if ever you wonder
if ever your heart should grow curious
for lust and love and spirit
electricity that splits the spine
a jolt of lightening
rushing through wide open veins
baby hairs standing on end
on the nape of your neck
a wave of cold sweat
dripping through your hair
moistens your back
if ever a moment passes
if ever you refrain from yelling loud
sing a melody
scream “i love you”
skip through a crowd of people
and smile
laugh
dance
and forget your worry
the temporary madness of yesterday
because you are static, ecstatic
you are wonderful

Never will I return again,
It has been decided by an undawning night, restless wandering whilst following a red thread, not knowing where it leads or where it ends,
Followed by endless questions within a journey of true sorrow, the realisation hits me hard, will I ever be able to reach out for you, dear?
Swallowing the unspoken words, I keep on my journey, to find this end I'm looking after hoping it'll be at least, a happy fight to the finish
Without a sound, a tear running down my face, moistens the earth, reflected by my heart, which has faced a long drought of no emotions,
But now I am overflowing with them, more than I can convey in words, from now on, I want to face the coming morning with you,
Yet my words and wishes do not reach, the path is illuminated by the moon above, only a few clouds are to accompany his loneliness,
Wandering by a road, reaching to the distant sky, oh how I cannot escape this dreamlike tale, of what it is pointing to, softened by light,
Under the drifting clouds, even though the ages may fade away into meaningless numbers, with this unchanging life I can keep shining for you, alike the sweet and delicate,
Moonlight

~ Umi

"And now please welcome today's anti-terrorism speaker, Anonymous!"

[anonymous applause, dwindling out]

"Thanks, everyone. The reason I prefer anonymity should be self-evident, but just to make it clear, I wish to avoid the recrimination of the hostile element."

"Before I got here I was just reading, and believe me I'm still not believing, but it would seem, on the whole, that planetary aggression is on the slow."

A hand is raised
A hand is ignored
The speaker moistens his lips
Prepared to emit a bit more.

"I have stats and stories
Tortuous anecdotes about little girls and boys
Food and sanitation is a crime itself
And I'm prepared to say we live in our own hell."

Arms upheld wither down
As new hands reach for attention
But the speaker ignores them all
Intent on his own presentation.

"The reason for hate
Is more or less clear
We fiercely believe one thing
As they devoutly believe another.

But do not fear!
We are right and they are wrong
They saddle their own children with a death song
No cartoons of basic morality
Just legs with bombs
Made to go off remotely."

An angry rustle
Amidst lowered hands
Quieting now
Like they're getting the hang of it.

"Humans are robots
Programmable, malleable and sometimes trustworthy
Highly complicated machinery!
Indoctrination is the virus
That seeks to destroy the outside."

Again the raised hands
And eyebrows too
All these fluttering robots
Fluttering in a pseudo-free zoo.

Ignoring the obvious
The speaker plods onwards
But modulates his voice
Against their trained reactions.

"We need to accept and enfold
An ideology only thousands of years old
To mutate and twist
Into what our children might wish."

Someone yells "Disney!"
Another mutters "Black whiteys"
But there are a few
Who remain to hear it through.

"Despite what you think
Despite who you are
Against all you've been taught
We've come quite far.

You may not know your son
You may not know your daughter
But leave them alone
And tomorrow may happen.

Put the guns aside
Drink from your hidden bottles without shame
You are who you are
And you should let them be them."

This is not what anyone wanted
Anyone over the age of ten
This is not what anyone wanted
With children and the urge to brainwash them.

The room trickles out
Leaving the most devout
Devoted to the future
Any future left standing.

But amidst this group
Are hard-liner elements
And one has a voice
Cutting through it all
To ask, "What about bomber babies?"

And riding right on top
Is a fat slobbery Republican fop
Demanding in his self-entitled way
"What the **** about America?"

The speaker shrugs
As if to indicate
Which question
Is more stupid.

"We seek to leave the planet
And develop tech to make it happen
You go your way
And we go ours."

The room is smaller now
They indulge in eye contact
Personal communications
Words, hands, heads and eyebrows.

