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As I stand before the mountain of confidence called hope, I see a clear path up, not too steep, not too straight, but this path is embodied with rewards to the top.

At the top, there is a magnificent tree made of gold, silver leaves and Copper roots. Hope mountain held a perfect prize awaiting me, a Tree called Faith.
This sight to behold was everything I wanted, everything before me was so clear, but at the bottom where I was, there was a River.

This River was called Shame.
This river was filthy, the water was calm where I was, but looking downstream I could see the rapids of rage, the ripples of conditioning before the raging rapids were inviting.

The dreary stonewalling fortification on the banks allowed no light through, downstream was scary and looked impossible, why would I go that way? why even look?
I looked upstream and saw a blinding light, what could this be? I was so curious, so I waited, a true gentleman always waits.

Two days later the light took shape, as it came closer I could finally see, I could see a lifeboat with a caring nurturing beautiful woman.

As this beautiful woman came closer, I could see the river was being supplied by this woman, I could see she was the source.

The river of Shame was being fed by this woman, this filth in front of me was coming from her, but the beauty was something I've never seen, this beauty had me curious.

This beauty made me forget of the supply to the river.
  What I saw wasn't real all the sudden, what I believed was now real.
She came close enough for my heart to be heard, since she had no heart she was envious, she hated what others admired.

She wanted my wholesome heart, so she used her falsehood love bombing to create one, dreamingly admiring the mountain, we were planning different paths right then.
As I stared at the golden Tree of Faith glowing upon Hope mountain, I didn't notice the river was rising, as the numbing waters were rising it covered my feet, I didn't notice she also took a piece of my heart to claim as her own.

She used toxic gas and light to create a projection that this heart was hers to give back to me.

I didn't know any better so I accepted this ambient abused heart, this unfelt abuse gave me amnesia, this hidden poison of my cognitive dissonance gave her all of me.

Since she had nothing and that's what she craves, I had everything so she wanted to enslave.
I forget about the mountain with the tree even being there. I forgot I was here.

Her lifeboat was awkward, it was shaky,
it has imperfections, it has holes,
   her lifeboat is sinking,
     her heart is missing.
my knightly kind hearted empathy,
   my buffering and nurturing sympathy         pick this beautiful woman up
      I pick this gem up because of her idealization of me.
I can clean this insidious gem because she makes me believe, but through the veil I cannot see.
I throw her over my shoulder to carry all her weight, it's hard to move, hard to breathe, building a new boat was extremely hard, carrying her pain was extremely hard.

Everyone thought it was impossible to do it, my shear will power to commit ****** one foot in front of the other, I just didn't know that going downstream was impossible.

What about the mountain?

I couldn't remember from the amnesia, the dark night blinded my sight of the mountain, the drug in me was you and it consumed, i fell in love with misery and misery loves it's companies.

I stared the snake behind the veil in the eyes, standing tall on her pedastool made of spackle it breaks, I fall onto piercing confusion, I pull out shrapnel's of dissolution, I'm covered in her blood of invalidation.

I'm already floating in the boat with her, this wasn't my plan, this wasn't my reality.
I gaze upon this woman, sun shining behind her, no clouds in the sky.
floating downstream she tells me it's faster, that we'll end up behind the mountain higher.

I'm not worried now, I'm now contempt with shame.
I already forgot reality, I already forgot i'm going downstream, I forgot the searing pain, I forgot what I believe.

I'm relaxed, I'm tired, I'm still happy in love with this spellbound misery.

As we drift slowly through the stonewalls, no light shines through, I ask her for assurance, it's getting dark, I'm getting scared.

That's when the veil comes off, that's when the unnatural beauty grows quiet, that's when my voice screams silently within these stone walls.

This isn't her, this isn't real,
I know there's love I can feel, that was our bond, that was our deal, not to steal.

I fall over board and the water is cold, there's leaches, the debris is so random, the shameful water is moving faster, the all consuming cold confusion, random gaslighting and triangulations moving in around me faster.

I immediately can't bear it. My heart pulsates hard, my mind misfires my flight mode, i cannot intake the overbearingly unowned toxic Shame, her coldness activated my fawn mode, I froze, I start to doze.

luckily she had my leg, luckily she knew excessive admiration CPR, just as my body went limp in the agonizing River of Shame, she pulls me out. luckily she got me just in time, luckily she saved my life.

I awoke away from the stonewalls, it's sunny and safe again, we're together through impossible odds, we built this boat and she saved my life.

The abuse amnesia made me forget, the cognitive dissonance was real, I am not.

The mountain was now farther away, I was worried, I grew fearful, what I wanted looked farther away, that's when everything became gloomy, my goal was no longer there, but she didn't care, she knew where the river went, I believed her, I still do.

The ambient abuse made me anxious, the atmosphere was maddening of fear, it carried anxiety, I couldn't see it, but I was breathing it in.

Her eyes were so incapacitating, her heart disorienting, her soul captivating, she had a better plan, for us to press on and build another boat, to add another life, to believe in her, to not stare at the knife.

We build another boat, were out of the shame waters finally, she's helping me, were soon to be a real family, but the only thing real here was me.

Everything is better on the land, were dry, it's sunny, it's better to feel the nirvanic sand. It's here we bring our new seed, to be sprouted downstream.

I now believe in this new mountain downstream, I don't even remember the mountain I seen, were pressing on downstream past a levy, were now in the River of Grief, we're off to the end of make believe.

This river is really turbulent with rapids of devaluation, the splashes make me irrelevant, the dinigrating actions around make me small, I feel lost and confused, nothing makes sense anymore at all.

At the mouth of the River of Grief it opens up into a valley. She jumped onto a rock of vanity and pushed the tree of disloyalty upon the boat.

This throws me out head first, but luckily I have our seed safe and sound, luckily I learned how to drown.

I turn around falling and see her at the top staring down, she smirked and throws enormously heavy anvils of bereavement to make me fall harder, to keep me down longer.

Evil is real, but only if you believe, I crave the flattery of illusionary love, I still had amnesia, I love misery, the feeling reminds me I can feel, I love my slow death so I say I'll find you, I have the seed, I'll wait for you.

