When you say: you are Sooo
skinny, *****. I think you’re
trying to complement me
but just don’t, please just stop.
I’ll let the use of ‘*****’ as a term
of endearment, go for now.
But Skinny is not a complement.
It’s a buzz word that evokes images
of too thin runway models, and
******* thigh gaps. Please don’t
associate me with #thinsperation.
Social media is as divided on
the issue as my thighs.
Pitting skinny ******* against
fat ****** all in the name of likes
and follows and shares.  
They pray on our own need
to validate our bodies and they
know the fastest way to do
so is to hate hers.
But taking the media’s
imposable beauty standards
and turning it on its head than
passing it on to me is just a game
of tag that none of us can win.
We are warring against our fellow woman
in pursuit of the ideal female form.
We are warriors behind the message
boards fighting the good fight for say
‘health’ or ‘feminism’.
Feminism does not mean do whatever
you want say whatever you want.
Feminism is not fat or thin.
She is not lipstick or armpit hair.
****** or…not a ******.
She is simply women, plural,
because there are a lot of us.
I won’t fight anymore with
surface level insults,
but I will debate you on
how social media
is the assemblage of all
human depravities
So the next time you call me a *****,
leave my skinny *** out of it.

Slipping and sliding
Back into the past
Foolishly buying
All the foolishness they've said

Stacking me against you
Pitting you against me
Does it hurt to stretch the truth
If the lie is so easy

Keeping us under lock and key
Mental Slavery

Under their thumbs
We're being kept
Simple pawns
In their game of chess

We take them at their word
This herd of talking heads
As we rely on every line
That we're being fed

Keeping us under lock and key
Mental Slavery

With the slightest of resistance
We feel we should fight back
But at our own insistence
It's ambition that we lack

So we follow along the path
Eyes closed to reality
Turning us against each other
Makes it hard to see

Keeping us under lock and key
Mental Slavery

The Serpent squeezes the mundane egg, for a moment in time,
…to begin the ages, turn the wheel, and so begin the rhyme,

The circus has commenced, a dancing, swirling motion,
…a pit of ghastly horrors, seen as a vast deep ocean,
…or celestial or cosmic, as some would have the notion.

Some of them were large, although some were also small,
…and grotesquely figured or disfigured, a scary monster’s ball,
…and trudging, stampeding, stomping or slithering down the hall.

There they danced, sang or prattled, where giants fought and where they battled, …thunder unto heroes rattled, with awful screams so frightening, and terrifying lightning!

Scaly, hairy or feathered, wet and fiery or weathered,
…conjoined, twisted or tethered, slithery writhing together,

Kingu and his wife, some say it was t’was his mother,
…his plan was war and strife, pitting brother against brother,

A ******* existence and so morally depraved,
…a state of sickly persistence, they found themselves enslaved.

Then abounding voice of heaven, that divided night by day,
…brought forth a princely king of Luke; the warrior Marduk.

Fourteen engaged in combat, the one against thirteen,
…and thus aligned with the ecliptic, at night they can be seen,  

Sloshing in the Apsu, beaten with the club,
…slain and torn to pieces, cutting channels of their blood,

A north wind sent them to their places, fixed on Tiamat’s wheel,
…and the starry constellations, did Marduk bring to heel.

We love to chase the wind through streaks of blinding bliss,
Tagging the glorious ideals of love, peace, friendship, even
The meaning of life, to weeping willows and pensive pebbles.

We admire the monochrome sky in all its barren blue or pregnant purple;
Hues of burple and plue are dismissed as being tedious, or just confused.
Fear not, photoshop will rectify this pigmented aberration.

We giggle at clouds that resemble kitchen utensils or mystical creatures;
“Hey look a teddy bear in a spacesuit with a flowerpot on his head wielding the Sword of Gryffindor!”
We declare sagely, with the acumen of a legendary bird watcher.

We resurrect grass angels by launching into horizontal jumping-jacks, and,
Just as a disclaimer, no flower was harmed in the process. Not that it matters,
As long as we did not soil our Lacoste and Burberry.

We spin a mixtape out of the torrential downpour, our tracks pitting
The pitter of regularity against the patter of inconstancy, synchronizing
The symphony of splashes to an undercurrent of nostalgia.

We kiss against the bark of an elm, and if a tree is not available in the vicinity,
We throw ourselves down a nearby hill, tumbling into a ball of moist romance,
Panting, as we bask in the studio lighting of the approving sun.

Every still is captured by a Lomo,
Every scene arrested in sepia motion,
Every moment ravished by the chichi Bohemian in us.