The speaker sighs
As if on the cusp of absolute honesty
Then spills his true guts
To these few radicals and emissaries:

"Our worst enemy is ourselves
Through millennia fashioning our own hells
Subjugation of non-prominent DNA
Believing destruction will pave the way.

But on a not-much larger scale
We're just cheap entertainment
For every other race
That crawled up this hill."

The crowd is slightly subdued
Probably more from shame
Than anything
Because shame is in the DNA
And experienced by everyone.

But we can always rely
On some fat Republican to decry
"But not me!
And for sure not my children!"

And now even more file out
Hearts emptied and minds afloat
Now it's just the sweating speaker
And a few odd haters.

"We're a microbial phenomenon
Miraculously still alive
And still inept
At staying alive."

He waves a casual hand like a maestro
And behind him the stage glows
A 30x30 screen descends
Illuminating bugs as they crawl.

"We're slightly smarter
But no more hardier
Than Hymenoptera
Except we can leave this planet."

Red-faced and obviously insulted
The old fat plushy storms out
Leaving now just a few
To adopt this future-flung view.

"We need to terraform and colonize
Sure, and design space suits
Pleasing to the eye
But ultimately,
We need to get the hell gone."

One clap, one frown
The speaker shrugs
As if wondering
Why aren't we all gone?

And so he is left
With the clean-up crew
And one fruitcake
Who asks
"Will God come with us?"

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR: of the EBook THE BULLIED, by Alan Johnson
(The Nonromantic Man is the art form most often described as a character sketch.  It falls in the realm of poetry, which I call poessay.  For it is not poetry by itself or an essay.)

The Nonromantic Man
Non-romanticism is the inability to overwhelm one’s ignorance of the opposite *** needs or desires. The non-romantic man is one who buys his non-pool playing wife a pool table and soon thereafter invites his friends over every weekend to play pool. He calls women ******* and ‘hoes. He rises late at night to fix a sandwich, leaves the spilled condiments for his woman to clean in the morning, then after a cigarette, with mustard still being on his breath, wakes her up for a *******. He gains weight and then demands that she go on a diet. In harmony with his poor values, he neglects to compliment the new sexed up dress that she is wearing but does notice that she is wearing too much makeup for him. He has to be reminded of her birthday or any other should special engagement. The result his gift is not well thought out, so he buys her a cheap necklace just like the times before. He has no taste for poetry, sensual lyrics or the practice of setting the ambiance which moistens the trail of splendor. He takes his woman out to dinner and complains about the dinner’s high prices, and work, and her in-sensitiveness to his problems, and…At least once a month, he rolls off the top of her and falls asleep while she stares at the ceiling and prays for a difference.

Let’s divide the sky, you and I,
With Wilco tapping our gut, our eyes,
Supplanting the clouds from our grape cigars;
We’ve been folded, too creased to remember
Those country nights, those starry remnants when I would

Always point east with a fettered finger.
If I held it long enough, just enough,
Horns would bud, deviling my digit,
And the fireplace froze over.
I destroy homes and fall, fall, fall with them.

I play the bench observer,
Cigarette **** to people with permanent smiles.
‘Relax,’ you said ‘you need to relax,’
But your lips chapped and bleeding--
They resemble mine in humid daylight,

And the sky moistens and melts
To the tantalizing tune, yellowed summerteeth.

having beguiled my Scorpio
the full moons know
what moistens the body
elicits stark truth of feeling
in vehement velocity
racing ahead of thought
and the two argue
not every word is lovely
nor should be spoken
reactions are often  
vicious junk yard dogs
protecting piles of *******
only valuable to hoarders

Midst greens and shades the Catterskill leaps,
  From cliffs where the wood-flower clings;
All summer he moistens his verdant steeps
  With the sweet light spray of the mountain springs;
And he shakes the woods on the mountain side,
When they drip with the rains of autumn-tide.

