I hadn't been there in ages, hadn't visited, I had no reason to
But then the Covid virus struck and Dublin where I was working was put into quarantine
I wasn't allowed to go up there anymore to work,
And I had no computer at home and no broadband/ WiFi at the time
So they sent me down to the Old Town
It was nice driving down the motorway, it was Autumn and the leaves they were all changing colour
The different shades of red, brown green and yellow
With the sun shining on the mountains and on the bay
It felt almost like I was going on my holidays,
The Old Town it had changed so much, there were all these new buildings,
Retail parks on the outskirts, hotels, new schools, civic buildings... coffee shops
It was lovely and clean and tidy
Like those living there were really proud of it,
The old town I'd known it was there also, in the background, a bit dusty now
There was the big old gothic church my Dad used take us to, to Mass some Sundays
There was the Port and the big ships along the Quay
There was the secondary school I was meant to go to... had we stayed...it looked old, a bit dilapidated now
I wondered was it still being used as a school,
In the Main Street there were still old names of shops that I recognized
The shoe shop where my Mom used buy us shoes
The chemist where my brother got his glasses... the Bakery
The cinema where we seen our first movie "The Magnificent Seven", it was all done up now... all different...
In the office things were... well...weird! ghostly!
A big modern office and some days I was the only one there, just me all on my own
Was like something out of a Sci-fi movie
Other days maybe two or three might come in to join me
All the others of course, they were all working from home,
Often I'd find my mind just filling with old memories and nostalgia...
I could hear the old ghosts calling, calling me to go back
I knew... I knew I had to go back there
Back to where it had all begun for me
The little seaside village where I was born.

So going home I took the coastal road not the motorway
Just the sight of the headland and the blue mountains sloping down to the sea
With the lighthouse there at the end
Just seeing them again gave me an old feeling of my father, my Dad
And then the village itself, the seafront... all the colourfully painted shops,
Sweet shops & novelty shops, the amusement arcade, pubs and hotels and B&B's  (Bed and Breakfasts)
After being away for nearly fifty years, it still looked...it still looked pretty much the same, was hard to believe
I stopped my car and went into a little supermarket shop to get a sandwich for the next day
As I looked around, I seen these two mature ladies there, they were around my own age
I thought to myself 'I might have gone to school with you once many years ago, one of you might even have been my wife had we stayed here and not moved away
I might have lived a more normal, a different life'
But then I thought 'Life is never that simple, is it'.
Outside I decided to go for a walk, to look around and reminisce.

There was the path, the pavement I used go to school on with my brothers
It was like returning to the scene of a crime
How I used to dread going to school sometimes
There was a teacher, a lady teacher that used scare me a lot, she terrified me so
I remember I got sick in class on several occasions
She put me outside once sitting on an upturned bin
I can still remember sitting there on that bin in the sun, feeling so lost and that I was a really bad boy, wishing I was home
I remember I used to get hives, itches on my skin
My Mom used keep me at home
She was afraid, she thought I'd give them to the other kids
I missed the addition and subtraction tables at school because of this
To this day I still don't know what 7 + 5 is, instead I bring it to 10, I know 5 is 3 + 2, so I say 7 + 3 is 10 and 2 is 12
And I know all the doubles, 7 + 6 is 6 + 6 is 12 and 1 is 13, funny that
How I used to dread going to school
Until that was... until one day I did well at something and I received some praise
Then things seemed to change after that, I wasn't as bothered anymore, I think then I realized I was doing better than some of the others in my class and that seemed to make a difference
I remembered sitting beside pretty little girls who used have lovely pink pencil cases with lots of fancy colourful things
Whereas me I barely had a pencil, a rubber (eraser) and a ruler
They were strange lovely creatures, the Girls with their lovely long hair and their cute little faces...
I remembered walking home on my own, with my little schoolbag on my back with all my books in it
It was such a beautiful place, the view with the beach and the sea and the faraway blue mountains
And yet, I used to worry about so many things
It's like even then it was all about...all about survival...
There was the big Chapel on the hill
Once before the Summer holidays they were looking for altar boys and someone put my name forward
Then on the first morning back to school after the Summer holidays
The teacher said you better get down to the church right away, like fast!! you're on the altar this morning !!!
I was terrified, I didn't know what I had to do, no one told me anything
So there I was on my own kneeling on this cold hard marble altar and it was hurting my knees something terrible
And the priest he's talking about God and the Devil and Evil or Hell or whatever
And all these people, the whole congregation their all staring up at us
And I'm petrified, and I started to get faint and nauseas
The priest had to stop the Mass
I can't remember if I got sick or passed out
I was so embarrassed and thought afterwards I was such a terrible bad person, I knew it'd be all around the school the story.

