I decided today to sit back
And take a look at my life
Not only from the out
But also from the inside

Like an innocent bystander
I'll take myself a gander
And what it is I find
I'll set it down in rhyme

I notice when I do look on the out
I'm always quick to throw out a smile
Pretty much all of the while
I guess a smile is just my style

The in is the one quick with the wit
That's one thing I must admit
Sometimes gets me into the thick
When it really comes down to it

For the inside to come clean
I must mean what I say and say what I mean
There's no doubt about them there beans
I hope you know what it is that I mean

I'm never much serious about
Anything life has to through out
I do love to clown and joke around
Hang with me and that you'll find out

But it's not always all fun and games
As the outside of me deteriorates
But that my friend is all of our fate
As the older we get and our hour is late

I look at the outside of me
And see an old man in the later degree
But in on the in playfully
Is the child still inside of me

That's pretty much who I am
Living this life the best that I can
On the inners and outers I'll play my hand
Wherever I tumble, wherever I land

So this is what I've come up with
When I took a look at my life
Not only from the out
But also from the inside

The truth is, I’m not really sure who I am.  She told us to draw ourselves and then to draw our souls; so I drew my face scratched and uneven, just as I’ve always seen it, and frowned at the result both in the mirror and on the paper.  The only soul I’ve ever really known was the one that shone through the strokes of the keys I punched, the scrawling of ink on paper in mismatched arrays of awkward thoughts, disorientated and unorganized, shaded different spews of emotion and rearranged through the lens of ever last viewer’s eye.  Even so, this soul that is composed of words that defined me painted a picture vivid in its contrast, though blurry from both afar and close enough to squint, no details able to be made out.  These words that have wrapped around my soul rubbed raw from the time my skin first flinched at the cool March air cannot be deciphered by their author, though I know somehow that their letters flowing into one another say more than any curve of my face ever could.  These words are black and white, two extremes crafted in the pallet of the Universe’s toolshed, and perhaps that’s exactly what I am.  Black or white.  I’m dark and lost and scrounging for some rusting wall or tree branch to cling to as to ensure the shimmering waves, onyx and charcoal in their nature with the flow of blood in its spine, do not flood into my mouth at a rate in which is too quick to balance myself upon them, or, I’m white, drifting snow from a cloud scraping the vast expanse of brilliant blue gazing as a sky above all the world, pure, innocent, unscathed with the potential for creation in vibrancies yet unknown, or to be ripped to bits, scattered amongst piles of cream and autumn leaves drained of their color beneath months of shivering frost.  And so, perhaps any physical representation of my being would be all wrong, because that’s not what I am.  Myself, my soul, it resides in the murky depths of heights I’ve yet to discover, tethered endlessly and uncertain among the caverns of my inners, pink and mushy, stirred and ******, untouched from the harsh light of a world encased in brevity.

It is still blurry,
The times you held me helplessly. Holding this flesh that blinked with desperation. The glasses of problems brought to bed. Complete care with a side of beauty. Electric fingertips flowing along my sides. Stunning the flow in these veins.

It is still blurry,
The words that pressed off your tongue. Words that finished sleep and solid thought. The same mouth that has changed lives, comforted family, cursed like a sailor. Giving strength to simply continue. Moving mountains, depending on your approach. Making mornings sunlit on cloudy days. Your sunlight showed this life dissipated darkness.

It is still blurry,
Angst and tension between bones. The tension that can't be resisted nor denied. Giving me the strength transverse miles each way, just to sleep next to your breath. Open this heart, cuddle with its inners. Cut this tension with your actions knives.

It is still blurry,
The elation you delivered to my doorstep. Served purpose in my life. Giving me a chance to release all those dusty window sills in the attic. I complied an archives of you in my senses. The way you gave that heart of yours.

It is still blurry,
The times you settled the fears resting on your ancient dresser. Yeah the one you brag about. The one that held our water during rest, held our alarms to begin another day, and even our books of education shared. We have split these lives in so many directions. All ending in the same bed. Closer than my skin is to its bones. We were one in that bed. One after a life lived in every direction.