But when, in the forest bare and old,
  The blast of December calls,
He builds, in the starlight clear and cold,
  A palace of ice where his torrent falls,
With turret, and arch, and fretwork fair,
And pillars blue as the summer air.

For whom are those glorious chambers wrought,
  In the cold and cloudless night?
Is there neither spirit nor motion of thought
  In forms so lovely, and hues so bright?
Hear what the gray-haired woodmen tell
Of this wild stream and its rocky dell.

'Twas hither a youth of dreamy mood,
  A hundred winters ago,
Had wandered over the mighty wood,
  When the panther's track was fresh on the snow,
And keen were the winds that came to stir
The long dark boughs of the hemlock fir.

Too gentle of mien he seemed and fair,
  For a child of those rugged steeps;
His home lay low in the valley where
  The kingly Hudson rolls to the deeps;
But he wore the hunter's frock that day,
And a slender gun on his shoulder lay.

And here he paused, and against the trunk
  Of a tall gray linden leant,
When the broad clear orb of the sun had sunk
  From his path in the frosty firmament,
And over the round dark edge of the hill
A cold green light was quivering still.

And the crescent moon, high over the green,
  From a sky of crimson shone,
On that icy palace, whose towers were seen
  To sparkle as if with stars of their own;
While the water fell with a hollow sound,
'Twixt the glistening pillars ranged around.

Is that a being of life, that moves
  Where the crystal battlements rise?
A maiden watching the moon she loves,
  At the twilight hour, with pensive eyes?
Was that a garment which seemed to gleam
Betwixt the eye and the falling stream?

'Tis only the torrent tumbling o'er,
  In the midst of those glassy walls,
Gushing, and plunging, and beating the floor
  Of the rocky basin in which it falls.
'Tis only the torrent--but why that start?
Why gazes the youth with a throbbing heart?

He thinks no more of his home afar,
  Where his sire and sister wait.
He heeds no longer how star after star
  Looks forth on the night as the hour grows late.
He heeds not the snow-wreaths, lifted and cast
From a thousand boughs, by the rising blast.

His thoughts are alone of those who dwell
  In the halls of frost and snow,
Who pass where the crystal domes upswell
  From the alabaster floors below,
Where the frost-trees shoot with leaf and spray,
And frost-gems scatter a silvery day.

"And oh that those glorious haunts were mine!"
  He speaks, and throughout the glen
Thin shadows swim in the faint moonshine,
  And take a ghastly likeness of men,
As if the slain by the wintry storms
Came forth to the air in their earthly forms.

There pass the chasers of seal and whale,
  With their weapons quaint and grim,
And bands of warriors in glittering mail,
  And herdsmen and hunters huge of limb.
There are naked arms, with bow and spear,
And furry gauntlets the carbine rear.

There are mothers--and oh how sadly their eyes
  On their children's white brows rest!
There are youthful lovers--the maiden lies,
  In a seeming sleep, on the chosen breast;
There are fair wan women with moonstruck air,
The snow stars flecking their long loose hair.

They eye him not as they pass along,
  But his hair stands up with dread,
When he feels that he moves with that phantom throng,
  Till those icy turrets are over his head,
And the torrent's roar as they enter seems
Like a drowsy murmur heard in dreams.

The glittering threshold is scarcely passed,
  When there gathers and wraps him round
A thick white twilight, sullen and vast,
  In which there is neither form nor sound;
The phantoms, the glory, vanish all,
With the dying voice of the waterfall.

Slow passes the darkness of that trance,
  And the youth now faintly sees
Huge shadows and gushes of light that dance
  On a rugged ceiling of unhewn trees,
And walls where the skins of beasts are hung,
And rifles glitter on antlers strung.

On a couch of shaggy skins he lies;
  As he strives to raise his head,
Hard-featured woodmen, with kindly eyes,
  Come round him and smooth his furry bed
And bid him rest, for the evening star
Is scarcely set and the day is far.

They had found at eve the dreaming one
  By the base of that icy steep,
When over his stiffening limbs begun
  The deadly slumber of frost to creep,
And they cherished the pale and breathless form,
Till the stagnant blood ran free and warm.