Lost in the majority
hiding within the masses
seeking acceptance
afraid to be yourself

The bullies' 'democracy' claims another victim
the chains are for you
not your so-called prisoner
Not the one who dared call it as it is
Not the one unafraid to stick his head above the fence

What is a person if not their truths
Be it right or wrong, better die than a ******* sheep
The Dodo was wiped out because they were flightless
Couldn't escape the clutches of human
Was it their fault
Or the God who made them without wings
and also created man in charge of earth

Man is the highest being
who professes to know more than God
Do what they want and take what they like
We can, so we do
We'll just make it up as we go along
Its unlawful to **** but our Police can **** the Darkies
You do jail time for stealing a loaf
At the top they are stealing millions slashed in Offshore Accounts

Then some flatulences of deranged ******* ranges along
declaring we are Red Devils against the Privileged
See that man go make his life a misery
Don't befriend him, don't even talk to him
Come join our club cause we are the majority

The flatulence of ******* have just stolen your Free-Will
Pitting you against another who has done you no wrong
But it's alright because everyone is in with it
No it's not OK because they have just made you a slave
Played on your fears and made you feel inferior
Judged on your behalf without your consent
And manipulate you without your approval
Because they have fooled you
Made you think you're only strong in a pack
While tainting your mind with Hate
And stealing your free Will

Welcome to Cowardsville, Have a nice stay
Cause you're staying your lifetime
Real Democracy is seeking Common good for all by all
Not common destruction of another blameless Human
as sport to hang asinine trite banners on, to **** your mind in
That is not Power, its a scam by Cheats, thugs and hooligans
who also want a slice of the Top table pies and cherries,
without learning the rules of the game
What these shites call Power is hate and Bullying
And bullying is Wrong and cowardly
It could be YOU someday

You may not have much but at least own yourself
And own your mind
Make your own decision
Don't do because someone stole your free Will
Least of all a Flatulences of Red *******
Who banish Freedom while yelling Freedom For All
Who lies we are fighting for the common people
While their union Leaders earn same as the ******* PM
and live Rent free in mansions with fortunes in Banks

Is Putin equal to all the others he rules over
Is Trump giving up his Billions to make America great
Has Corbyn given a spare room to a Palestinian refugee
or donated half of his wages to the poor
Do you honestly believe Politicians tell you the TRUTH
Whether Red, Blue, Orange, Gold or ******* Rainbow

Then some Shyster Flatulences of Red Nincompoops steals
your Free will and sends you like dogs to go harass
and torment one single Man and calls it Revolution...hahaha

Go have a coffee and smell the Roses....people!

So, what if I told you
reality is the dream.
Are you prepared for the
                                         NIGHTMARE?
Do you want to wake up?
Yes, the key is to open your mind and wake up and become one of the socially conscious higher ups in the anarchy we call
Society,
But with great power comes great responsibility.
Honestly, do you believe in the prophecy that our generation can
RISE THROUGH ADVERSITY
Become the masterpiece that God envisioned when he created this tapestry of writers and athletes?
Actually, better yet
Do you believe in the ghost of the past that rest uncomfortably in it's sanctuary?
Are we the Golden Age or are we gilded
We're livid, vivid, driven toward a goal that looks more like a sign telling us we're going the wrong way.
A wicked testimony.
So we're faced with these two options
To wake up or remain dormant
To be a pawn or be a king
To live on our knees or die on our feet
And I don't blame you if you choose eternal slumber
Because we all love to sleep and it's ironic because that's what we look forward to to during each and every day we spend in this dream --
I mean, reality
But, if you choose to lay off the benadryl and take a dose of this "real world"
You may find that missing key you've been looking for.
Or, the glass can be empty and you find nothing but misery and insomnia.
Again, the choice is yours and even if it may SCARE you
Dying on your feet means you learned to walk.
Isn't that the first thing we learn to do?
So maybe our parents actually taught a life lesson
(to our extreme disbelief)
And do know a thing or two
But still, we are the iPhone generation
And they have no clue how to tweet anti government conspiracies and
scroll for hours on tumblr
So what do they know
For all we know they may still be asleep and in the same cheap hotel room as us
So is there to trust
When we dream of gamemasters loving torturing the lower classes and pitting them against each other in death matches?!
Take this match and spark the cowards
Bring light to the revolution and set ablaze the darkening towers
Let's have lucid dreams and rebuild the democracy
Dreams and reality become synonymous and merge into each other to form a new entity and we shall call it
**GOD? YOUR MASTERPIECE!