It is still blurry,
Your purpose. Actions and words in separate realms.  All it would have took was a phone call. You insisted the benefits. Leaving us in seperate beds, different countries, different mind sets. Why not just enjoy love. Love lost in a storm of self discovery.

I walk this dismal dark and damp dungeon
  Long dark the phantom am i;
Strolling I now take icy breaths;
  Mystery lies within my realm;
Far faint foot echoes announce my impending doom
  I embark upon my midnight
Echoeing chamber room
  It's chains that puppeted victims that had
Screamed for their end and at last,
  I had giggled laughed and touched their quivering chest
And felt their fading warmth
  Then into oblivion casted they were by me

This dark stone its chilling floor
  Where rodents squeek and scurry about,
My only pets and friends I know

Suddenly I hear as HEAVY VOICES of my approaching DOOM
  POUNDING FISTS and swinging logs against my dungeon door and room

I curse the empending light by
Their torches casting beams
Bound from hell and its slithering horrid beam fingers
  Under my dungeon door

I curse my end by angered pounding fists
  Hell bound to see my end to be

What cursed blackened night just lies
  A distant short,
A breathless world my oblivian beckons me by hounds
  Of DOOM,
My parts be scattered h e l t e r  s k e l t e r
  My inners thrown upon old wooden beams above

Soon i will leave this loveless world i made,
  i foretell and kiss only an empty space goodbye,  
Waiting first ****** deep within my flesh to be

Regular as clockwork
the spotters gather there
binoculars and notebooks
as up the track they stare

assembled on the platform
with all the day to spare
they put the world to rights
and wait without a care

clad in finest anorak
tweed caps are in this year
their fleecy inners covering
heads once thick with hair

Every day I see them
sometimes just a pair
shuffling on the concrete
sometimes with a chair

Pensions less than peanuts
Blame young Tony Blair
But everything forgotten
at sight of one thats rare

Life is breathed to tired legs
nostrils start to flare
sweaty palms note hastily
with eager thank you prayer

And oh the day the Queen came
They stood in open air
and cheered to see that engine
sweep in with royal flare

I'll not be hear to watch you
From comfy office chair
From now on I'll be missing
But I know you'll still be there

it is not butterflies you placed in my tummy,
but large ferocious birds,
with wingspans fluttering against the inners of my
lungs,
beaks prodding my intestine,  
their necks snarling with my esophagus.
their caws pulsate in and out my pores,
and these birds want to fly, fly, fly
towards you.
but i bite with anxious molars, and their blood tastes like
cranberries.
choking up red soaked feathers,
i wonder if you have birds
too.

i’m not getting teased, cause i’m a hooligan



you see i remember getting teased by all the families

and it drove me pretty mad, i hated it,

and the only way to rid this evil teasing

is to be evilly myself, by saying, you are still

a family person and i am a hooligan

and if you don’t stop teasing me, i will slit your throat

you see you are a loser, a total and utter loser

i told them, i will come and grab you, and grab the other teasing young dudes

and then i say, i will say, i am a hooligan and you are a family person

my mate and i are planning to grab you

and throw you in the bin, and i will go ha ha ha ha

you have been trapped by us hooligans

you are going to suffer for teasing me, cool boy

i am going to show you, if you tease me, i will **** you

and get rid of your corpse, in the sea

make your body all itchy, and us hooligans

will tie you teasing boys up and i will say ha ha ha

you see you will never escape from me, ever

you say i am shy, but if you keep calling me shy, i will come

and tie you up and say i am a hooligan and i will **** you, right now

and then i will sit down and play cool for you, because you are a family person

and i am a hooligan and i will **** you and play cool for you and every family person on earth

and when any teaser teases me i will go ha ha ha and lay a knife right to their head

you see i will **** the guy who nicked my lunch because he treated me like a queer different person

and as soon as i met my mate, i kept myself hidden with the hooligans ready to pune on him

saying,you are going to die, you are going to die, because i am a hooligan and you are a family person

and you are getting played cool for, with your crazy trying to be a young dude

and i will sit there saying ha ha ha, you family people are going to be a part of my little gang

