She left like a ghost
slipping out from behind satin robes,
quietly, so listfully,
crawling away,
leaving a trail of teardrops.

She's left this world
like a porcelain doll, still kept in her box,
but falling from the closet shelf,
fettered ankles wrestling
as her twisting veins turn suffocated-blue.

I'll miss her one day,
when I'm cowering in a corner
hugging in my knees to my breast
to keep demons from
******* out my heart.

I'll miss her when
my screams choke into silence
and veils drop over my pale eyes.
I miss her now
as this eerie emptiness
creeps into my stomach
like a lily-scented poison.

Who's up for a downer of a catastrophe?
I left the tweets to the birds
My manager would hang me

"There's subtle meanings here,"
Says the caveman demeaning the women of the time,
"I think this will go on for ages."

Flying effervescent
Towards the lofty sun
Where "good poetry" sets

I'm the chainsaw to a wordsmith.
I'm the revolver to the head of the writer.

I'm textual suicide.
I know because of my sparing use of periods
Both in pieces and in grammatical ways.

Sunny days.
There's a time and a place
for all of them
But that's neither here nor there.

Asked if I could make music out of the words I so listfully splatter onto a cybernetic page, as if what I said had any meaning at all, and as if all emotion I threw out stuck to anything.
Deprecation
Defecation
Asphyxiation

I get choked up by my own ****.

I walk
I walk to get around
I walk and listen to natural sounds
I walk in sunshine
And mostly in twilight
Sometimes the things I see
Seem subliminally superb
And slightly more special
At night
I listen
I listen to the problems
And issues of others
Because I know I've most likely been there
Before
I listen
To ludicrous outcries
And lacivious and lustful Lamentations
Looking listfully luxurious
Our eyes meet
And it passes
I speak
Rarely,
And usually only within my mind
Because I know
Nobody is really interested
In what I have to say
Silently I suffer
Because some have it worse
Most have it better
But that point is moot
Shoot
I've rambled
Rampant revelling
Revealing raucous and ****
Riotous rituals
Relinquishing my radiance
I fade
Into an abyss
Created from my loneliness
I am alone
And some times I feel
It will always be so
I've made mistakes
My mind mauling
My insides
Meticulously melting
My very memory
Merely a moment
In time
I fear
I fear that one day
A chalk line will
Slowly and surely
Produce a vague image if me
An outline
An ode to my sadness
Of course I know it won't
But one can't have this much pain
And not fear these things
It's obscene
The things I say to me
Taught by torment
Tutoring myself in torture
I'm mean
To myself
And no one else
I hear the things I say to me
And shudder to think
The damage my words could cause Another
Music
Sets me free
And alleviates this anger
In allegory allowing the air
To absolve my anguish
Almost
And then.....
I change my train of thought
Too touchy is this subject matter
Or not
But mostly.......

I walk.

the idea that this is as

the webs towing spiders in the winds, winding
listfully
on circuits long ago distorted with mountains

and canyons,
effecting whorls and currents forcing a way around a mountain
for the mists that once watered the flatter feeling
vessel we were alive upon, in books

spaceship earth one. I in roman tongue,

but nothing lasts forever,
everything else changes,

constantly,

be still.
be

---
realms with in reasons,

uni-verse-ity-ifity agregaton setting liquified stone,
some

how (wise) wegsheid sehen Sie veer left

OOPs loops, left from when this was a decide point.

FYI, it was my idea to go through the wall,

I was the one who went through,
not you,

I came out the front door, not you,

but you didn't run, you were my friend,

in this projection of a decider point, we
passed

adaptively, as if augmented with a

allyes promise, ala all ye, all ye, outs in free... message from base

aye, I A-ok a intuitive influencee feeling tugging,

not pushing, gentle pull, slow
and steady

spider woman, grace for grace. let flow this thread
in ever

let it tangle with the wind,
we hold in our fists,

and the thief looses owning his good for use, the joker lifts off,

with a laugh, doing good,
like medicine,
loosed when one hand claps,

without the other knowing,
science-wise.