This will be short and sweet like the honey when the Bible character was famished it’s hard to identify
With arid hostile lands an know desperate hunger it wouldn’t be if you looked in a spiritual mirror there
Isn’t such a thing yes there is it is the bible you wouldn’t like what you see staring back at you all
Natural impediments and illusion that material life creates a density a perfect cloak sins chains are
Hidden the future obscure or if it shouts out the dire straits you’re in it is immediately destroyed by
The precious but deadly sentiment God is love yes that was qualified by a disfigured suffering savoir who
Didn’t just say I love you he showed it to the Father in Heaven then to all ages of lost men and women
You will not pass his agony and suffering while you participate in evil that does nothing but undermine
Your very life robbing you of blessings that goes to the center of your being not the quick thrills then you
Regret your shameful actions the church is the great first aid station for spiritual wounds and sorrows
A support group that is in the know and is equipped by heaven to rescue any hurting person that
Played the devil’s game and now lies in a maggot infested cell in excrement obviously they hear
When love goes to their extreme situation and what a transformation from rags and scabs and delirium
To a sound mind a life that flows by silver cool streams and the path leading away to your recued life is
Not you alone but He is your guide just a personnel word to let you know I’m not just talking this is what
He did as my guide I was running two hundred points on blood pressure edema with pitting other words
Open holes six total with the leg on fire and then the sharp biting pain that the strongest pain pill didn’t
Faze E.K.G. in depth blood work kidney ultrasound heart ultra sound the last a trip to emergency for the
Leg all of this disabled no insurance oh yes the biggest one in two weeks go to a kidney specialist there
Was going be whole lot a chinging going on that alone would have surpassed everything else but this is
Where He steps in I used the scripture that says come and let us reason together I just said if this goes
Through I won’t be able to support St Jude’s, Boys Town, The church and a missionary so when I went
For blood pressure test down from 200 hundred to 144 ER didn’t admit me I m still paying nine hundred
From the last visit to the ER for blood pressure mostly I set there for three hours you would have to go
To Vegas to blow money that fast but we have a Father that will intervene change the course that would
Put us in debt and every other harmful thing and then you have the father of this world he knows every
Weakness he knows all of your failures and he mines it for all its worth and by the way you are the slave
That does the work well I wrote like this last time and then Hell grabbed my leg and it’s still burning with
Hellish pain but I accepted a challenge to step up my efforts to rescue the perishing but I am a liar I said
This was going to be short and sweet and it is neither but I get lost while writing and the pain subsides
These words don’t mean much but before any of us want to were going to go to judgment then tears of
Anguish and joy will say thank you for caring and showing me truth that saves

Tell me am I love
or am I suffering
Am I stepping into the black
or into purity
So purity is white
and white is purity
Am I noticed for love
or projecting my suffering
hoping to be on stage
for all to see
Love is pure
Suffering is pure
Love is marred
as are flecks
pitting the whole
of suffering

Ideas not people
rule the world,
competing for supremacy,
*******.

Conflicting, waring
to gain the
upper hand,
control.

Virus like
as it spreads
through the population
Infecting all that come
in contact.

Ideas are insidious things,
once infected nearly impossible
to ignore.

Populations are
controlled by ideas.
Religious ideas, political ideas,
run gunshot
over millions,
pitting whole
populations
against one another.

The relative nature
of ideas is dependent
on the level of infection.

Where do ideas come from?
Who or what injections
them into
our releam.

Ideas make us
do things,
controls us.

Free will just an
illusion.
Ideas make
us behave as
they will.

Can there be
a unifying
idea that shows us the
way?
Would that just be
universal control?

Are our brains complex
enough
to see the
unifying
Idea when it
finally arrives?

Memes can lead us
into the future,
or undo it all.

Mantra


This will be short and sweet like the honey when the Bible character was famished it’s hard to identify
With arid hostile lands an know desperate hunger it wouldn’t be if you looked in a spiritual mirror there

Isn’t such a thing yes there is it is the bible you wouldn’t like what you see staring back at you all
Natural impediments and illusion that material life creates a density a perfect cloak sins chains are

Hidden the future obscure or if it shouts out the dire straits you’re in it is immediately destroyed by
The precious but deadly sentiment God is love yes that was qualified by a disfigured suffering savoir who

Didn’t just say I live you he showed it to the Father in Heaven then to all ages of lost men and women
You will not pass his agony and suffering while you participate in evil that does nothing but undermine

Your very life robbing you of blessings that goes to the center of your being not the quick thrills then you
Regret your shameful actions the church is the great first aid station for spiritual wounds and sorrows

A support group that is in the know and is equipped by heaven to rescue any hurting person that
Played the devil’s game and now lies in a maggot infested cell in excrement obviously they hear

When love goes to their extreme situation and what a transformation from rags and scabs and delirium
To a sound mind a life that flows by silver cool streams and the path leading away to your recued life is

Not you alone but He is your guide just a personnel word to let you know I’m not just talking this is what
He did as my guide I was running two hundred points on blood pressure edema with pitting other words

Open holes six total with the leg on fire and then the sharp biting pain that the strongest pain pill didn’t
Faze E.K.G. in depth blood work kidney ultrasound heart ultra sound the last a trip to emergency for the