I walked on...our house was gone, knocked down, where there used to be three houses together attached, now there was only the end house
Our house used to be the middle house
It didn't look right now, the symmetry looked all wrong
It was like there was two missing teeth
Why did they have to knock it down ? I wondered. It saddened me a bit...

At another house I stopped, this used to have a shop, a small shop,  the shop was no longer there
This was my Best Friend's house, all the days we used to play football together in the back garden
Kicking the ball to each other
With our jumpers/ sweaters as goalposts
The first to score ten would win the game
I...I usually won
I always found you easy to read, it's like you only ran in straight lines,
I think you were a bit in awe of me for some reason
Maybe you wouldn't have been my friend if you'd beaten me
How did we become friends anyway, I wondered
I suppose coming home from school
We lived on the same road and were in the same class, we'd have met each other
I had two older brothers whereas you were the oldest
So our families would have had a different dynamic
I remember you had a delightfully silly younger brother
I remember your Mom, she was very pretty, she was a lot younger than my Mom
You used bring me in and give me a meal sometimes, we'd all sit and watch TV
There was a different feeling when I was in your house...a different atmosphere
But when your Dad would come home, he was a bit scary
And I knew it was then time for me to go home
You'd wonder afterwards what the lovely Mom saw in the scary Dad, adults they were a bit peculiar.

We were inseparable in those days, many mornings you'd hear the knock on the door
And the familiar greeting
"Hello Mrs B---, Is G---- in, is he coming out to play?"
We were always playing soccer up the garden
Or down on the beach, going out for miles to meet the tide, catching *****, looking under  stones to see what we might find
I remember we were very entrepreneurial
In the Summer we used collect returnable glass mineral bottles, Orange and Lemonade and Coca Cola
And we'd bring them back to the shop and get money back for them
And then we'd have a royal feast, we'd buy bottles of Orange and bags of crisps and ice cream pops and chocolate bars,
Remember all the different Ice pops there used to be, Choc Ices and Brunches and Orange splits, 99's... Ice cream cones
Chocolate bars, Smarties and Malteasers, Milky Bars and Milky Ways, Dairy Milk chocolate bars, fruit gums and Love hearts with little love messages written on them
We used hang around the amusement arcade, play the slot machines, maybe help some old lady collect her winnings, she might give us a tip
There was the bumper cars and the swingboats and music playing all the time on the jukeboxes
It was the seventies (the 70's) and glam rock was all the rage
Marc Bolan and T-Rex, and Slade and The Sweet and a million others
So many great songs, we couldn't wait to grow up and become one of those amazing creatures we saw on the telly
I'd never lived since as intensely as I did back then,
We'd stay out till late
We were like young hustlers going around,
It seemed the days they were never long enough, all the things we got up to,
We'd Caddy in the local golf course
And retrieve lost ***** from the ditches...
Heh! Remember... remember that time... the Brennan sisters, we were up one day near the school
There was building work going on
And there was this big high mound of clay
So we climbed to the top to take in the view
And then the two Brennan sisters came over
They lived nearby
They were in our class at school, we knew them only to see
They were smiling and laughing and giggling
They beckoned for us to come and follow them
We went wondering what was going on here
They led us back to their house, I think their parents must have been out
One of them came up to us and smiled
And then she pulled down her pants and showed it to us in all its wonderful glorious splendour
It was amazing... incredible... such a sight
Her beautiful...her splendid... her lovely... bare Bottom!
I remember thinking it was like a lovely ripe pear
One of Life's great mysteries had just been unveiled
And her there with this huge impish grin,
When we were going home we promised each other we'd not tell anyone, our parents, not even the priest in confession
About that great vision we'd just witnessed
It was the height of naughtiness
Yea! Those were the days...