Candlelight illumes my dreary room
Causing shadows to contort and sway;
In my heart there stirs a deep unrest
As the past flaunts its seductive play

Merciful Absinthe! It's known to calm
Tortured hearts by helping them forget;
How the swirling liquids mesmerize . . .
Tears and Absinthe make a strange duet

But my reveries will not be scorned --
I must yield to their silent demand.
And as the Green Fairy warms my throat,
Memories unravel, strand by strand

I recall the little tiffs we had,
Sometimes ending in a full-blown row,
But with each sip that moistens my lips,
I swear, they seem so trivial now

As I drain the glass, warm thoughts of you
Fill my head, causing me to give pause:
Why in Heaven's name did we part ways?
Right now I can't justify the cause

And I miss the good times that we shared,
Not just romance, but the laughter, too;
I thought Absinthe would help me forget,
But tonight . . . tonight I'm missing you

Upon the whispers of those first days and nights,
Hushed sounds of the tales the mighty moon recites,
Each night, as if, singing through its misty silent voice,
Its lore, like a newborn stream, with our ear toys.


You and I, I know, have heard this hymn once and more,
For oft have we wondered who in blue sings, and what for,
I know, because a tear I have seen in your eyes and you in mine,
While for hours in embrace, you and I have lovingly reclined.


O' hear my words. You; my wonder, my reason, my fate,
You, with your deer eyes, who have casually opened up a gate,
Shut so tight, that within me it was, I forgot it lay,
O' hear my words. You; my heart, my mind; hear today.


Once was there a garden in the center of all space,
It was tended by Adam while its scent Eve trace,
Each dawn unto dusk in delight they would snuggle and play,
Every fruit and tree in love, each light a glorious day.


Such then the lore extends; that it moistens and weakens my heart,
But, alas, if you witness, you hear some hope lingering in part.
A dewy dark night, an angel, through the center of the garden snuck,
And pawned and played upon innocent Eve and her lost luck.


The serpent with his guile approached the fair maiden to destroy,
With a slithering ravaging tongue to plot her fall was his wretched ploy.
He won. His vow complete. He shattered the garden to its feet,
And all things sighed and sank, as Eve fell from nature's seat.


With white lips the moon has sung this lore of eons, through,
While waiting ever so patiently for the two he once knew,
For their return he has with empty fingers awaited in the sky,
While in his silent heart, singing, the hymn he has cried.


"O' my love, my surprise, hear the tale of this undivided heart,
for in our eternal curse we shall never thus part,
Even if you fall from the garden, or me, the serpent beguile,
With your soul I fall, and you, forever with mine."


Thus spake Adam and plunged afore-with into the abysmal void,
His action, his reason; his alone, not one by serpent soiled,
Alas! He knew; not even a garden filled with eternal space,
could ever have changed his heart or taken her place.


Fearlessly to be punished with the same abhorring decree,
Their souls to be eternally tortured, but their hearts to be free.
Did Adam thus accept without question a most dark destiny,
For an affection that was hers, for a love that was again never to be.


It was this song from the moon that surged through my being,
Once that you and I had lain; in one night the world we had seen,
The lore like a thousand mountains from a cloud did reveal,
Undid my lonesome heart and like a Titan made me feel.


O' how now do I define how playful chance can play its tricks,
Sometimes in zest, yet sometimes in anger; spits.
I pray, you, first flower of the garden of all space; you recognize,
That once that we have fallen, mortality is our prize.


When, to plunge with you into the abyss, I would never deny,
A chance to embrace you through eternity, I would never defy.
You, O' gentle one, O' Eve of the my hearts eternal space,
My wish is to hold your hand and walk, through, all eternal trace.