Leg all of this disabled no insurance oh yes the biggest one in two weeks go to a kidney specialist there
Was going be whole lot a chinging going on that alone would have surpassed everything else but this is

Where He steps in I used the scripture that says come and let us reason together I just said if this goes
Through I won’t be able to support St Jude’s, Boys Town, The church and a missionary so when I went

For blood pressure test down from 200 hundred to 144 ER didn’t admit me I m still paying nine hundred
From the last visit to the ER for blood pressure mostly I set there for three hours you would have to go

To Vegas to blow money that fast but we have a Father that will intervene change the course that would
Put us in debt and every other harmful thing and then you have the father of this world he knows every

Weakness he know all of you failures and he mines it for all its worth and by the way you are the slave
That does the work well I wrote like this last time and then Hell grabbed my leg and it’s still burning with

Hellish pain but I accepted a challenge to step up my efforts to rescue the perishing but I am a liar I said
This was going to be short and sweet and it is neither but I get lost while writing and the pain subsides

These words don’t mean much but before any of us want to were going to go to judgment then tears of
Anguish and joy will say thank you for caring and showing me truth that saves

keep the window open i cant stand to smell your skin, you are shivering. youre cold
(you tell me so (you want a response (i nod,)))
(but you are still cold)
do you have any
fantasies?
this halting voice heaves in my stomach pressing against the walls, making
me sick, the snap of your blinking lids a pickaxe to my temple. i think about
fire
a lot. i think about forest fires. filling the tank in a dead town, dark night quiet town,
the gas tank overflows (your nervous eyes in your sweating sticky face {your twitching gaze stroking the lighter in the glove compartment} dry dry lips {your wet tongue only makes them dryer})
breathing in her ear you say tie me to the stake tight tight so rope burn sears my wrist,
burn me with the dry kindling,
condensation drips down her neck, sliding down the arm. on the sidewalk in the pit of her shadow a puddle forms, wetting the wings of the unhappy wasps, joints twisted, the gaps in the exoskeleton show something bright, something bulbous, with forceps and needles it could be reached? its delicate skin pierced, oozing thick light (do you have any
fantasies?)
[so there are two of me, right,
clones, equivalent beings but
individuals. some sort of sick
government secret. human ex
periments. its not important.
i grab my clone by the neck or
it grabs me, its not important,
the dust billows when my feet
skid, im choking, vision blurr
ing, i claw at my hands, we f
all, dust bursts into the air, m
y fist makes sick thudding sou
nds when it hits, bruising my
knuckles on the structural bon
es of my face, possibly breaki
ng the more delicate ones. im
straddling my chest and im s
pitting out the teeth that i di
dnt swallow. then the clones
****? im not really sure.]

Cotton is truly King ,--from Blue Ridge to Southern border , creator of fortune ,  remedy to pain and struggle  ,  dividing---  pitting neighbor against neighbor ,  market afire funding Sheriffs and  constable , alive and rampant among elderly , teenager , public official ......
King Cotton reintroducing malignant , corruption , nay from yesteryear at mercy of whip and chain ,slave and sharecropper ,  but to the gun , homelessness and the horror of merciless addiction....................

I’m bending over backwards, cracked words falling from my lips as I try to explain to you who I want to be. My spine cracks beneath the strain.
You turn every phrase I try to translate to you into some spiel, shoved into my face. You called me crazy for being a creative thinker.
The materialization of my existence bursts forth into vibrant colors, a catalyst sparking my unwillingness to become you, who “raised” me.
I still have scars from the lies you carved into my skin, I scratched their opposites on top of them to blot out the dark tendrils of your misery and replace them with my own faltering hope.
Burning and tearing trying to prove I’m not the monster you tried to make
Taking charge of my own youth, teaching my own self discipline to restrain the unfathomable hate I have what you’ve done
At 11 years old you had lora, your /new wife/ steal my diary when she kicked me out of my room to clean it. That night her, sara and yourself read passaged from it aloud and laughed at me.
You turned my brothers against me so I’d always be fighting alone, pitting us against each other like wolves, but I got kicked out of the pack.
I became a fire
Scorching pages of my life’s history till it was erased, retaining the anger of memories and bridges burned.
I was never the villain you played me out as, I learned all my swears from you. I learned all my negatives from the influence you provided. You taught me hatred
I was never the victim you tried to turn me into, maybe I thought I was, maybe I believed it for a little while. That fabrication was never true, never who I was.
You said I was your favorite, yeah maybe your favorite to tear down, your favorite to break.
I’ve figured out that people only try to gain forgiveness from things they’ve broken  after they’ve messed them up past the point where those relationships can be mended,  its proven with you, with my brothers.
You made too many mistakes to fix this, not with gifts, nor with promises that are broken before they leave your lips.
We share blood, I came from you, it seems my value dropped the moment I was born, and obviously you cant respect women enough to give your daughter enough of a chance to fight the world. So I forged my own weapons, sharpened my claws with the will to be better than you ever were.