As I fall the thorns of numbing premeditation pierce, the pain is searing, as I fall i'm locked on her, my falsehood of love is still enduring, I don't feel the discard, I ignore the distaste.

I land in a field of hopium still protecting the seed, my amnesia is now worse, I can't remember her smirk, I can't remember the weighted anvils of bereavement, I can't remember the tree of disloyalty, I still can't remember the mountain.

My movement is heavy like concrete, my heart sits down at my feet, my mind is nowhere to be found, my spirit is fading on this ground.

I gather everyone from a nearby village to find her, it's impossible, they can't see her, she never existed, my amnesia was now delusional, the hopium mixed realities, nothing was real, there was nothing I could truly feel because everything was wrong, but I believe misery needs me and I yearned.

I say she's at the top, we have to throw her a rope,
they say it won't reach what isn't there,
I say we need a ladder to throw the rope, they say the ladder isn't safe that high.
  
I say everyone can hold the ladder while I climb perilously to the top, they say it will never work, but since they can see me, since they see a part of me is still real, everyone holds the ladder for me.
      
While I acend with my broken dignity, I acend with a fatigued heart, I acend to find what I believe, no matter how hard I try, I will be taking my destined decent.

The top of the ladder is shaky, I spent forever getting there, it's scary, the heights bring great fear over me, more than I've ever felt, but my knighthood makes me overcome anything.

I suppress, the seed is safe down below, I'm here to impress, I can see her now, only much less.

Her snake skin is peeling, the sun scorched blistering skin shows immense pain, witnessing this releases empathy, the caring knighthood in me naturally wanted to save her again.

So I wrap what's left of my discarded soul upon my broken fatigued heart and I use my trauma bonded mind as bait.

I throw her the rope,
she catches the rope,
I tell her to tie off the rope,
she ties a noose with the rope,
her neck is now wrapped with this rope.

If she falls I can't stop the tightening of the rope, if she falls I already know I'll jump for her and release from her neck this rope.

We jump together and I release the rope around her neck, I see the ground coming fast, but I love this snake, I'll die for this snake because I believe, false beauty inside is all I see.

I grab her and turn her away from the rushing ground, I fell once, I can take the fall again.

She is already hurt, immense pain, she will not feel no more pain, because I'm not hurting for I'm with misery again, I believe I can take all the pain for her, the hopium was numbing everything I consumed.

I awoke to a distressed angel, flawed personality, beautiful nightmare, mirroring the devil, but what I saw was a veil over the snake eyes, what I saw was what I believed before.

What I had wasn't real, who I am is no longer there, for I had ambience amnesia, nothing around me fit, nothing around me was grounded, nothing around me was divine.

The eyes that gazed upon me were captivating, spriling, time froze and only she was moving, the feeling was there, a drug within me, the drug was her and I longed for the misery, I yearned for the pain to remember what was real, I needed the intermittent reinforcement, I wanted my all bets in investment back and I risked a short sale.

We faded into the black, into a new boat, she made this boat, she had plugs in  holes of the boat I couldn't see, I believed it was perfect, I didn't know what awaited was a life long anguish.

I still didn't know what was downstream is impossible, I didn't know this new River of Anguish has piranhas of triangulation, I didn't know the rapids were of oppression, I didn't know the rocks causing these rapids she already put in place, I didn't know it was so black around me in this place, I didn't know my seed would become two, I didn't know I would have to choose.

I didn't know true love was in front of me in my hands and not behind the veil, I thought it was her, all the villagers knew, but as I drew closer to the snake the darkness only grew and the seeds too.

The feeling of my lingering mortality reverberates, she built me a coffin and chained it to my ankles, with this immense weight, I carry it with me just in case.

We floated very fast down this River of Anguish, everything seemed fine to all others including me, the darkened skies covered the evil, the cold waters made my body numb, the seeds were held up high to be be safe from the tormenting waters.

As I held them up high, I didn't realize she was still holding the schraded butcher knife in the water, I didn't believe she would hurt me, I didn't conceive the possibility that knife I didn't see was there all along for me.

The waters of Anguish smothered me, the triangulating piranhas slowly nibbled on my feet in the water, the rapids of oppression kept me gazing in the water, the rocks of malice in the water tried to tip me over, but my balance was true and the seeds were safe from harm, but I am not safe, I'm dying inside.

I don't know why, but after every agonizing stab from this knife when I'm not looking, it hurts, but the numbing knife only helped me when it was pulled out, it has holes in the knife so she could pull it out without me knowing.

I always turned around and cleaned the knife covered in my blood, I always gave it back to her, but every wipe upon this blade made it grow, and every wipe made the label on the handle more clear.

I find out in the end this knife is called narcissistic rage, the brand of this knife is called gaslighting and my blood is the supply.

I didn't know any of this until it was too late to save myself, my reality wasn't real, my dreams are gone, my nightmare is all consuming and existent, my seeds are still safe, but I am not.

When I start to notice the knife exists, I forgive her, the conditioning made the skies darker, I wipe the blood off and give it back, the knife is now a sword, it's name is discard.

The waters are uneven, the piranhas of triangulation feel like strangulation, my clothes are still soaking wet with anguish, my hair is slimy and covered in Shame, my feet are cold and numb from the grief.

I can't understand why I'm here,
  I can't understand why I'm actually meant to be here.
  
Every turbulence has thrown me down, she pushes me over head first, as I try to lean up to breathe she has her foot on my neck in the cold numbing river, but this river does not affect her, this river is warmer than her, the warmth from anguish pleased her, the piranhas followed her commands to bite, she smirked as the rocks she placed crushed against my head.

She waited until I went limp every time, but she knew idealization CPR, her deceit was without compassion, her rage was without sympathy, but I had severe ambience abuse amnesia, I still couldn't remember the mountain, I am now trauma bonded from the stabs she's counting.

I only saw her veil, her gaze convinced me I placed these rocks here, her gaze made me ignore the stonewalls around me, her pure hatred was covered in false intentions, her illusion was my isolation.