"O' true wisdom, O' illuminating surprise,
I here surrender to you in absolute reverence."

in one ohh the flightly finister
interjerk’t offorthwith united
unloosed upon the messes
who rains with string
of erring do
believe the ortho doxie

catamount the femail glory
moistens packet interfury
trump-ettes blow
the suction from their barrel oblesk
look slively tortice hand out for brood
scooch the dead **** down
impesh with dis-ire
marakesh the claim to sane
and leak brainoil smartly

for aft andall
whomake it threw
until deadneck cycoil
tweet totell interlie
the diff is how’d it hung
to a peel at the court
for reci-prostate-parity

The very sight of you moistens me,
with the ****** of your lips,
the stabs of your tongue,
and the grip of your hands.

You enslave me.

But I am humbled,
to become entangled with your body,
as the gray clouds hover upon us.
your curves reflects the moonbeam,
your silhouette painting the indigo sky,
brushing me with your bare hands...

OUR HOT SECRET
There is no greater comfort

than being held to her warm, soft, ample *****

Savoring her beauty

as she releases the straining buttons

Her *****

So heavy and swollen

Welcomes my hunger

Her huge ****** stiffens at my touch

Moistens

Her warm milk pours onto my tongue

I take her ****** deep inside my mouth

She quivers....sighs

Her very soul..... shaken

She gently wraps her thighs around me

I suckle harder

Her milk flows freely

Soothing my very soul

Dreaming only of...our hot secret.

Thimbleberry wine on lips
made divine by sweeping tongue
she glides inside your deepest thoughts
awakening in you a belief that its all possible
...her magic tastes like sunshine

An ache so unexplainable fills the well
of souls, forgotten long ago
decrepit screams are replaced by soulful moans

For lifetimes you have waited to taste the cherish
of her soul, rolling essence of; inside a parched mouth
succulentence now moistens the very hunger you once felt

Nothing can be the same again
it has taken you to a cannibalistic frame of mind
always tapping the vein, wanting more
...like heat on ice; burn and weep

She dances in the rain and walks in the stars
tastes like the sweetest of wines
speaks the languages of two legged, four legged
and fae
...can you deny her?

Cherish~

Fenola
*******

to Chopin
for Eileen

who lies spread
on the bed

concerto number 2
that would do

Eileen said
watching sweet

Fenola
removing

her clothing
first the blouse

the pink one
she had bought

that first date
next the skirt

the jet black
with matching

underwear
then the bra

removing
her fingers

holding up
before she

lets it drop
now she stands

gazing down
taking in

the spread of
the two thighs

the two soft
melon *******

the button
of her birth

and below
the *****

dark forest
covering

her queendom
of Eve land

she pauses
as Chopin

number 2
plays softer

and Eileen
hot moistens

Fenola
like some cat

stealthily
on all fours

her tongue out
licking up

the two thighs
her two paws

and soft claws
slow engage

the *******
as her lips

move in there
to that hot

queendom spot
to the cries

do not stop
do not stop.

A hue of blue,
the skies dark as twilight consumes,
clouds contort and dance as the soft rolling thunder breaches the shush of rain,

A full moon--cobalt--as the sun has still not returned her love,
and still the trees cast her shadow like paint upon the canvas of crackled pavement,

Not cold, but refreshing is the rain upon my face,
my jacket shining as its leather moistens,
I look up to connect the moon’s solemn stare and espy another face;
hers,
the one who haunts me,
the one who stalks me,
or does she hunt me?

Lines cut clean.
the silence overwhelms me.
my pain develops;
raw and torn.

I wander up our shore,
Now, one set of footsteps,
I walk alone,
Against your echo in our waves.

The water burns,
salt rushes to the wounds,
Sand gets in,
the irritation sickens.

Hear me?
I'm screaming from your pain.
See me?
Curled up on the shore?

The silence overwhelms me,
Lines cut clean,
I cry for help.
I am alone.

Another me walks on your shore.
My heavy beat slows,
I succumb,
Vision blurs.

I am alone.
As the waves take me,
my footsteps fade.
I pray for you to not look away.

Eventually,
the sand moistens;
the waves crash;
I was never there.