You ****** her in front of me
And there's nothing I can do
You ****** her like Ted Bundy
When there's nothing I can prove
By hitting her
You're pitting her
Against us
Defenseless
She acts superficial and vapid
To better fit into society
The change is quite rapid
Now she has propriety
But in accepting this role
Her broken soul grows cold
Her hand she folds
To be given gold
Becoming manipulative and callous
This upsets the peaceful balance
She cures herself of her pain affliction
By turning it into a destructive addiction
And getting on the other side of infliction
You should be the one that is faulted
Yet you're the one that is exalted
Can't you see how this woman is on the border?
She definitely sees how you defend Rob Porter

Pusillanimous polecats
Practicing perfidy
Plan parties and
Parse probabilities proudly
Partially putting past
The paltry populace
Pornographic postulations
And potboilers
Pointing poisonous
Proclamations publically
Pitting proper people
To pathetic programs
Promising the penurious
More poverty.
Often posthumously.

Pitiful people plead
Putting need over posture
Putting parents out to pasture
Promising, but passing on
Proper placement of
Propriety and parity
Planting nothing for posterity,
Prizing prosperity
Politicizing with polemics
Post-mortems on politeness
Placing pandering
Higher in practice
By perpetrating
Practical party politics.

I try to will my hands to movement
but the energy that fails to stir them
is that of a dying spider

my hands are dying spiders
the weight of broken ballerina ankles rests on them
as one finger, one spindly leg reaches foreward with the fading pulsation of apathy and desperation

apathy pitted against desperation in a cage match thumping against the bars of my ribs i cannot funck fu k func function like this

i once saw a dying spider
she had been in the skylight for weeks
lights flooded the room and she floated down the middle
on a silver string, what skirts are made of for dancers
her legs slowly splayed as she turned so thin so light
in my head i heard played the last grand notes of swan lake
she landed her perfect pirouette to the end of her swan song
and dies to an admiring audience weighed of broken ballerina ankles

her spindly, skeleton leg reaches foreward
driven by desperation
slowing by apathy by starvation by stubbornness by fear
her legs curl unto herself
caging the match pitting apathy against desperation
she cannot fun...c..tio...n... like... this...

Silence falls on my eyes and creeps them closed as my hand
fails to reach the next letter
i desperately have to reach the next letter
but Apathy blinks and says
whats the point

I've started the death race
My foot on the pedal, not the brake
(Which any sane person would)
But I took a leap
(More like step forward)
And fell upon what I've been fighting against
All this time
3 days
13 months
When you fall into a hole
do you try to climb to the top
-Scraping your hands and knees on the way falling down a few times and damaging your heart
Or do you dig yourself deeper till you can no longer see the sun?
(Out of desperation with nothing left to do)
-Because you fear the climb, the falls, the difficulty
-Pitting yourself against yourself because you've already come this far?

I must really want to see China

For I am dug, maybe (hopefully) buried.

And I fear I will never feel the warmth of sun again.

At least one heart is going to be broken

I just hope
God I hope
That it's mine.

also known as a lesson in anatomy 2:
this is my heart,
it is both a metaphorical
representation of an oversimplified
concept of a highly intricate
detail
and
a thick ball of senew
which throbs to pump
blood through my veins
distributing oxygen and nutrients
to the backwater parts of
the clusterfuck known as my body.
sometimes I like to take it out and
look at it,
turn it around in my hand for a bit
before pitting it back.
sometimes I can't remember how the
arteries fit
so I just jam them in there
and its a real mess.
the thing is molding a little on
one side and kind of wrinkly.
think of an orange that's been hiding under a cabinet for too long.
they say when I person burns to death
the last part of them to turn to ash
is the heart, since its
so tough, the thing takes forever,
just sitting there in the fire.
I don't think that's true.
I think its the first thing to burn.

she says she likes to be alone
until she’s seated at a marble counter,
pitting open a grapefruit and
smiling fondly at its pinky-orange nectar,
refrigerator hum echoing
in the dimly empty house,
she welcomes the acidic trickle
seeping into her day-old papercuts,
her slurps rudely remind her that she is human
and cannot become unhinged
because bones are nothing
if not persistent

This anger flows through my veins,
It's blackened hands reaching for my throat,
Trying to bring me down,
Only memories of you can hurt me like this
the way we were,
So young and naive that it hurts
But I've come to realize that,
Yet to come is the worst
A double edges sword of love and hate,
Pierces my soul and mind,
Inner peace is something I'm to far gone to find,
I'm binded, blinded,
Yet you still run underneath my tightly shut eye lids