where i will play cool for you and terrorise you

you see you will never escape from me, you cool boy, you will n ever escape from me anymore cool boy

i will throw cricket stumps on you and you will be scared of me, you little cool boy

i will go out and have some fun, putting you cool boys into the lockup and i will feed you dead rats and spiders

and if the spider bites your inners, i will yell ha ha ha ha saying i am the hooligan, keeping the family people under wraps

and i will attempt to **** you all if you don’t fucken leave me alone, *******

you see i am getting sick of you, teasing me, and every time i touch you you go crazy

but i expect that from a family person such as yourself

i will **** you, i will **** you i will **** you, you will be dead from us, forever

and in 3 weeks all the family people are dead and us hooligans are playing cool for future family people

to make sure the cool boys who tease don’t exist anymore

i said, i am not getting teased, i am a hooligan

if you take a knife to my skin
it will cut it
my layers of protection are not strong enough to ward off that edge

if you keep pressing
blood will pool around the slit
and maybe even splash if you cut the right spot

if you decide to twist
my skin will twist with you
until it tears from the tension and you see my inners

if you take the knife out
you will see me bleeding
and the blood will be red

if you put your eyeball close enough
you will see a fountain
of blue purple and red

if i think your eyeball is close enough
i will squeeze my skin
and hope that my little blood fountain splashes your veiny white globe

Part I

My body never prepared to run out of air
celebrate it?
I said Send.
I said it again and again. Send.
the world's loneliest flipping machine
withering from your obtusity.
I'm sclerotic.
Yes, yes that's it.

I want to stir you
strike you into soup.
I'll observe the dictionary,
every word will flow from me to you.
Flip, flip off the diver's board,
Blank and Blank by the shore
Color it in, out, up, down
I'm sclerotic.

Remember this, need this
counting people all in pairs:
I saw everything through sixteen vision,
bleary, misted with vanilla yous.
Soft skinned, little girls, hot and milds between their teeth

I don't hunt but I could.
Autumnal again and I'm just repetition
speaking of repressed rage.
Let us analyze the handwriting of every
colleague, drop out, ghost buster,
Coffee house inspired.
I'm sclerotic.

I'm walking through the forest and
you're not there.

Part II

I write because I'll die
I die, I die, I diee.
It's been too long since I went swinging
Missing my pour of moon to the tip top
of my new ceramic mugs.

It's all up for traps
the reindeer, the telltales, the chlorine.
Hyperextended among the cruel cats, where are the cool cats?

REVERSE back to nail polish
I got manicures as a little girl
Staring at my hair now
every shaved bit on my leg is its own waterfall. Hah.

I cry for my beauty
I was told I was wrong with
highlighters, colored ads,
illuminated in the eyes of old dogs.

Take a gulp,
I did and I walked
for every moment I regretted.
I walked.
Childish foolish acts, crimeful commitments.
I said Send. Send.
She said you might not like me but to never fret
you love me.

I'm walking in a tunnel
(Where's the light?)
and you're not there.

Part III**

This is the beginning
of a low-budget film, black and white
this part is when the audience yells
"Someone fall in love already!"

I think there is something truly remarkable about me
(and you)
and the boy who cried wolf and
probably other people
too

I don't want my words to dissipate or fall
into space
disappear in the inners of the web.
I want them to creep in through the crevices
speak to the many as they
walk and see and notice.
I find a strange comfort in swinging at night in
an empty park
and a intriguing mystery the first time someone sighs my name.

I'm swinging in the park and
you're not there.

Ive been drinking with anybody,
sinning at every party,
bingin forgetting my limits at every opri-
tuinity,
you and me, are soon to be,
like noon to 3,
seducing me,
exclusively,
inducing the,
muse in me,
ya lookin at my soul,
what your eyes behold,
is one half of the globe,
and the other half must be gold,
I wonder after you go,
in your immaculate scull,
if your thinkin of me when dreaming of being with someone fabulous yo,
your figure, shivers my inners,
i wish ya'd get to my dinners,
so I could extend the time with ya so ya into me missis,
your allure is an attraction I relapse in,
and my demure is extracted with interaction,
I know fa sure satisfaction will be in action,
Whenever we explore a fraction of this passion.