Oh!
sorry if I woke you
she says upon discovery of the slumbering silver psyche
yaaaawn
...hey...
what's a pretty little thing like you
doing way down here?
I have a hole
a hole?
a hole
may I see?
right here
she points to her chest
doesn't that hurt?
a little
come here
let me look at you
she tiptoes towards him tacitly
darling, you're bleeding!
yeah, it's been doing that for a while now
all of my clothes are ruined
he reviews her jagged curves
oh
I thought you were dressed in red
you wear it too well
glassy drops drip over her painted body
weaving glossy trails of existence
mingling with the sticky diluted color
warm and painted wet
who did this to you?
I did
she shuffles her feet
eyes fall to the floor
dearest, who did this to you?
he moistens a cloud white cloth
as he directs her to the washroom
I did
why would you do such a thing
to yourself?
he begins drawing an ivory bath
with water so clear and sparkling
I wanted to see
see what?
if I could feel
she scratches a fingernail into her arm
revealing a sliver of her milky ghost
do you mind?
he extends his arm
mildly enveloping her dripping hand in his
a last wave of emotion rolls over her
while she steps gingerly into the tub
let's see what we can do
he smiles with his eyes
winking them into hers
why are you helping me?
because I can
is that alright?
I don't want to be a burden...
sweetheart, you're only a burden to yourself
his words sting with burning honesty
she withdraws into herself
close your eyes
I'll take care of you
she pulls away abruptly
panic flooding her perception
how can I trust you?
here
he removes each piece of clothing
laying them in a gentle heap at his feet
is that better?
he winces as she examines his naked form
suddenly shy in his voluntary exposure
he turns his head in shame
I have a hole too, you know
you wear it well
did you mend it yourself?
yes
many times
I have to sew it every day
with a little bone needle and heart strings
come here
let me look at you
he enters the bathtub and stands facing her
in unison they slip down into the water
sitting with torsos and arms above
legs intertwining below
do you mind?
she begins to pluck at the strings
working them out of his skin
tenderly tugging out his past
passionately pulling out his memories
who did this to you?
I did
she finishes extracting the threads
and leans back in confusion
I know
he smooths the cotton cloth around her tattered tear
streaking out a sterling snowstorm
dying the warm liquid a swirling scarlet
he warily washes off her past
carefully cleanses off her memories
I want to give you something
you can do with it what you want
she watches closely as he
digs his fingers into his chest
leaving the **** gaping
fear invades her taciturnity
how can you trust me?
he nudges open her drooling cavern
and sets his heart in her cage
you found me
he snatches a clean heart string
snaps off a new splintered bone
you saw me
she grips the marble sides
now pink with their leaking ichor
you felt me
he threads the imperfect ivory needle
and presses it lightly into her skin
you heard me
he stitches her closed
sealing it with a kiss
but I've nothing for you...
my heart has gone missing!
no it hasn't
she furrows her brow
new tears
pure tears
escaping
you gave it to me already
he dips her fingers into him
when you woke me

A window cracks
A chill of air seeps through
I lie still in my bed
In my dream world

It hits my lips
Turning them to vast cold deserts

My eyes open awake

My tongue moistens my lips

I sit up frightened
The scope of my eye catches the window
The entrance
The exit

I walk over and touch the air
I star into endless darkness
Wondering
Thinking
Was he trying to get me again?

The room is full of the smell of freshly baked bread
my nose holds the smell and my eyes close around it

As I break the seal the aroma heightens and my mouth moistens
I pick the sharpest knife to crunch my way through to the soft warm centre
The salted butter is soft in the warm summer day
As it spreads thickly over my crusty fresh bread

I stare for a moment
Then heaven

She teaches her body to ache for him
move for him and dress for him
reject the familiar banter and comfort
in knowing he is close.
She banishes familiar kisses
to muster the mystery
that moistens her;
she loves him but she has
each molecule committed to memory.

This is love, yes
but she must back pedal a bit,
clear the air to feel the ping in her inner pit
when he comes near-
just like it was, just like it used to be
before they occupied each others’ hearts.

When he was just a body at the bar.
When he was just a dark haired conquest.
When she was just a hungry girl.
Feed me, she says.
Feed me.