Years come to pass, before I open my eyes again
Silent sins plaguing me for many a day and night
Never to plague no more
As they wither we hither the steel swung
no shield for defense, immense broad my blade shall be
Love for eternity with the clash of the sword meant to heal..
Follow through with no urgency, blinded like a master
Flow severs only hate; and with the cut comes a rose
others hope to raise the broadblade we've raised within ourselves
but to no avail, weve made it far
serenity for infinity
Pulled from the stone, cut into positivity

No.
I won't do this anymore
I won't have my heart, bleeding, and feeling
And falling on the floor
Shake me to the core, I'm signing
I'll never love again!
But if I do, I'll die, just make sure that I go down swinging
Pitting, me against myself
That's all feelings have ever done
I always get my hopes up,
A never blooming rose bud
Yet the sword strikes me,
I begin pouring blood
Yet the feelings that I feel,
Will never be enough

Here’s where poems come to die

A child sits alone,
But isn’t really alone,

His mind fires colors and shapes
Into all empty, black spaces
He hears the voice of his best friend, Henry,
They’ve known each other for two minutes

The child knows his story,
How he came from the same place
that the fairytales do.

The child’s heart is open.
The child’s innocence creates
And Henry smiles, his red
hair a strange color with no name.

And they laugh,
The child watches a small horse
Graze in the tall grasses of the prairie
Henry laughs because he’s always been ticklish
Right under his arms.

They whisper about their adventures
How Henry saved the child from
Oblivion.
From the job of constantly pitting peaches

From the centipede as it marched
To a war beat that only Henry and
The child can hear.

Years later, the boy doesn’t know
Henry.  
And he doesn’t know he ever did.
That was beat out of him
After he stole his first pack of chewing gum.
And looked at his first *******.
This is where poems come to die.

On a brighter note
a Thames lighter boat,
where the rivermen between the banks give thanks to
tidal waves and wave across between the shores,between the puritans and ******,
Southwark never bores the citizens,pitting them against the age where Shakespeare plays upon the stage and Chaucer sits in Tabard Square,
awaits the pilgrims who are milling corn atop the bridge.

Cromwell sells the tickets for his latest gig,to dig the graves and inter the raving lunatics who switch from bedlam down to palaces in the minster where the spinster out of place knits balaclavas for the faces that she sees dropping from a guillotine,
these things I've seen a thousand times, written in ten thousand lines and acted out below the chimes of clocks that stand before the sway of one more 'down south london way'  or anyway what do I care if it's share and share alike or not.
I've got allotted but a short spell here,time for dinner,one more glass of beer and then my dear I'm on my way,
to stroll through more of yesterday.

This doodling Yankee (boot noah dandy)
doth newt lack chutzpah,
tries to finagle Fitbit fitting figurative footwear,
that ideally Fitzhugh
like custom made glove snugly,
terrifically, unequivocally matching,
thence handily solving Finger hut issue,
when or if arctic blasts cold
doggedly enveloped Gaea,
whence  humans analogously held hostage
linkedin among fellow Earthlings freezing,
frost bitten, gangrenous hominids
scurrying haphazardly searching vainly
from shelter ring sky (with mother's little helper)
each primate scrambling

(as unrepentant, recalcitrant outlier)
once (what seems millenniums ago) livingsocial
jackknifed habitat fractured,
essentially damning Crispr bungled ambition
grist for raconteur spewing sought aide
telling tales amidst the mill by  Ponderosa Pine
drawing a crowd of curious onlookers,
who forewent idling away time structured existence,
thus, nary a clock watcher weathering whims
as mother nature doth channel
capriciously, felicitously,

and indubitably stripped away
bow ring pastime asper watching paint dry
now tis each man, woman and child to
(seeketh dale and hill) to duff fend themselves
whereat mortality will steal immoral majority linkedin
encapsulated, housed, kindled
within luxurious faux existence
capitalistic dreams engendered existence fleeced
devoid of featherbed,

indeed mollycoddled memories
yanked wherein current rank and file
endowing superlative creature comforts
reduce wretched survivors
scant band of bare naked ladies
beastie boys, foo fighters espying counting crows
ready to buzzfeed toe kin **** sapiens

bereft, expunged, faux invincibility kickstarting
learning basic survival skills
forced to rescind twenty first century trappings
shifting paradigm sans primacy
pitting dishabille helpless imps against pearl jam killers
who do not shrink from ethically principled,

but give full reign to selfish callous deleterious foibles,
gruesome harmful indiscretions
sprouting with mushroom rhizome rapidity
ousting the  omnipresently
(well nigh since time immemorial
virtues cultivated, futilely integrated, lending oomph
residentially, scientifically tendering ubiquitous DNA
foisting gabled, heralded, instilled,

justified kneaded love thy neighbor motto
lyft ting in one fell swoop delicately
embroidered, finely graven, heavenly ideals
no more patent leather shoes reflecting up
nor doodling Yankee staking claim to fame
via feathered cap made of macaroni
thus such jingoistic, holistic,
fabric ripped retroactively
ramping atavistic simian base,
thus leveling the playing field.