I wondered, 'Whatever became of you Old Friend ?
I looked you up online but couldn't find your name anywhere, couldn't find anything about you
Were you even still alive ?
50 years was a long time, I'd barely made it this far myself, and I had a lot of scars to show for it
I thought rather amusingly that I should knock on your door
Maybe you were still living there,
But what was I hoping to find ? I wondered...
"Whose at the door ?", a woman's Voice inside might say,
"Just... just some crazy guy talking about 50 years ago" her dutiful husband would reply
That's probably how it would go
I felt like I was Rip Van Winkle awakening after being asleep for 100 years or in my case 50 years
What did I hope to find
What did I hope to see, an old man now just like myself
And I bet you'd tell me your opinions on the government and the economy
And how the village had changed over the years and how other old schoolmates of ours had got on in life
But No! that's not what I wanted to hear or see
I wanted to see you there again just like you were as a little kid
Your lovely youthful face smiling back at me
And you'd say, "I'll get the ball and we'll have a game, the first to ten wins"
This was what I was looking for, this was what I wanted to hear.

We were very close, were going to grow up together, go to the same schools...college
We'd always be friends
We'd meet all the trials of life together....
I hope Life worked out well for you, my friend
In a way...in a way I almost didn't want to know
If I learned you did well in Life I'd probably only get jealous
I'd start to think I was better than you and that I should have had those things you had
Life, this world it makes enemies of us all... eventually
It divides, is all about competing and comparing... and beating (I suppose).

I still remember that last night before I left forever
We were down on the beach, it was twilight, the tide was coming in... the waves slowly advancing
Just like in life I had no power to stop it, to change things,
I had no say, I didn't want to go and leave you Old Friend
No! I didn't want to go....

Thank you...thank you for being my friend, for being there
For all the time you gave me, I hope I didn't hurt you in any way.

I have a photograph, one solitary old black and white photo of the two of us
We're sitting on a barrel in our back garden on either side of my Dad whose in the middle
You look a bit uncertain, unsure of yourself, probably lost in the dynamic of my family,
I look at you and I think
"Whatever happened to you.... Beautiful Friend, whatever became of you"
And then I look at myself as well, and I think, I whisper
"Whatever became of me as well".

~

Vast...
Nigh unknowable
Quilt stretching out over incalculable
  intervals and distances…
Pulling. Churning.
Alternating between different frames
  of reference
Spinning me nauseas


Look at our local surroundings
Such activity above!
Mere minutes before the untrained eye
Takes notice of
The movers,
Slowly wandering across the speckled expanse


The fire has receded into its undulating
  orange-gray hideout
The satellites are so numerous now…
And the red-orange glow illumines
  your cheek, your neck, and your
  flyaway hair.
A distant owl
A dog’s hollow cry rings out echoing
  off of the hill
Sending this gang into high alert

I ain’t ate nothin’ today,
But macaroni and milk,
And now… a gutful of *****,
Warm, radiating swirls of nauseas,
Blessed are the clean sheets,
And the walls of this room blowing cool whispers,
Across my back.

por que me dices que me quieres
ya cuando no me tienes enfrente de ti.
Hasta cuando sera el dia
que te escuche pronunciar esas dos palabras
en mi cara.
Hasta cuando existirá tal reciprocidad?
Que valor tiene mi persona
al entrañar semejantes sensaciones.
Hasta ahora he osado
en preguntarme
a donde chingados
me estoy dirigiendo?
Por que la pesada tristeza
y la pirámide de depresión?
Por que este dolor no me deja
en paz?
No es patética mi forma de ser?
Al dejar que un "problema" tan
estúpido
me provoque matar
o matarme
me duele el pecho de verdad
al pensar que me quieres a tu lado
cuando te has ido.
me duele el estomago al pensar
las mas de 7 veces que me rompiste
el corazón.
Me destruiste, me frustraste.
Nauseas y ansias,
fueron lo que me regalaste.
me rompiste a la mitad.
y a veces siento que no te importa.
Ni una pizca de importancia.
Solo te importas tu, tu y tu.
y tus propias grietas
tu umbral del dolor
la mano que has dejado ir.
el maldito lazo que te une
de por vida
al oscuro y persistente
reflejo en carne
del pasado.
sonríes cuando
tu verdugo
blande la guadaña
sobre tu corazón.
Simplemente me esta matando
que lo ames a el
tanto como te amo yo.
y el pobre enfermo que se llevara el premio mayor.
Quieres dejarme atrás.