As everything was becoming clearly dangerous, as everything went pitch black, I look back and see the light from the mountain glowing, I see there is something wrong where I'm at, I see the seeds are not growing, I start to see the pain all around me.

Non the wiser, I keep coming back from drowning, I keep falling for misery, I keep wiping my blood off the blade, I keep isolated, but now I feel there is something painfully wrong, the reason abates me but I feel it, it hurts, it's camouflaged by deceit, it's all in my head, my coffin is soon to be my bed.

I look to the shores, there are other villagers worried, they are waving frantically, they're pointing at a waterfall ahead, this waterfall is called Doom, this fall would be death, the sound is raging, the mouth all consuming.

I see the stream to the side that the villagers are pointing to, I see the calm waters awaiting our safety, but the boat will not fit.

Only me and the seeds are real, everything else around me is illusional, the trauma delusional, the possible harm to the seeds was not refutable, my love for misery was unsuitable.

I could see my life was in danger, I could see the stream nearby screaming safety, I knew the seeds needed me, now I can't stop shaking.

Without her knowing what I was doing, I turned my back towards her facing the water, I knew she was going to stab me over and over again until I turned around, I now see the hypnotic eyes behind the veil. Not turning around only enraged her, the blood on the knife was condesating.

  The safety of the stream for my seeds was a new found glory in my exodus.
  
I paddled with my small hands this large weighted boat towards the stream, her knife was venomous, the water was echoless, the air imparted dreadfulness, all of this was dimensionless, all of this was not real, unless I let it be, now I can see, now I can finally flee.

As I came closer to the stream the waterfall grew stronger, the pain larger, the sound louder, I knew we were closer to the end, I knew I needed to jump off with my seeds, but I know the torment will end.

I melted my enduring pain inside with molten lava heartache to mold anew, I compartmentalize because I have to choose.

I had a vision that if I jump, the seeds will be safe, the climb to the mountain can still happen, I knew I was right about how I felt all along, I realized the veil couldn't cover the true self, I now believed In me.

I now know the water air and land were not what she made me believe, I knew I didn't choose this path, I knew I could survive, I know the seeds are going to be safe now. I know because I manifested instead of throwing in the towel.

Once close enough I finally looked at her and smiled I love you, jumping into the river I could feel the bitter cold agonizing tormenting river smash me with bereavement and disillusion by dissociation, I felt the coma of trauma surround, for I am now trauma bound.

I hold my seeds up high, I kept them safe because they don't feel the water, they're starting to sprout already, no more decay.

As I climb out of the frigid waters and still dripping wet, the drops are red, my feeling is coming back, my back is full of knives, I'm scared but I survived.
Knowing the worst is over I look back to her, she is consuming the river because she was the source, everything dark folds in on itself because the light cannot touch here, for this black hole is collapsing in on itself, I cover the seeds to shield them of this exorcist, they're safe here because my love is relentless.

The tormenting pain makes it hard to stand tall, still going through bereavement of a false reality where I lost it all, the answers we're all lost in the waterfall
"" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" ”"" "" "" "”" "" ""
Jack L Martin Sep 2018
"Stop It!" shouted the man
who was dressed in a ***** pin stripe suit,
eye glasses half askew on his nose,
ski-***** haircut sported since his youth.

My face turned blank, shoulders shrugged
not fearing this man's belligerent outburst
because I was used to it;
it was the hundredth time I felt it's sting.

I stood there, patiently and quiet
caressing my double bass violin
my secret seventh grade lover;
she had **** curves and a deep, soothing voice.

I stood there, impatiently and quiet
waiting for Mr. Heidrich to finish the lesson
focused on the third seat violinist
whom played without feeling, again.

I stood there, overbearingly anxious
tapping on the shoulder of my wooden BFF
my rendition of the William Tell Overture
A performance worthy of a Grammy!

The man in the ***** pin stripe suit,
turned and looked at me, scornfully
his half-bald head turned beet red
body shook violently like an earthquake!

The energy released from his gullet
would have made Mount Vesuvius jealous
fiery vocals of curse and rage
would have made the evilest of demons run for cover!

My face turned blank, shoulders shrugged
not fearing this man's belligerent outburst
because I was used to it;
it was the 101st time I felt it's sting.
This plain Monday seemed to be fine
Except I didn't recognize the bright beam
Floating near me in the blue berry sky.
I gazed at this peculiar sight
As the soaring machinery opened its great mouth.

Before I could fathom anything, I was lifted off my feet,
and ****** in like a baby bird consuming an earthworm.
I could no longer hear my own thoughts,
Only the squeaking and mumbling of Stoic strangers.
The pace of my pulse was light, but somehow rapid.

They gently lay me down in front of a foreign device,
A metallic blur to human eyes.
All of these creatures were sexless, and small in stature,
Despite being overbearingly powerful.
One of them knew my name, "Brandon Antonio Smith, this is the moment,
Your life will be changed for the better, forever it will." It kissed my forehead,
Its aromatic saliva remained behind, and eased my afflicted mind.

Then the figure took off all my clothing ,
Raised the instrument, and pierced it through my belly,
While saying "You will lose the knowledge of tears, laughter, happiness,
Rage, love, and all your memories. You are now one of us."  
Eerily, discomfort was not sensed at all.

They dropped me off from
Their space craft, back to Earth, and took off.
This Monday was not plain,
I will never be the same.
What they saw as peace was my nightmare.

Originally written 11/15/10
Revised 9/24/14

(c) 2014 Brandon Antonio Smith
Miss Rea Jan 2013
I'm going back to reality today.
To overbearingly bright office lights, to fake smiles and staffroom pleasantries, to the humdrum , the normal, the drab and the dull.
I'm being rudely awoken, dragged unwilling from this warm comforting dream; from your arms, your lips, your clever words and quick wit.
Worlds away from where I can be myself,
And that's all you'll ever want me to be.
N Sep 2018
despite what others prefer to believe, all women can be mothers.
but not all mothers can be maternal, I’ve learned this from living with you all these years.