My grandpa who eats steamed sweet potatoes on foothills textured in green rice patties
dreamt up a tall brick house with a black iron gate
barbwires sprung around the tips of the entrance to keep out thieves
right now he wonders how long he can keep fibbing to my mother—
their rotten hut at the end of the massive foothill, not fleeting
monsoons come early, swells the ground till it gave
a landslide takes four people and a child

that day, red stars hung above Tiananmen square gates
grounded bones came in sacks, white cement hauled by green skin trucks

My grandpa who loves sweet potatoes constructs an ivory wall.

after the revolution, the sun peeks out in montages
peering through the smoke
gunpowder stuck to the tank tire roads
black heads roll off yellow tar dirt into a pit
My grandpa gives his best friend one thousand yuan—
visas for my mother and grandma,
His best friend disappears,

writes my grandpa
an apology and, leaves him a large white sack of uncooked sweet potatoes

light tan, severs in half and plops down on the lumpy cutting board,
dusty orange inners, grandpa tosses them in the boiling water
and later, while gnawing down,
he pretends they are oranges for once

Grandpa, who’s kneeling on our dried front yard with a worn out copper pail
waters the salty earth slowly until it sprouts sugar canes
chops one down, breaks it in half, the sun beats
peering through palm leaves
a viridescent river of silk and pale honey
my small three year arms grab a hand full
sliced by grandpa into pieces neatly placed
in a blue flowered ceramic bowl
years later, I chop a stalk down and chew until
English becomes a second language again
and in my twenties, I grab a hand full
sliced my mom into pieces, places them in a weaved basket
made of reinforced bamboo
I put it in front of my grandpa’s grave
in Fujian on the foggy mountainside of a small retirement town.
The edge of the South China coast covered in a thick plastic smog,
I sit on a stone eating sweet cold potatoes with my grandpa facing outland,
a red kneeing sun, barely visible past the trees

You burn,
Your flames rise more,
Offering them warmth,
You burn and burn,
Their wooden throats,
And their cold inners,
Now only love it when you're scorching hot.

So you burn and...
you burn,
They are surely pleased.

But the more you burn,
The easier they become cold,
And the quicker you cease,
To smoke.

All the while, as I stare up and think and attempt to make something of the thoughts swimming in my head like fish who cannot see, and the mouth of the everything full of so much nothing that surrounds me spews back not a single hint, you, the girl whose hair is licked a charred brown from the crackling fire of passion swirling from your inners, you, the love of my life, all that may have been past and all after ones too, you are the anchor of my imagination, the stone to hold down my wonder, and keep it from floating off into the vastness of the loneliness that consumes everything that is not here, in your arms, against the soft breeze of your touch, and then I know that everything is well, and all the unspoken beauties of the Universe only mean for me to wrap around you in way of mind and soul and body and laughs we share beside a city without lights, five stories above the world and soaring ever higher.

It started with “Hey!”
I was shy and reserved.
You were boisterous and outgoing.
We became instant friends.
You balanced me on life’s balance scale.
Our lives became in synced.

It continued with “I love you, as a friend”
Daily calls ending at 3 am.
Movie nights in our ugliest Pjs.
I became your relationship therapist
And you became my life counselor.
My heart became entangled with yours.

It grew tricky with “I love you”
Your presence made me giddy.
Your smile made my inners swoon.
Hearing about your relationships
Filled me with envy.
A battle arose between my mind and heart.

It fell apart with “I need you”
You put me down easily.
Showing me my place in your life.
I could be everything but not the “one”.
You would never feel the same,
But we could remain best friends.

It ended with “…… “
Our friendship isn’t able to bounce back.
I cry daily knowing I can’t have your love.
I can love you better than any!
Maybe you’ll realize when I’m gone
That with my heart; is where yours belong.

Pickaxe swings,
shards fly.
Pieces move,
yet inners hide.

I've been swinging
both day and night.
Understanding you
is a futile fight.