Song in my heart
Has been lost
Now I live in
Joyless angst
Silence can be a weapon
Leaking toxicity
Flavoring my life
In violent hues
Of anger and resentment
A tear moistens my cheek

Kelly Rose
© May 23, 2017

She teaches her body to ache for him,
move for him and dress for him;
to reject the familiar banter and comfort
in knowing he is close.
She banishes familiar kisses
to muster the mystery
that moistens her;
she loves him but she has
each molecule committed to memory,
etched in her being.

This is love, yes-
but she must back pedal a bit,
clear the air to feel the ping in her inner pit
when he comes near-
just like it was, just like it used to be
before they occupied each others’ hearts.
When he was just a body at the bar.
When he was just a dark haired conquest.
When she was just a hungry girl.
Feed me, she says.
Feed me.

The Devil has sold
His soul
Letting all the sins
Of what it used to
And still means
For man to sin
I know not where we go
When our time ends
I simply know that our time
Is met with another
Moving from one space
To another

Milk becoming cream
Dark becoming light
Cries becoming laughter
Love turning to
Hate

He rests atop the banished
Banister his arms crossed and
His lips pursed from the heat

He has been banished
For an eternity and
Now calls his prison home

Like we all do
In some way
Or another

An idea turns to reality
Reality turns to dreams
Dreams turn to nightmares
Burning back into the Earth
Ideas crystallized to be found
By the newcomer all over again

In search of waves of
Angel hair grass
The rest of childhood behind me
Where I now turn old
Holding no age in my face or body

I turn towards the sun
It heats my face my eyes my cheeks
The wet of the waves moistens my pores
The crashing are symbols produced from
The invisible hands of sirens

We are meant to see the world
As it once was
Is
And will soon be

We are meant to see the world
In entirety
And
Its fragility

We are meant to see the world

We are meant to see the world

We are meant to see our home

Before

It is all over

And

Done with

i hurt so much
i could scream
and when my family
goes shopping
and leaves me here
all alone
i do scream
let out all my pain
i hurt secretly inside
everybody cares but you
and it's so painful
i wail and wail
i weep and lament for you
but then i remember
you don't care
and i scream
scream it out
scream out all my pain
it makes me feel better
but leaves me weak
and it's all thanks to you
because you left me
all alone
and no one understand
because it seems
no one cares
in my real life
or they don't want
to care
because they offer
no understanding
and so
i scream
scream it out
i yell until my lungs hurt
because i scream
i scream out all of my pain
while tears course down
my red cheeks
and fall to my jeans
the tears keep falling
from my slanted eyes
and sweat moistens
my black hair

That smell is in the air.
The one that stands your hairs on end.
It narrows your focus and sharpens you wits
with just the right kind of wrong.
The hunt is on.
Should I rush in like a simpleton?
An ignorant ***, how crass
No. Sneaky, sly, and quick
easy and slick.
Lick the taste and smell that smell.
How hot is the fire in hell?

I've got a sixth sense for these things.
It brings a pain so low I know so very well.
THE CHASE! ahh...the taste.......
It moistens the lips with a primitive urge my ancestors command.
The persuasive beauties blossom
with tight skin squeezed between their cotton confines.
They beg me to set them free.
So innocently they burn down the walls I've built of love and devotion.

The notion has struct, the match is lite
A fire burns in my eyes.

Free falling failures,
Plunging into the great unknown.
Soaring through the valley of despair,
Barren wastelands of broken dreams.

Old familiar faces seed hope,
Sewing powerful ideas.
Feeling so alive,
Lush forest left in the wake.

Far below the canopy of green,
Morning dew moistens tough lips.
The spirits enchant the air,
Singing songs humming with graceful booms.

Grounded, thoughts run free.
Places where magic over powers darkness.
Subtle vibrations swell, consuming
The wicked vines of negativity,
Once constricting loving hearts.

Sacred grove, private haven.
Blooming across the defeated ones.
Instilling a chance to cleanse,
Unbounded by the toxicity which builds
Into the honest folk who trusted a time too many.