep,
Hypothetically
walk with you & talk with you
listen to your heart ache your problems ,
your desires and
things that others can't see,
Could
you let me in even
just for a tiny bit ,
let me see whats it is that's
got me doing flips,
making me want you so badly
and
thinking of you constantly,
missing you when
I can't see you or touch you,
I want to hug you,
rub you and love you,
Couldn't
you
understand me
or the pain
ya causing me
cuz
your not here with me,
What
Would
you do if I told you
I know you more
than you think
I do,
If I could conceal
all that you went
through
so you wouldn't
have to show and prove,
Couldn't
you put up a
front and
act like your
in love with me too,
See
I been where
you been
a time or too
but
if only you knew..,
even thou I
asked
You all this,
What would you say
and do,
If
I meant it all this
in stead
of asking you
Hypothetically
????
(some times you just need to know!)
ALWAYS ME
AYESHAH
Copyright ©
Ayeshah
K.C.L.N 1977-Present YEAR(s)
All right reserved
Feb 4, 2010
Feb 4, 2010 at 7:53 PM UTC
I wish you believed these cracked bones, these arching tones, my so alones. I wish you saw my broken jaw, my tooth & claw, my obvious flaws. If you would listen to why I stay in bed, & to my cringe when the voices in my head sound, then I would tell you I am nothing, why I'm lost & not found. I would tell you that me, you'll never see, & I only live hypothetically. I am a ghost spirit, chained to this body, this ***** house all the girls frequent; they each claim the same identity & 'I' is a term they each invent. They speak in careful whispers & undo zippers & wonder why no one gives a **** They thrive in sequinned moonlights, unfought bar fights, & ponder where the day went. When things get rough I float outside my head, sit in the air, see the scene unfold; you think you speak to me, but you can't hurt me when I'm above you, friend to ceiling mould. The girls are masters of identity theft, & 'me'? Ha! There's nothing left. They love to push me into a dream; from there they rampage merrily. I thought I'd **** them, but it seems I'm live ill-vibe & bare-ily.
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 3:55 PM UTC