The heart will follow

As I am swallowed

Into a new culture

Of alone

A place of far away

Unsure if I can stay

Confort my inners

with something more

Than surgical knives

And let me impact lives

Teach me to teach

I want to hand out and reach

For my dream of

Being more than myself

I am the bell
who tolls for No One
the one you want so wholly
to toll for you –
to drum your inners
and let you know you’re running late
for work today.

I am made of cast iron
and cast away
but mostly string –
the thick kind of string
that twists together
and makes warm things.

I am caged the same way I am bird
which is to say
I am neither;
my wanderlust
makes me trust wings
who are not ready
to be wings.

But I am woman,
not metaphor.
So forget all that.

If someday your fascinating eyes grow playful
And you turn your assassins knife to my heart...
Held in frightening play,
Yet not to tear me apart.

If someday you wonder if my inners are pretty,
(Like you claim my outer frame to be.)
And you decide to peel back my skin,
And peer into the rest of me..
If someday you decide it could be fun to **** me?

I will not be sorry
I will not be sad
Instead? I will be happy of the times we've had.

I'll remember how long your words held me
And the shivers given by your touch.
The degrees of sharpness in your teeth
And yet how you weren't too rough.

I'll remember Winter days.
And how they passed in a daze.
I'll remember saying everything to you twice,
And you never seeming to mind.

I'll recall the promises you made
And the sanity we resisted so well.
I'll dream of every second spent with you,
And being caught under your spell.

You'll seriously hold the blade
And speak quiet words to me.
And I'll think it rather charming,
Such particularity.

You'll grin as you trace it along
that grin I love to see.
You'll tell me it's a joke,
As if you'd ever dispose of me!

And lost in my memories,
I'll forget to be terrified.
I will look into your eyes,
and then I shall smile.

You'd allow the knife to fall
and you'd remain all mine.

The day of what once was yours and will forever be read with your voice.

"Did you actually kiss her? Get me a diet Pepsi. Or l,the occasional. Don't be a *******." These are the words that resound love through the drywall heart I have here. This is only the second time I have thought About you. On this day. Well this is the second day of you being gone. It's so much easier believing you only leave once a year. Imagining 364 other days of disappearance melts my shins into crayons splattered on ***** carpets. That ***** impossible to get out. I got some new shoes and I would love to show you. They have helped me walk since you left. My knees are doing okay. It's the inners that don't always stand as tall as they should. My spine curves into a mended embroidered heart with broken springs  .... I really love the idea. I am not good with
seeing, but I would love to tell you that home is where the heart is... That your heart is home with me. Because if my heart is found in jack in the boxes, full of energy entwined with extra stitching and barrel rolls stuffed with memories I can't keep in my glove. Then you equipped me with metal braced joints grinding on friction laced sinews, connected with everything I thought was suppose to be true. Home is intentional. Define your existence and discover the purpose of trusting intangible options slanted between us. I trust you. I always have. The reality is that my cylindrical box of chest bones locked in a cage understands  power. Power enough to tie my shoes. I want you to know how  my shoes handle okay without you. I'm here. Writing, about you and that one day. This Mother's Day I want you to realize that you're day will be here. I'll find you in ***** sea water, dropping out of the last day of college, and chasing that perfect woman. You showed me it. Everything. Lets sleep dark concepts and understandably crossed with altered mentalities. The sun, that's where you started, please stay with me here. We will get warm soon. We are on a crooked edge of the universe wondering how to exist. We are here and now. You showed me how to be here. Because without here your love would have never existed. Here is where everything needs to be.

I want you to be my forest fire.
A natural disaster to incinerate the tall standing regrets of my past. Casting the darkness over the people I've taken advantage of and things I'' never admit to be true.
Expose my shadows.

Cleanse the dirt I have trampled upon.
Lake Tanner, I'm sorry. Mom, I'm sorry.
People whose footsteps molded my heart into a perfect sandcastle bomb waiting for high tide.
Renew my inners.

Heat up these lungs so I an no longer speak.
Burn memories into my throat,
That way my heart understand a new beginning.
Building empires of renewed crowns in my smile.
Exhaust my lies.