Es fácil vaticinar que los propagandistas de la infancia no van a interrumpir su campaña
quieren vendernos la inocencia cual si fuera un desodorante o un horóscopo
después de todo saben que caeremos como gorriones en la trampa
piando nostalgias inventando recuerdos perfeccionando la ansiedad

los geniales demagogos de la infancia
así se llamen Amicis o Proust o Lamorisse
sólo recapitulan turbadores sacrificios móviles campanarios globos que vuelven a su nube de origen
su paraíso recobrable no es exactamente nuestro siempre perdido paraíso
su paraíso tan seguro como dos y dos son cuatro no cabe en nuestro mezquino walhalla
ese logaritmo que nunca está en las tablas

los impecables paleontólogos de la infancia
duchos en exumar rondas triciclos mimos y otros fósiles
tienen olfato e intuición suficientes como para desenterrar y desplegar mitos cautivantes pavores sabrosos felicidad a cuerda

esos decisivos restauradores
con destreza profesional tapan grietas y traumas
y remiendan con zurcido invisible el desgarrón que arruinaba nuestro compacto recuerdo de cielo

sin embargo un día habrá que entrar a saco la podrida infancia
no el desván
allí apenas habitan los juguetes rotos los álbumes de sellos el ferrocarril rengo o sea la piel reseca de la infancia
no  las fotografías y su letargo sepia
habrá que entrar a saco la miseria

porque la infancia
además del estanque de azogada piedad
que a cualquier precio adquieren los ávidos turistas del regreso
además de la espiga y la arañita
y el piano de Mompou
además del alegre asombro que dicen hubo
además de la amistad con el perro del vecino
del juego con las trenzas que hacen juego
además de todo eso
tan radiante tan modestamente fabuloso
y sin embargo tan cruelmente olvidado
la infancia es otra cosa

por ejemplo la oprobiosa galería de  rostros
encendidos de entusiasmo puericultor y algunas veces de crueldad dulzona
y es (también la infancia tiene su otoño) la caída de las primeras máscaras
la vertiginosa temporada que va de la inauguración del pánico a la vergüenza de la masturbación inicial rudimentaria
la gallina asesinada por los garfios de la misma buena parienta que nos arropa al comienzo de la noche
la palabra cáncer y la noción de que no hay exorcismo que valga
la rebelión de la epidermis las estupefacciones convertidas en  lamparones de diversos diseños y medidas
la noche como la gran cortina que nadie es capaz de descorrer y que sin embargo oculta la prestigiosa momia del porvenir

por ejemplo la recurrente pesadilla
de diez cien veinte mil encapuchados
cuyo silencio a coro repetirá un longplay treinta años más tarde con el alevoso fascinante murmullo de los lamas del Tibet en sus cantos de muerte
pero que por entonces es sólo una interminable fila de encapuchados balanceándose saliéndose del sueño golpeando en el empañado vidrio de la cocina
proponiendo el terror y sus múltiples sobornos anexos

la otra infancia es qué duda cabe el insomnio con los ardides de su infierno acústico
uno dejándose llevar despojado de sábanas mosquitero camisón y pellejo
uno sin bronquios y sin tímpanos
dejándose llevar imaginándose llevado hacia un lejanísismo casi inalcanzable círculo o celda o sima donde no hay hormigas ni abuela ni quebrados ni ventana ni sopa y donde el ruido del mundo llega sólo como un zumbido ni siquiera insistente
es el golpe en la cara para ser más exacto en la  nariz
el caliente sabor de la primera sangre tragada
y el arranque de la inquina la navidad del odio que irza el pelo calienta las orejas aprieta los dientes gira los puños en un molinete enloquecido mientras los demás asisten como un cerco de horripiladas esperanzas timideces palabrotas y ojos con nauseas

es la chiquilina obligatoria distancia
la teresa rubia
de ojos alemanes y sonrisa para otros
humilladora de mis lápices de veneración de mis insignias de ofrenda de mis estampillas de homenaje
futura pobre gorda sofocada de deudas y de hijos pero entonces tan lejos y escarpada
y es también el amigo el único el mejor
aplastado en la calle

sí
un día de éstos habrá que entrar a saco la podrida infancia
habrá que entrar a saco la miseria

sólo después
con el magro botín en las manos crispadamente adultas
sólo después
ya de regreso
podrá uno permitirse el lujo la merced el pretexto
el disfrute
de hacer escala en el desván
y revisar las fotos en su letargo sepia.

Poem

Querido amigo,

Te quiero decir
Que eres patetico, que estás ahí sentado
Que sueñas cambiarlo.

Te confieso que ya hace tiempo la noche no brilla, las luciérnagas
Se han vuelto colillas.

Te lo digo de frente, al reflector que alumbra tu mente, brilla un poco, reconócete un poco.

Se que odias ser el centro de atención, te saca de comfort, se que el chisme te da asco oírlo y nauseas decirlo.

¿La quieres?
¡Vamos en serio!
solo dilo, déjalo ir
y sino ¿lo pierdes? o
es que nunca fue tuyo.