cup it and clasp it
grab and grasp it
firmly, proceed to strike it and stab it
before autumnal flames scatter it like sewer mice
and clouds of thunder become clouds of somber snowy lights
illuminated by the little lamp reflecting off Christmas ornaments
my vacant eyes and their hollow flights
of endless stairs
pitting to a cave of solid ice
i lay in the center
each and every of these numbing nights

I was never as infatuated with you as you were with me, for that I am sorry (that is the only apology I will ever owe you). I was fourteen and the earth was shaking underneath my feet, yet you somehow had the gall to try to pull the rug from under me. You were the first person I had seen who could be made unrecognizable by anger.
2. I was younger than you and desperately seeking attention. You used that against me. I still wonder if pitting two friends against each other accomplished whatever it was that you wanted. If I saw you on the street I would not recognize you.
3. The first time I kissed you I felt a hunger that I had never felt before. I could not seem to get enough of you so I called it love, talked about you like you put the sun in the sky. I gave you everything I could and in return you gave me new insecurities, I wonder if you know that. When I look back on the years we spent together I am ashamed of myself. I should have left when I found out that I was not enough for you, but I stayed for a while longer. I'm sorry that you're stuck still, I hope that one day you find your place.
4. You never mattered to me. You tried and failed at making me some sort of outcast. I forgot you existed.
5. You were my friend and we were both drunk. I thought that I loved you but realized I was saying that to spite someone else. I don't think of you, ever. I no longer appreciate the times when you decide to call me and tell me how in love with me you are, please stop wasting both of our time. I am looking for consistency, not something that fizzles out when life gets a little bit busy. I'm still waiting for an apology.
6. You had been on my radar for years before our paths finally crossed and when they did I felt invincible. The first time you kissed me I drove away cheering, I think that was when I put you on a pedestal. I made far too many excuses for the things that you said out of anger, I made far too many excuses for you, period. We are strangers now and I am only now beginning to realize that it is probably a good thing. I still think of you from time to time and wonder if you do the same.
7. I met you telling you about my broken heart, about how I hated to be ignored. You put on your best smile and told me that you would not lie to me. I now know that most everything was a lie. You didn't have to try to hurt me, I had already told you that it would be impossible. I hear you look like **** now (it makes me smile).

Do you hear that sound?
The wind
Whistling through closed blinds
Drifting into your ears
Burning your eyes
Stimulating your mind
Days behind dance
Driven by unrequited
Painful
And provocative romance
Hollowing your eardrums
And pitting your chest
It's quiet
But so loud
I wish I could understand

Sometimes I’m torn between
the light side of my soul,
and the dark place in my brain.
People say you have to pick a side,
you can’t stand in between.
And if I’m caught in the crossfire,
it’s better than tearing myself apart.
Pitting one side of me against the other.
Because the demon whispers lullabies
While the angel whispers doubts.
I’d like to think I’m quick to catch the lies
in the net of truths shouted at me,
collecting in the space behind my eyes.
Sometimes my finger slips
and I pull the trigger, but little did I
know the gun was pointed the wrong
way, so now I have a bullet between my
eyes, aiming at the dark part of me.
But the angel side decides that
maybe I’m not ready to die.
I pinned a rose to the face of the
side that died when I thought it was
wise to try and take my own life.
Because the demon in me promised
me a truth that was consisted of lies.
And my heart is empty, with a blood
red lipstick stain on my cheek. And the
demon in me says that it’s not my
responsibility, but how could I not know
that while I was keeping the light behind
a cage, the dark was roaming free.
My nail was painted white when I held
the muzzle to my cheek. And I aimed to
**** the bad part of me, but the angel shot
an arrow at his brother and changed his
mind before I had time to change mine.
An angel killed an angel, in a moment
of fear and shame. I fed the wolf too much
rotten meat. I corrupted the light in me,
running too fast to keep up, and I
missed the black spots swimming in
my head. The Devil kissed my lips
while I was sleeping, and the angel
drank the poison to save me the agony.
I let the light swallow the dark only
to turn into the poison meant to **** me.
And now I peel the petals of the rose
bestowed to me by God, only to
see the body of the angle laying
dead in the center, pollen coating
its skin as it sleeps eternally.
Just like the better part of me.