I guess that's the same as saying you weren't hardwired to love me. but I was certainly born to love and need you. I didn't realize this when I was younger, although I wish I did. I wish I understood.

you, in all that you are and all you are not, gave me life. yet I have little happy memories with you. I can't recall a single moment in all these years that we have conversed about anything other than surface-level topics.

sure, you keep me well-fed, bathed, clothed, educated, and all things materialistic. other than that, what else was there?

you are emotionally distant, perpetually detached. you never understood how much I needed to be held, comforted, and heard. you left me hungry and desperate for affection, approval, and validation. all of this, I sought from others.
but their love can only go so far. I need you too.

look at me, Mom, I need a little fixing.
a few others have tried but have failed miserably. they all gave up eventually.
who would even dare waste their youth on someone as hopelessly broken as I am, right?

I keep trying to figure you out. watching movies and reading articles about mothers and daughters who share a strong bond always fill me to the brim with the painful awareness of a deep loss, and the horror that I am alone in this agony.
this was my own personal brand of hell.

what was going through your head when you first held me? were you disappointed that your plans were put on hold because you gave birth to such a needy baby?

am I the cause of all your frustrations? do you look at me and see all the things you couldn't have, all the things wrong in your world?

recently, I remember you said you wanted us to have a more open relationship, something you never had with your mother.
although now that I've thought about it, it makes no sense.
It's almost impossible to justify the idea of you wanting to befriend me, with you being unspeakably critical of me and emotionally distant one day, and then completely out of the blue, disconcertingly affectionate toward me.

I am now suddenly aware that the overbearingly fussy mom act frequently happened in front of an audience.
behind closed doors, you never asked me what I was thinking or how I was feeling. I grew up believing my opinions and emotions were largely irrelevant to you.

there was, and is, no winning with you. I was never smart enough for you, Mom. an 89 is not good enough.
I was never pretty enough for you, either. whenever we went out you told me to put on some makeup. only complimenting my looks when I have a full face of makeup on. the worst part is, for the longest time, I believed you.
I still believe you, sometimes.

mom, for years, you've convinced me I am unworthy of unconditional love and affection, for being unapologetically me.

my relationships, both romantic and platonic, have been a constant roller coaster ride. one moment, my head is spinning from the high of all their love and support, the next minute, I am spiraling into depression, because I feel like I can’t trust them to stick around.
because who would want to stay with a person who is beyond reparation, right?

it always seems like euphoria is less welcome than misery when I'm around you. I flee from romantic relationships when I notice myself becoming attached. I don't even know why, considering the amount of fondness I have for them.

maybe it's self-sabotage? perhaps. what I do know for sure is I don't deserve such a kind, loving soul.
or do I?

do you even realize how crippling it is to constantly wait for the other shoe to drop? I have friends who have been there for me all these years and I, for the life of me, don't trust them enough not to judge me whenever I open up about my problems and this sadness you've inflicted on me.
that is why I suffer in silence.

I feel an obsidian emptiness in my heart and my soul. and you are the one who caused it.
I despise what you've done to me, but even I know I can't hate you forever. I can't keep living my life like this, Mom.
but who do I turn to?

I reckon this terrible affliction is mine, and mine alone. I must stop blaming you now.

I must emancipate myself from all the guilt that well-meaning people direct toward me, for having such strong, contradictory feelings for you. they are oblivious to what it's like to squirm under your distant disapproving gaze, after all.

I must be free of you somehow.
only then I can begin to heal.
only then can I be free.
Matthew Bridgham Aug 2014
she is lovely
a bit crazy for details
but at least she cares.
small frame
arms that wrap for miles
squinty eyes
no brows
all smiles.
will work to play
cook in ‘waves
or take us out
to share her pay.
simple
thoughtful
quirky
probably *****
radiantly charming
sometimes smothering
but never annoying, well
maybe a little, but she taught me
to be strong
independent
overbearingly anxious now and again
but sweet and funny and no, mom,
ice cream doesn't make everything better
but the people you share it with do—

have I told you lately...?
for my mother
anneka Oct 2013
I am tempted to let you enter this room which is my being and soul, but you see - the last person in here trampled over the grass, uprooted the flowers and tore down the lights. He brought storms with him in place of the windy spring air and poisoned everything he touched with his fingerprints; permanent stains on a fragile heart. This is why everything smells cloyingly of rain, grass and roses here, overbearingly so.

He has stayed for years, coming and going as he pleases, so often so that the hinges of the door of the entrance are rusty and breaking apart. The gates used to be white and intricately laced with wildflowers that screamed freedom and naivety, but now they are wilted fragments on the remnants of charred wood from the lightning and thunder.

When he returns and lingers for a long long while, I take pity on him; placing a candle on the table and fixing a lamp above his head. I give him water and food and nourishment, emotions taking over any rational thought. I give him comfort and attention and answer any whim, demand or request. I give him all and everything I am simply because he is who he is, and I am who I am. During these moments he is sometimes pacified, and destroys less of me than does in times of anger and desolation.

But if he becomes too tame, too kind, too gentle - without warning, he will disappear. He will disappear into the dark but come back in radiant light. He will leave with an apology in his eyes and a smile on his lips, but return with fire in his soul and anger on his tongue. The storms he creates are violent and threaten to collapse the walls of this room, but never do.

During his disappearance, other people like yourself try to enter this place, but he takes the key with him and locks the broken door. I have an extra key to escape, but it is dangerous in here - glass shards, broken smiles and plaster masks that litter the wall and floor - so I never let anyone in. Only he knows how to tip toe around the chaos and ruin to find his way back, and allowing visitors in here would hurt them, so I stay alone till he returns. It is safer this way.

-

You will ask why she does not run if he is destructive and as deadly as she says. You will wonder why this girl refuses to escape from the storms she is terrified of and return to the spring. You will relentlessly beg her to stop watering the roses whose thorns ***** her so, but it will all be futile.

Because regardless of what you ask, she will answer out of the same conscience that makes her care for him endlessly; love, love, love.

(A.H.Z)
The world is dark
but the moon is big enough,
bright enough
to light it up just enough to make out
the dark grey silhouette
of the mountains
against the blue-grey sky.