Let me regrow into something pure.
Away from the broken forest of my past.
Exposure into something more than myself.
Water my roots,
Watch me take flight from this earth.

a lot cooler
if you did restore HP
to old-school functionality
when things, like, functioned
consistently. reliably. simply.

there are so many
little things *******
that I overlook because
this place is part of me and
how I speak

it’s our mouthpiece for
soul love light dark scenes
so, just make it work
for our inners

and, plz -

do.
some.
testing.

kludgey af workaround:

save poem as draft
edit draft and save as public

The Land Of Make Believe

The land of make believe
Is all around and we’re ****** in.
TV, films, vampire and villain –
We are sold and they’ve got hold;
Female and male, young and old.

Our dreams are mares of night and fright
And flight we cannot take.
The make believe tears at our inners,
Thoughts and feelings not expressed
Confirming our worst fears.

No rhyme or meter,
Beat or pulse can make it better.
Make believe cannot relieve
The state of jitters fettered by
Illusion.

The Land Of Make Believe 9.1.2016
Our Times, Our Culture II;
Arlene Corwin

(Heated, Fiery trials,) by meself.. The time will come When our beloved planet will feel the suns quench, No breakfast or lunch to soothe that sweaty emotion..All time and devotion unravelling childhood memories, Where winters freeze, and you are still left by yourself...Kept, Wept, and melt out, Drawn to a pad of papery apprentice.. Such a menace when others think they know you, to show you such devious inventions..Of evil intention , they live to watch you die. To watch you cry and spill out all inners, Where your platters not entered into win any prizes..Miracles are few these days, The dark has infiltraded, the glooms turned to haze....Soo many Live in materialism and dreameries Lodge, where their cabin of themself is god , for they forgot who they are...phantom masks, fast cars..How a coverup to hide scarred innocence, where childplay rememberance Hits all at once...Who we really are...The cold empty bars are now lovers best friends...What a sad combination...We only have today to do our made out wills, For the numbings soo skilled this time of Infestations...Tretchery is Now the new..ALL HOT DAYS TO COME , none cool, For the furnaces will feel the excite..Days and nights will be mans worst enemy...The moon climbs the cosmic wave to show us all whats to be bound...Speakerphone sounds can no longer show humanity the reality of themselves..When will they see all belonging is there...Will they find it? or forever be Wanderers?

Deep into Pastor woods we went.  My brother and I were in search of Lifelo. It's a life fruit with amazing healing abilities. Our Grandma was sick with Blue Fever, and we had to find the fruit before it was too late.  

Runesa :
Pastor woods was a super dense forest of trees and vines that did not seem indigenous to any area but here.  The woods never seem to stop growing as they spread onward and outward in all directions.  A few years ago, demolition and fire teams had to halt the growth from coming into the towns that surrounded Pastor woods.  But no matter how much they burned our cut down the woods would grow at a relentless rate.  One town called Runesa was completely engulfed by the forest in a matter of weeks it seemed.  Old Runesa is our destination.  It where all the Lifelo grows and blooms.  No one is certain to why it grows where the town once stood but perhaps it may be the town itself. Maybe the structures were consumed by the roots of Pastor woods and converted into the Lifelo.  

Red fireflies:  
It's impossible to create trails in Pastor Woods because of the amazing, accelerated growth. So, we follow the red fireflies. The red fireflies (which only exist in theses woods) seem to be attracted to the Lifelo.  You find red fireflies you find Lifelo. We followed a sparkle of red fireflies deeper than expected to the deep inners of Pastor Woods. This was dangerous because it would be very difficult to find our way back.  We decided to leave light towers behind to find our way back home.  We progressed on through deeper and deeper as we followed the sparkle of red fireflies to what seem to be the center of Pastor Woods.  There glowed the Lifelo flowers in a beautiful circular pattern of life.  We had never seen so many Lifelo flowers in one place.  The immense sparkle of red fireflies starts to resonate their luminescent bodies signaling the green fireflies above. The green fireflies float on down to a pile of vines at the center of this glade as my brother and I watched in magical awe.  As the green ones landed on the pile of twisted vines the green fireflies begun to turn red.  My brother and I glanced to see each other's shared reaction.  We then felt the ground vibrate ever so slightly.  The vines slithered like snakes and worms from a nightmare I never had but seemed to have a strange memory of.  