Ashes of the Wake
==================================
I would like to tell you a story
Of a young man born with a power
To channel the sun

His name was Regan Noel
And he was born in the light
His destiny written prehumously

Foretold to end the destruction
And oppression
Of a tyranny called The Wake

Yet his ability was beyond control
He hurt those closest to him by proximity
Causing the prophets to denounce him

Fortunately for Regan
There was a saving grace
A solution to his madness

A drug or drink
Dulled his ability
Allowing him to think

As the war raged on
His vision cleared
He'd do anything to be a hero

So he stepped onto the field
To face The Wake
And free his people

In a blinding flash
His presence was known
Replacing evil with beauty

As the glare receded
Regan stood alone
His destiny complete

Later he announced
To his people
Theres only ashes of The Wake
===================================
Waking The Fallen
===================================
This is a continuation
For the story of the sun born
Regan Noel

For after his victory
That left only ashes
A new Wake formed

Sour from defeat
Craving to regain control
Of slaves recently free

They ambushed our hero
Then threw him in a cell
Blocked from his light

He felt powerless
For the first time
But he was not alone

Chained next to him
Was a wizard of dark ability
Named Nicklaus McCanter

Like Regan
His power was foretold
Deriving magic from the moon

"We must do something"
Nicklaus pled
"Rather than sit here virtually dead"

So together they formed a plan
A way of escaping
The ties that bound them

Absent power
They used their minds
Tricking the turnkey to set them loose

Once free
The new brothers set a course
For vengeance against oppression

In tandem they lay waste
To a fallen army risen
From the ashes of The Wake
===================================
Fall of The Wake
===================================
This is the conclusion
To a far away trilogy
Of magic and revolution

You see
The Wake could not contain the sun
But it could control the moon

So it sought to separate the two,
Regan and Nicklaus
In an attempt to disrupt balance

They turned the moon to the dark
Alienating the light
Of brotherhood

Pitting friend against friend
In a battle to the death
Poised to retake control of the aftermath

"Look into the light Nicklaus!"
Regan implored
Yet only hate looked back

"What have they done to you?!"
The hero begged
Not wanting to hurt his partner

"They awakened me!"
Nicklaus screamed
As black ink consumed his flesh

Knowing the battle was at a ******
He had no choice
So Regan summoned his voice

Like a white hot bar of iron
He flashed an image to his companion
A last ditch please for reason

In that instant time was frozen
Two men forged by prophecy
To restore balance

As blinding radiance met absent black
The opposing forces
Canceled out

Restoring sight to Nicklaus
Long enough for a noble sacrifice
That can be seen at night

'For he was a hero too
Giving his life for destiny
By destroying the moon
...

So everytime the moon is new
Just remember it symbolizes
The fall of The Wake

I remember death
not by the pitting feeling of gravity
swallowing my stomach,
or the nausea that ensues
as the vertigo sets in,
or the narrowing vision preempting
liquid legs that spill
and overflow as I am drowned
by the darkness that will never cease
for them
laying forever still
at my knees.

No, I do not remember death
for how it burdens my soul.
These deaths are not mine to bear –
I merely shoulder the toll they exact
for but a few minutes,
sometimes nights, weeks, or even months.
I’ve lost count again and again and again.

They are not mine to bear.
They are not mine to bear.
They are not mine to bear.

I remember death instead by those survived
when one is extinguished,
like the amber lights that cease to spin,
the defibrillator that powers down,
the sweaty brows that unfurl and dip,
and the valiant hopes that wane.
I remember death most by those
resigned to hear the last words
I have to offer.

To the grandchildren on the phone
speeding forty minutes away too late
to share this woman’s last meal.
the charred turkey smell lingers deep
into our hungry lungs as we breathe
in and out
into her for the last time.
I’m sorry, but there is nothing more we can do.

To the son frozen while his father hollers,
rapping and tapping on the walls
just as I rap and tap on your mother’s chest
with waning form and speed.
I can only imagine who you were to her.
Her only child, her world, her life.
And yet,
I’m sorry, but we did our very best.

To the daughter singing the alphabet
while your father lay still just past that office door.
At not even six years old, you don’t whimper
when we all fall silent as your father’s heart
remains even after the shocks.
Would it be torture or mercy to lie?
I’m sorry, but your daddy is never coming home.

To the father blaming himself
for all those years he cannot take back,
trying to break past the deputies
and cut the rope suspending his son,
white in the face, blue in the toes.
I’m sorry, but the damage done is final.

To the concussed mother gripping onto life
in the trauma room next to your daughter,
broken and bruised courtesy of the drunk
driver who impaled your car,
who impaled your little girl.
We tried when we knew we’d fail.
I’m sorry, but we did everything we could.

To the wife running out of her house to find
her husband shot sixteen too many times
staining the grass she tried so hard to revive
in this never ending drought.
A mix of his brightest and darkest reds
seep down from the backboard
and into the brittle roots.
I’m sorry, but there’s absolutely nothing we can do.

It’s not death that eats away at me,
a quart of blood or a pound of flesh
for an ounce of soul.
I remember death, instead,
by the faces of those left alive.
of those left to live
with nothing
but my last words.

I’m sorry, but it’s over.