The hustle of the day goes quiet.
The stars are out.
The night is chilly,
but warm enough
that you don’t need a jacket.

What a perfect night to be lonely.

This bittersweet sap slows time down.
It feels thick and slightly cloudy.
Its the feeling of being full and heavy.
It is happy and overbearingly sad
all at once.
But this sap
is comfortable
and welcoming.
I want the quiet night
and bittersweet sap
to last forever.
Hayley Schiete Jan 2015
I get so overbearingly affectionate
A sweetheart with a poisonous twist
Considerate, but passing the considerate amount
I'm sorry if I'm overwhelming
With a feeling of fear and lust
It almost crushes me as much as I have a crush on you
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2021
what should, could... what one would otherwise
do-not-do...
when language policing is so enforced
that i just... have to... punctuate a stutter or
at least suppose so on
a racial slur, a slurp-up stricken by ice,
and cold... and if lambs had elbows...
this modus operandi of post-colonial peoples
this crucifixion self-laceration
hard-on... which i want a taste of:
bad person, forever... murderer...
since there was no censor at work
around an added G: for giggle's worth...
and an existent R - although in english
there's no trill of it... no thrill, of it so...
nay bovver...
'aggis neeps 'n' tatties...
      otherwise the swede of the suede
is a bit like digesting blue & shoe...
once upon a time two bottles of wine
and i'd be off my rockers in
a little town in Essex where the women
are as fine as nuns and
sooner a cow-*****-******* for milk than...
Juan a-hey-presto... stand... night...
unbearable...
the less *** i've had the more
this... one-armed gambit does... the more...
of the trickery...
not overloading on the use
of a definite article...
but... it's so much easier to curl a hand
into a makeshift ******...
solipsistic *** lives... of... mostly men...
a bit like... regressing / seeing double...
homosexual ***-lives in literature from
the 20th century...
******* literature from the 20th century...
heterosexual antics of men
in the 21st century...
almost a: gleich scheiße,
           anders deckel...
                dekiel.... almost a loan word...
           living in close proximity of: zee schwaben
haben saschisch... aben aben...
perhaps the grammatical
juxtaposing is akin to ancient
Latin, my concern for: anders deckel
or deckel anders...
   same ****, different cover... cover's different...
overstating a fact with
a... conjunction or is it, is, the it...
preposition of... the it is is... Beckett's last
lunch... an hour of sunshine...
keep all chalky 'andy...
beside the apostrophe and the hyphen-conjugate...
glue's not glue:
blue is blue...
green is green...
but there's also... grue...
which is not... y'ella...

          a bluegreen: present grew:
for not yellow...

and i will... entertain... language policing...
over... slurring... past punctuation markers...
like... every time i see a choc-sensation...
no offense - you want the manure skin analogy...
because choc is counter-productive block...
well... let me get on my one remaining
good knee and play tongue the custard
for a Malcolm Noble...

     i would just hate to appease...
it's so ******* boring i'm turning into a boorish
**** of apathy...
by some lineage of argumentation
i've heard the lazy etymological
"argument" that...
from the Caucus... a ****-asian male...
the argument: Paul's a pole...
a pole a Paul's Paul...
            what's missing in... less than germ-
-anic...
                   like it's so simply
Slav(e)...

         less a ****** show & tell a whitey
clad in a bleached ghost necking-tie...
off-on-the-offensive...
   i.e. attack...
      there's a klaus nigge...
      a deutsche photographer...
there's... nigh-ger-ia...
            there's also a Nigh-Ger...
  giggle glutton... gargle... growing pains
in both groin... und gut...

cages i see cages i see tongues in iron
maidens i see souls in hell
and thoughts in limbo...

sound capture... i want to scoop some letters
as almost dead:

  ж = зъ = ż...
    imagine my disbelief at the lack of
orthographical aesthetic...
it only took a dot above the Z
to encourage...

perhaps in braille
perhaps in katakana:

         ⠛⠛⠗

         but letters as atoms of sound...
or methane...
ta-
         ma-
                      -ah
                                   -e contra -eh:
the tetragrammaton my vowel
catcher...
         no surprise of a fire...

hence the surd... like an apostrophe...
extending the saxon
spelling of words into compounds
in the field of chemistry...
a herr adams that wealth of the nations
shamed
jean-paul sartre... lived with his mother
because...

i'll have to leave it to stutter...
overtly punctuated...
no, no surprises...
it's a slur like it might be allowed
for urbanites
and listening to wap folk...
but no: wrap it up
on the horizon... already excluded...
so back to no drawing board...

spikes-up mein jerky chin of a Lee
and says: it's n'ah ah... LEAN...
****** my tongue is harsh but
not towing some unfathomable tie-up...
it's byzantine bilingual
but not... schizoid-teasing-afro-affluence...
like me taking a stab
at living in... h'almighty: Ghana...
visit... Raw-Andy... the Rwandese... plumber...

whereas the romantic affairs
of men are mostly... linear...
the romantic affairs of women
are... overbearingly... cyclic... thus...
what thus?

i'm strapped to a gimmick
and a pseudo expression of lingo...
i'm spineless... death-core....

replenishing the walking abortion(s)...
this ****-job of a man
this scrap heap of egg
and nullifying shells...
like this gargantuan homosexual
**** would never begin
or end with a flower-eater
quest for...
              a drunkard's ****, side...

there aren't enough hours in a day
to want to... beside having to...
listen to bbc radio 3...
once upon a time there was
me guilty of a radio 4 escapade...
but... where there's a t.v.
i'm pretty sure there's no fire-
                           -place....

like the old addition of curating
an attic space: might it be an "also"
cave... without ridicule...
underappreciated...
undermined... this tongue that
does the waggling...
like slurp majestic of floral pattern
*****... well...
i'm tired of the sort of freedom
thus, presented...

here comes the bundle... the bulge...
heaving criss-cross and X's
at the ha ha: stubble pin-point...
yahoo fro Idaho...
this whittle sort
of green patch of land 'n'
h'america..