¿Te quiere? probable,
pero no le ruegues.

Querido amigo te escribo, para que no te ahogues en tu laberinto de misterio,
para que no seas duro con tus errores,
para que seas aceite y no sarro.

Atte.
El saltamontes en tu oído.

PD: léelo cuando te sientas perdido...

Humaning again
Must intoxicate the head.
Drinking until vomiting
For sober mind is bothering.
For symbols Ill are hollering.

Hate yourself.
This is health.
Destroying the carbon base life form.
Fluids pour like vicious storms.
Leave the sick on cold tile floors.
agony learn to adore.
Oh the horror
These disorders.
Leave dry heaves
For flesh destroyer.

Let’s blackout
Mixed drinks absurdly stout.
Let the mind and liver drown.
Still alive
though looks more dead.
Let cold grounds become your bed.
Let self harm paint mirrors barn red.
Yes sickness is in this head.
Yes ones drenched in dormant dredge.  
Sterilized
Mesmerized
Dilated eyes.

Mary

I swallowed something
like a watermelon,
like a deep burden and a great joy
wrapped neat and round in blood
and work raw fingers.

I feel it growing, making me
a bit sick, slightly nauseas of the future
part to rid myself
and part to never be full again

Droplets leave the corners of my eyes
Scaring my cheeks with salty salvation
They drop to the ground to burn away at the earth

I’m crying again
This time like the many others
I cant breathe, my eyes swell, and I’m nauseas

I cannot live without you as mine
But at times all I want to do is let you go
It shatters my heart into mismatched pieces that wont fit together

A piece of you fits with a piece of me
But a piece of me wont fit with you
Fighting a battle to finish the puzzle

My heart lies there on the marble floor
Scattered and seizing around
Like a fish out of water

My throat closes
All but one piece is together
And I’m lost in confusion

Where is the last piece
Where is the last piece of me
Where did it go

My heart neatly goes back to beating
And proceeds to rewire in my chest
Strolling along to the monotonous hums of day to day life

I stand there in awe
I don’t understand what is going on
How could something run perfectly fine with a piece missing

I stand on the cold marble and unbutton your shirt
I put my hands over your chest to feel the beat
I feel the outline

My piece integrating into yours
Into my hand pops a little piece
A piece of you to replace the missing piece of me

I guess a piece was missing after all
But isn’t that was love really is anyways.

i think sometimes that i may have
inherited my mothers indifference to friendship.
to deep, lasting, real friendship.
i get tired like her,
effort becoming like clay feet.
it's not for lack of love, for lack of fascination,
and appreciation, and genuine adoration.
but it holds me down sometimes like steel sky

i love you all, i do.
but fights make me nauseas and running is easier.
i will apologize and grovel and listen and take blame.
but if after all that everything is still of a half packed house,
i will take the boxes that are mine.

*thursday/10:41 P.M./august.21/2014

The sound of a heart breaking is by far
the most pain inducing sound I have felt.
It's horrible really.
The instant nausea.
The tensing of your entire body.
The shakes.
The red hot fury.

However, the pain of a heart breaking-
-it is the 8th wonder of the world.
It's unbearable,
The internal suffering is so painful.
You would **** for it to stop.

Your heart strings snap with each little heart break,
-I feel nauseas.
and each time one snaps,
your whole body lurches.
your bones dry up.
your hair falls out.
your skin fades away.
you are left with nothing,
nothing but the internal suffering.

Knowing I have to experience this same heartbreak
when I wake
-if I sleep
my whole body tenses.
the twisting of my intestine crushes me.
it feels as though
i have been stabbed
from the
inside
out

it's almost impossible to smile,
let alone laugh.
I must, for i am not allowed
to have a broken heart.
i am being poisoned-
-i am sure to die soon,
although something tells me that i am going to suffer.
life choices

my boyfriend smokes cigarettes
but he's stopping
and when we lie together in bed
its with bodies that mingle together
anxieties and love, fears, want, touches, love.
anxiety pulls at our covers and yanks
my ankles away from him
she hushes her voice as she crawls up my legs
so as not to wake him
and depression slips under my skin
and grabs hold of my hips
distance tells me that i am cold and he
picks me up by my arms
and these things carry me away from me
and him.

i am loving you,
i am sorry for when i am gone.
(i am distant in a nauseas way; i love you; i love you; i love you)
i will always hold you when we wake up.

i am sad and i would do this next to no one else but you.