The Orange eye (.)
As the wooded snakes and worms slithered away into the forest what was left of the vine heart was a giant hunk of metal and strange lit up vines.  At the center of this mass opened a large orange eye that lit up the glade in a sunset sun orange that seem unsettling yet beautiful all at once.  This hunk of metal was no hunk of metal. It was half a face made up of strange alloys we had never seen. We were looking at one eye as it was looking at us.  The head although it was half a head was as big as one of the large structures back at home.  As our eyes adjusted, we were both able to see that the alloys the head was made out of were somehow converted from the structures of Runesa. One of the cheek pieces said Runesa Inn.  We then both heard strange chimes and tones that made no sense. It seemed to alternate the noises in a constant flow until it reached a sound we knew. That sound was "H E L L O. " The orange eye saw our acknowledgement to the greeting word and then it spoke. " Please, will you help me gather material?  I have been stranded here for so very long. I must get to my destination.  Will you help me? " The voice sounded both like a man and womans. Again, my brother and I looked at each other and at the same time we both said " Yes!" It then spoke in great delight. " Very well! Take as much of the plant as you need to help whoever is sick. Please return after you do so. We can then begin to rebuild my body."  The red fireflies then create a vortex around us creating a red luminescent line of light to guide us straight back home.

(Heated, Fiery trials,) by meself.. The time will come When our beloved planet will feel the suns quench, No breakfast or lunch to soothe that sweaty emotion..All time and devotion unravelling childhood memories, Where winters freeze, and you are still left by yourself...Kept, Wept, and melt out, Drawn to a pad of papery apprentice.. Such a menace when others think they know you, to show you such devious inventions..Of evil intention , they live to watch you die. To watch you cry and spill out all inners, Where your platters not entered into win any prizes..Miracles are few these days, The dark has infiltraded, the glooms turned to haze....Soo many Live in materialism and dreameries Lodge, where their cabin of themself is god , for they forgot who they are...phantom masks, fast cars..How a coverup to hide scarred innocence, where childplay rememberance Hits all at once...Who we really are...The cold empty bars are now lovers best friends...What a sad combination...We only have today to do our made out wills, For the numbings soo skilled this time of Infestations...Tretchery is Now the new..ALL HOT DAYS TO COME , none cool, For the furnaces will feel the excite..Days and nights will be mans worst enemy...The moon climbs the cosmic wave to show us all whats to be bound...Speakerphone sounds can no longer show humanity the reality of themselves..When will they see all belonging is there...Will they find it? or forever be Wanderers?

we crush on hurt skies and eat our own inners alive. we r, yuh know, killing it right now. right?? idk lately i jus don't feel like my me anymore. it's weird. these bones of mine will hafta do i guess, and this alone too. but this tear is torn --- i mean, it tickles my nose and brims but doesn't wanna fall, and i think it's made of scars found at the bottom of the pool. and these knees held to my chest are like two pipe cleaner harpoons, rocking me to sleep when i've clearly already slept too much.. listen, all of this will be spelled out -- but not fer u. they are for her and her word alone. i've heard that if listened to - i mean REALLY listened to - it is able to world forth this one last single curl that i've long been searching for in this dim lit corner of the room, which is a rune, marked, startled, summoned by someone somewhere close by, like a muffled noise upstairs making its way down here to stay.

I want a cardboard world
Where desks sag and break in the rain
And people look at me in disdain

All the temporary creations I see
I didn't build for you, I built for me

Cardboard seats and cars
Cardboard hotels and bars
Cardboard rockets for Mars

All temporary cardboard builds to try
All cardboard inners to fry

There's nothing quite as temporary
As a new age cardboard century

Written words only express so much
The bubbling in the gut-
explains to one of uncomfortable circumstances

Cool air and deep drawn out breathes
soothe one's boiling inners
An ocean of betrayal-
has made one fearful
of even the slightest human contact

When will the chance arise to-
fully look up..?