    my yours truly...
       delving into shelved
secrecies of gluck-winding-back...
clock... there's the admiral...
the hour of our wait...
                the ice creasing a shallot being sliced...
the agony of the wait... the agony
of a yawn... the elongated

tears over an onion...
         if i could claim ownership
for a woman to deposit her
scrutiny of mortality...

yes, this shadow,
yes: this noon...
yes this dwarf of me in shadow grit
drifting toward an apart...

onions for the peel...
i tend to forget what and where
was... "fun"...
i'll hardly want to be left
having inherited
some variation of bias
with either children
or a grandiosity of grand-
   (angwy prefix lady said
so: sock 'em in)

        here's too, a forward...leisurerly
issued: from an Ottoman outpost...
i'm a bad man...
thought language police...
i'm a bad man...
i was inherently bad...
i'm bad i'm bad
i'm terribly... horridly...  anaemic... so...
self-lacerate moi...

cages in their 'eds...
language like afghan
******'s plenty..

better target practice with
those khaki attired
mustard clad foe...
to hell with the **-**-hoes...
i forget what's inclined by stressing
the dynamic of beta...
alpha resources...

as the crucified man said:
if i am not the alpha...
i'm not going to be
the BETA-BUCK-DELUX...

i'll be... last... omega.. "junction"...
yes... i'll be that... just that..
omega malph.
Renee Dec 2014
Am I fat? No, not really. Am I unhappy with my body? Yes. Am I ugly? I think so, but beauty is differentiated in everyone. Am I a good friend? I'd like to say so. Am I smart? I'd like to think so, but no. Am I talented? Hell no. Am I shy? Overbearingly. Am I annoying? Yeah, probably. Am I happy with myself and my personality? No. Should I be? Everyone should.
moss May 2015
sleep, I need you dearly
                                  why
                    ­            do
                          you
                   hold
            back
      from
me?
my eyes are sluggish and
          
             I am overbearingly weary
                                                   why
                                                 do
                                           you
                                     hide
                             away
                    from
             me?
             oh, how can you not see me
                            
                          in this pale haze, I'm dreary
                                                          ­         why
                                                             ­    do
                                                          you
  ­                                                   lie
                                          awake
           ­                         with
                            me?
   ­                      you drown me, I am dying...
Keith W Fletcher Oct 2023
...Something so familiar
seemed to be hanging
just outside my periphery...
like an annoying honey bee
Suddenly I popped up
from a languid moment
of heat driven exhaustion....
knowing something
had to be done.
So I grabbed my official hat
out my office door I...hobbled along  
due...to... my left leg being asleep
"wake up you fool"
I muttered as I angled
past the front desk
where
that new deputy stood playing on some little box
"Is that an IPOD?"
No sir! what's an Ipod ?
never mind
just keep people off that bridge
till I return and tell you different! Is that clear?
Yes sir Danial...uhhh chief ...!
Good now get going.

I got to go talk to the D. A.
then out I went to the most oppressive sept heat seen in decades

"NO! No way! That's not possible!"
You think so...? the chief asked
well just look out there in the streets.
Where are the kids-
home studying for school when it's still 2 days away?
Raymond Frazer D.A. for Upton county + 2 more back in the hill country.
"I am...de...
doodlytermined
so you coming?
"Yeah chief...but just to prove you...
can't and won't
overstep your authority."
And who would determine that? Judge.... Willoughby?well let's go see what he has to say then.
If you can get him
to approve your overreach
I won't say another word!

Hello Judge my dispatcher call you?
"Yes. She did and ,I must say...lunch?sure ,but it sounds like a walk down memory land lane
We might as well! gonna get some good bbq and cold beer out on the hiway.
10 minutes.
We will pick you up
after you get done with Betty Lou

oh and write this on a sheet of of cardboard and post it. .*** the judge chuckled
be there to pick you up in a jif.

Who's Betty Lou? And where we going now?
Find that Deputy of mine give him a special assignment.

County ordinance or 2
So ....
Technically
we were trespassers
By all truth of right, wrong or law...but
No harm meant by the rules
we bent
MAYBE...
Telling too many seemed the major flaw


That overbearing, solar flaring, heat streak
summer of desperation turned inspiration
When seeing people instead of watching people
Gave me different ways of creating separation

From what I see and what I'm shown
What I'm told and what it is
I actually hear
What I say and what I truly believe
And how somethings really are...just as they appear

Amazingly enough this cyber shift implosion
Crashed thru the outer me
careening around within my fragile core
While crouching down in a clump of bushes
Staring into caramel brown eyes of a girl...who was
Just as naked as me

It blew through town back then  like a hot dry wind on a July day
When people were melting like long stick candles   bowing
like an emissary to a King
In any window where the aftenoon sun shines bright
As it is
magnified...like the stupid cruel rumor

A rumor that a farmer broke a water main while plowing

Literally what else would it take to break
That fragil overbearingly irriatatingly ******* monotony
that held the midwest
American small towns dying summer that
year
a near-death grip
Except.... maybe...if
the rumor had
turned out to be phony

The trail of misfit cars, pickups, motorcycles rolling North
must have looked like the jailbreak/ carnival parade it was...that
seemed to gather stragglers like a magnet gathers iron filings
Soon on saddle bank road 120+ kids
Naked and as innocent in the fact...
That one might think that today was the day
they were born and in some ways...
they were! Fully fledged
in exodus
from the womb
of pure monotonous ladened
claustrophobic morality... have way to languished hedonistic daydreams

Static groups of slow-melting apparitions
Unaware uninspired unintended refugees
Of homes...
of family...
and abject boredom
of that sad summer of high petrol- low crude performance and
Summer jobs never blooming and now... add a drought.

As the final Saturday wilted on the absentee mind
Before the Monday rises to drag them back in...
...to the ritualized killing of all who found
The looming tedium  of lessons and tests
unbearably cruel to have school begin its pull
Without ever even having a glimpse
Of the dying ghost
of a summer break that never was.

Until...that steady drone
rose from a distance
Those 90cc pistons
spitting hope as its frantic echo
Seemed
to somehow announce
from 3 miles away
"help he's killing me!"