*june 15 2015

I’m so sick of
That nesquick
Caramel candy
That thickens our blood
****** sin birth
The bleached sugar
Kills my DNA
And burns out
My brain cells

I’m so sick of
That oil slick addiction
Fire breathing
Dragon needing
Four wheeled monsters
Till their horns
Burn my ears

I’m so sick of
That apathy
That tortures me
But not them
I’m nauseas
Cautious cause
Of the disposition
Of the disposable
Disenfranchised
Human herd

I’m so sick of
My desperation
Struggling to fill this nation
With wit and wisdom
To build a new kingdom
With no royalty or kingsmen
But kinship
And friendship

Maybe I’m just sick

I'm sort of just now
becoming
real
transforming into the girl
I was meant to be
the kind of girl
I always dreamed of being
but never had the guts
to become it

I never liked to hide in pain
I'd just rather always feel something
as opposed to nothing

rather have hot and cold
than luke warm, all the time
making me nauseas
I'd always choose day and night
over the murky grey abyss
life fading into bleak
nothingness

Never back down, because being cautious, makes me nauseas.....

The redness is not toxic.
It is the people who are caustic
making her nauseas and cautious.
Pink skin pressed in
with razor thin
piercing pressure
to ease the pain
to silence her brain;

Cause no one is listening
to her sobbing,
cause no one is looking
for her scars,
more inside then out.

People care about her,
but they are distracted,
so soft motions become
harder,
and she becomes some
sort of sick lumberjack
trying to saw off that
pain called life.

How unfair
to see her go there
cause she is only
twelve.

For the fear of falling asleep
I ingest to many legal stimulants
causing me to be extremely nauseas
then ***** my quick crap breakfast up
and end up exhausted anyways.

PTSD couldn't happen to me
It wasn't tramatic
You're being dramatic!

Flashbacks my ***
They're just haunting memories
That dance through my head
From time to time

Nightmares as clear as day
Please
I'm sure you're in dismay
But it's just a fiction
In my head

Aching heart
That's normal
A part of my life

Nauseas feeling
I must not have eaten enough with my medication

There he is
In a sea of noisy people
My heart is pounding
My palms are sweating
And my stomach is turned in knots

Shut up
You don't know what you're saying
Of course I'm not scared
I have nothing to be scared of

Why are my palms sweaty?
There are too many people
Why do I feel sick?
I'm really hungry

There is no possible way
I have what you say
For it wasn't tramatic
You just like to be dramatic

Arriving in a familiar scene
My highschool basketball court
I never played the game
But I knew the people
Some friends
Some enemies
But 1 ball
I grab and I go for a dunk
On the way up I do a flip
and it never ends

A frontflip for the ages
6? 7? 9?
No.
It keeps going
I don't get nauseas
I just feel bored and lonely
Then I wake up to yesterday

shiver at the prospect
neath the rivers sky at star let
bargain penny bartered garments
for the naked moonlit marching
im exhausted, to be honest
i am starting to turn nauseas
while the seeds of dreams
between the stars
grow farther from my conscience
while i ponder how i got so wrong
from honouring thy father
im disbonded far from concert of the swan
that song is honest
so here is you

Appetite suppressants can be dangerous
when you have a history of EDs.
It’s so easy to lose yourself
when you are high as a kite.
It is so easy to drop 5,10,15,30 pounds
when even thinking about food
makes you incredibly nauseas.
It’s so easy to relapse into old behaviors
when you are fulfilling the dreams
of you from long ago.

i feel alone again, what's new
nothing i haven't already been through
another him, another you

maybe i'll never be enough
for my self

being around people scares me
seeing couples again makes me nauseas
observe from the outskirts
close my lips, guard up, stay cautious

in the midst of anxiety
the k holding me up
asking why? what's the attachment
i'm losing it.
what are you losing ?
but comfort in your own sobriety

It is partly
some practical
procedural
precedent
that holds up
our presidential
nonsense.

So, I guess
I should applaud it,
but I am just
nauseas
with the madness
of the whole system
we live in.

We’re going back and forth but only talking
Astrophysics, chop sticks and Christopher Walkens
Highly deep and emotion to top it
Started how’s it going, now you can’t stop it
No folly or nauseas topics
And logic to boot in ear socket
Release the chains of self-contained with an open pretty locket

The symptoms included:
Chest tightness, nauseas
Laboured breathing, heavy heart.
They say it’s a natural reaction
—I must be allergic—

To

     Bitter memories and regrets.