Razer was making that hybrid bike scream
then...right down main he came shouting thunderously
But to no avail...
....as every word
unheard...
undecipherable

"...daughter shake
bigganake
common shop..." was the word that ppl heard....

...then it died
PISTON ROD took off over the barbershop
Headed for the moon

Razer stood over the smoking carcus
Spit on it ...kicked it... then saluted it ...
Before saying hey common nowz its flowing and growing
Quicker than quick ...
and that was how summer came to a glorious end.

with a ten acres puddle
Water spraying 30 ft high and by gawd we took to it like
butter to hot biscuits.
until that is
the cops arrived!

And we all run to hide.
.. so here's where
I started this tale

Shhh.. I said
to this *******
beside me
Flesh-colored and glistening ...
We better stay put
you know...
... till it calms down
Hey!  I don't believe I've ever seen you around...the town before...
do you live here... in Braeden  I mean?

We just moved here
she said.
Hi, I'm Joy-Ann Hope
And she surely was at that!
  forever  ...well
Until I changed her last name and she became Joy-Ann PAYNE.
HEY IM NOT TO BLAME
9 MONTHS  later we
met a little girl
named Summer Dawn Payne!

We know all that Daniel...but you cannot expect us...the DA and Chief judge ..not to mention members of the school board and...
Shut that up Judge Willoughby...
and be Mickey Willoughby and Ray Ray ...not D.A.Frazier for a second so you can remember.
Think back 38 yrs and how that line of dried out ,dusty, forlorn kids suddenly came alive that day ...the horns honking, bicycle tires spinning and Ol Joey P ...rest his soul on that horse of his as it clattered along the concrete and clopped by the lead car by galloping along the grass shoulder.
Beat us all to the puddle and I will never forget what we saw when we got close
Him and the mare neck deep ...ha haha ha Yes. Joey P and Nantucket Grey were good people. Rest in peace old friends.

Okay ...the heck with it say the judge mickey to the sad moment of revered silence ...I'm about ready to retire and as I recall that day now I realize 1 thing
Crystal effen clear now
I saw Mary Hortons ...uhh Who that day..and that I somehow got old.
I'm sold Chief ...Sorry, Daniel what do we do?
Well Ray Ray County DA what do you not have to say now?

Just Question guys...shall we go get a tractor or sledge hammers?

Oh come on guys this is the 21 century and I am chief of police with ... well army surplus courtesy
of the fed gov and everything we said we would fix when we got "growed up"
Maybe today we help the next gen or two know what freedom really feels like.
Ray .. call the sheriff " little Bobbie Jones " and tell him
- and them-
to stay the f away.
Judges order.  
Hope wins again.
wn
Laurel Leaves Sep 2018
The small Island tucked away inside the damp inlet feels approachable by foot. If I trick my eyes to blur out the sheer drop off of roaring sea foam swirling, looping between my toes at the shoreline and back to the beginning of the jagged rocks that sink beneath each curving wave as it encompasses the land from the opening of the mossy walls.
He sits in smoke on dry sand as many yards attainable to watch me with a distracted dissonance while the forest fires musk chases us from the overbearingly dry valley to the shores of the pacific ocean. I trick my knees into feeling the sinking sensation of dipping farther into the water, sweat pooling below the tattoo on the back of my neck. the dream approaches me, as if the plain site of reality was still my swelling subconscious, diving deeper, salt water devouring premonitions of final moments before I pull my head back out of the water and claw my way up the islands barnacle covered rocks. Would my sore body hold to the frigid temperatures long enough? He’d notice, in his nonchalant demeanor, slowly saunter to the shore and scold me for my idiocy, assuming I’d swim back to him eventually. In this dream I’d stay, hold my stubborn stance, gather materials for the long night and bunker below the islands only tree, starting my fire I’d turn my back to him until he eventually left. I’d let the sea cure me.
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2021
give me enough night to forget the day,
give me...
   the times i turned my feet into
a plough and the space in between
with time included: all this arable:
in-between...
step by step
st-
       -ep    by
                         s-
                                -tep...
give me that... my old drinking ******
and sunrise...
besides... it's only teasing April's fulfilment
and i'm abiding by too much roughage
in the stem...
for every time word, "word" was lost
to become this...
shortcut of centuries
whereby the priesthood of sort
governed the literacy rates...
when ******* was fun or there about(s)...

a cauldron of sounds within the confines
of familiar, yet all the more foreign lettering...
a cul de sac of....
caged crazed monkeys...
by now i'd be citing a reference marker
about...

330  & 309...
       nomenclators...
    le grand chiffre...
   Rossignols: nightinagale...
skeleton key...
  buzz-words hardly... so overbearingly
bothersome...
to have to come to the conclusion
once one has passed a certain age...

to love, out of fear...
to have to love out of...
to invest in children as to be certain one
can die as a patriarch in bed
and be sworn in
to the death valley by a vigil
and celebrated come the wake...
trivial tool-esque child-prone
ventures of bothersome thought...

it's never so gratifyingly plainly
detailed...
to die suddenly...
unexpectedly... like Caesar did...
well... thank you the patron saint
and the god of all who cycle into
a much congested urban environment...
that thrill of making
a pristine route from
a roundabout while
heavy traffic is involved and you're
all skeleton born, naked...
teasing at an exoskeleton of cars...
        
  (how can one write anything
with this bad of bad of an internet
connection...
back in 1998 when we had dial-up...
**** worked just fine...
less traffic...
now? impossible traffic...
a little bit o' this 'n' a whittle bite
o' that... congested via
custard constipation...
moi? a ******* cat daddy like it might
be a cross to burden myself with...

to the bed of the stoic!
of pseudo... or... quasi...
sacrifices, sacrifices before the altar
of: fame per se...
**** and you're famous...
a famous awe-stricken work of
carpentry...
no... that thespian nightmare
of shadow-stealing? perhaps...

wake me up at 6:30am prompt-ly...
and i'll gyt on me'er bicycle
and wriggle around... the peddle of a lifetime
to chase both switz cheese and
sunrise...
now drinking wine and
having done enough cauldron cooking
with some witches i've come to the conclusion...

that they diet... don't diet...
yet they still turkey the whole ****-up poor
sober... can't ****** a properly designated
omelette even if they wished...
throw some peanuts at them
and watch the 2nd generation
of elephant trunk sprouts eager
for a bottle of... heave: live'young...
evian... somehow...

while all the self-help guru types...
and their literary genre is no more than
some wild excuse for
Kaiser Wilhelm IV to bee resurrected
in this current year and be like...
d'ah fecken mein trenchen
frisk och... die oops-la-la...

         it's enough that i will summon
the russian alphabet i will not
need to bother greek...
or glagolitic...
or add any orthographical markers
to this naked Lay-a-tin...
n'est c'est pas?

       but i will 'ave myself a refill...
as i churn out... promises...
for every surd... letter...
there can also be an insertion of an apostrophe...
i didn't sacrifice...
my knowledge of language leaves
me without good or therefore any...
conversation...
i stutter when i speak to people
who focus on the trough and cubicle...
i don't talk because i don't have
anyone to talk to...
i have... a ******* audience of
voyeurs...

the most i make of this inter-connectivity
is to check bicycle routes on
maps and the meteorological office
for... wind gust speeds...
that it might come from the SW
while i'm heading from the NE
and it's obviously against me... at 12mph...
but the gust comes in short outbursts
of nearing 30mph...

plus... as the older women knew...
the new way of shopping...
i am glad to have never invited myself
in any comment section...
and i probably didn't allow any to be left...

a tongue spoke in the silence
of 'ought: phonetically it re(a)d...
      paйx "vs." *****...
i want to test this...
FLURRY of a new found-land
of literacy among... common-folk...
misnomer: i'm sure...
all folk are common and all that's
common is... folk...

ribbit...
    is a paw-shy-to-the-jump...
sort-of... a... rabbit...
or... the sound a *****'s guest of toad
makes when it's not a sausage fest...
but a nymphomaniac ****
and there's a ****-sq. ******* apparent...
being all mysteriously...
humbert humbert / herr herr /
major major... alias with a phonetic symbol
(a letter in a foreign zunge involved)

unwillingly "we" dub them:
                  шaшa...
willingly "we" skid around the corners
and forget to brew whiskey
after having excavated amber
from the Baltic sea...
                 ЧEX -
        "chech"...
            Cheney? Cockney...
Chchen?!
             no... just "Czech"...
           'urva yebana maць...

there are not enough hours in the night
to listen to bbc radio 3...
all the tax-payers' moneys should
be paid into radio 3 coffers...
to hell with everything being televised!
to hell with...
radio 4... drive in the morning
for radio 2 oldies...
to hell with radio 1:
which never played iron maiden's
bring your daughter...

radio 3... no advertisement interludes...
a pristine radio station one can almost
suspect them to be pirate...
since...

no one is going to meat-up to meet
guillotine... Mr. Cromwell are
we closer to "done" are we yet to
find out to belittle the creases in
the new black that's the old
navy - no purpose for purple...

sooner you'll find me cycling toe
tied - twinkle loot:
i am in a possession of a beard
that is a must
come... the aggrevating...
  the aggravating winds of traffic...
i'll walk into the north sea stark naked
just to the prove point of how mortal
and Pompeii i am without
being comfortable... to be: without...

each day is a... ******' itch to tease
death into a crescendo of expectations
that... goodness be! never truly...
comes... regurgitated spit of envy...
whittle ****-weeds of human remains
to be taken to fancy...

my Lyle & Tate & a full-moon sort of...
at the oval... when the moon is full
but it's "not" full...
in a democracy my vox is bread...
in a democracy my vox is circus..
my voice is democracy my voice
is unheard and for all the willing powers
that "be"...
little hitlers hey presto...
advent of A406...
my grudge against the almost livery
of having nothing but having to live
for plenty of times...

my time's an exit... a plan: no plan...
revive me revive a... bed i want to sleep
in... occupied by two sphinxes...
don't respects me...
don't fear me...
don't acknowledge me....
conversation has been over long
before you decide to quest for a resume...

"elsewhere" and that's where
it's... EVERYWHERE...
liberally: at least re(a)d...
teasing at Siberia
and nothing...
to do with... whey-stern...
culture-trap of a "comb-over"...

  a bottle of wine can almost...
for sure... cater for... scratching of Ypres...
this little do that other d'ah...
almost anywhere looks pretty...
esp. when cicycled to...
and the sun's shining...

imagine my conundrum:
from a phonetically pure enterprise...
this horrid by-mingling
of letters and surds and...
"aesthetics" contra concrete orthography...
too much metaphysical *******
can do anyone' 'ed in... no?
one forgets... *****...
turns to ovals...

        england wouldn't
be england... if it wasn't an island...
but... from Ilford through
to St. Paul's... little India...
the conquista has awwived...
mind you... there's a peacock!
the Xerxes of a pseudo-Iran
is... a-waiting...

closure of the 20th century of
the hebrews...
hello... scraps...
we'll fiddle, we'll mingle...
there's a cocktail... surf's up!
drink it... tamarind...
turmeric...
           the scent before the closure
of a bog stench...
my... clipped wings...

ein­und­zwanzig...
        weil... nur türken ottomane
schubs zu ältere
   von englischzunge...
kommen... ohne einladung?
                  ist nicht...
              englisch vor...
                            mein: deutscheballaststoffe?!
Yanamari Jul 2017
Take my breath
Take my soul
Take my eyes
Take me whole
Pull me apart
Rip me to shreds
Set me alight
Cut every connecting thread

Lift my body
Stretch it thin
Snap my core
You know no sin
The darkness festers
In my growing shade
It's cold, intoxicating
It's heat overbearingly immeasurable

Cleave me apart
At the moments night
Cleave me together
At the rising sun,
The night already sneered
At my restless soul
"Sleep in the day",
It whispered into my ear,
As I lowered my head.

The darkness festered too long
In the shade
And had already
Poisoned me by day.
July 2017
Another piece I found in my private collection

— The End —