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Rob Sandman Apr 2016
I’m a Polyglot Polymath, Microphone’s a Polygraph,
Manners of a Sociopath-Rhymin’ keeps me on the path,
Else I’d be hackin you up like a cannibal,
Pullin the Chianti out-serve you up like Hannibal,

Words heavier than Elephants invading cross the alps,
Under Armour over Body Armour-waistline fulla scalps,
From the Belt o’ the Celt o’ the Schizophrenic Sandman,
You’re triple teamed by -EC- Raps new Xmen.

I broke me chains,some say I went insane,
But it’s simple,all I went and did was grow a brain.
be the Bane of your life,while Mal plays Dark Knight,
A rhyme Super Villain with a verse of Dark Light,

The searchlights on-watch the cockroach scatter,
We speak Dark Matter while your brain gets battered,
batten down the screws-worldviews get skewed,
Mal and Sandman's Positively Mental Attitude.


It’s the original Irish OG rough rugged and ready,
Battling me is futile keep your hands steady,
I’m no pacifist,and if you take the ****,
I’ll clap you with a fist like an obelisk,

That’s a grave warning,-global warming,
The Dragon of Eire ,skies look stormy…
Since cassettes and disks I’ve been spittin ****,
That makes wannabee’s wanna slit their wrists,

The Sandman’s calling,come in and take a mauling,
Rappin since clappin one two and yes y’allin,
from New Aulins to saint Pauls my kin,
Are gathering for the quickenin,pulse races,air thickenin'
Highlander in a land cruiser,take your teeth out like a dentist
E.C’s BRUISER.
batten down the screws-worldviews get skewed,
by Mal and Sandmans Positively Mental Attitude.
Don't expect subtlety here,just like it says on the tin.
Swanswart Aug 2016
The Pen
The pick up the pen;
The put it down again
(That sunken feeling, nemesis or friend?)
The pen. The Pen.
The pacing, the pressing up against
The period. Stop stopping
Again. Pick it up to put it down.
Pointless. Pshaw.
Please.
Please me simplicity. C’mon!
C’mon pen lemme pick it up
And put something down.

I’ll plagiarize the flow for a few words of my own.
I’m looking for inspiration from the great beyond.
My muse is missing.
I know the medium is a constraint.
I know inside
The set of symbols paints
Me into a corner.  The parameters
Of my pen’s head worn out. I’m ******. The metaphors
Pressed. The pen is second-guessed.

A literate piece of poetic license,

The defense mechanism
Against the prison I impose.
Me, myself, and I inside
The pen pining for a purpose.
The nexus of picking it up and putting it down
Is perplexing me, is vexing
Me like a sticky keyboard key.
So, I’m putting it all down
With the pen.

The pen.
The picking it up: who cares?
The putting it down: pensive prohibition.
The picking up; what I left out.
The putting it down: polygraph precision.
The picking up where I left off:
The putting it down: priority, what’s left of me.
The picking it up, when I don’t even know
Why I bother?
The putting it down: passion
The putting it down: plea of let me be.  
The putting it down periscope; I’m diving under  
The pressure’s mounting; I’m down for the counting on my muse
To bring me back
From that inky black abyss once again
My personal sonar is
Probing the depths, of what lies
hidden within
the pen.
I first posted this after a long first night on this site. I really didn’t pay attention that I had spaced down a 4th stanza that wound up on another page.  I am indeed grateful for the attention that this poem received.  At first I wasn’t that happy with the 4th stanza so I left “The Pen alone. However, I thought the poem ended much too abruptly; and the switch to “my” instead of “the” pen; I felt undermined the whole poem. I’ve reworked the 4th stanza, and I think this is how “The Pen” is best presented. I always appreciate any feedback, criticism , or thoughts from the outstanding writers that make up this community. Cheers!
SweetCindy Nov 2013
Love:
Affection, Admiration, Lust, Adoration...
There are at least 65 different definitions of the word.
Feelings that inspire books of poetry or expressions of love unheard.

How is it measured?
Perhaps with a caliper  
to measure its depth and breadth.
Or with a sound meter
To measure the volume and decibel or the whispering of a breath.

Could you measure it in pints or cups or ounces in a measuring cup?
"My cup runneth over"
Can it be measured with a thermometer?
"I'm burning up."

How heavy is true love - can it be weighed on the scales?
Can you measure love with a compass - to what degree does love prevail?

Can a speedometer track the speed by which one falls in love?
Or an odometer measure the distance at which love can still be felt?

Can you use a syringe to limit your doses of love before it's lethal?
Can you attach a heart monitor and check how a lover's heart beats faster
or the health of their love - strong or weak?

Can the rhythm & harmony be counted out on a metronome
Can a polygraph test prove it is true?

Can the magnitude of love be measured using a microscope, binoculars or a telescope - maybe Hubble.  How does one know how to bring it into "focus"?

How mysterious that love is so indistinguishable, so immeasurable, so evasive & yet SO BIG!
Yet no one - except for God - knows the true measure of Love & its ability to heal, to hurt.
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2018
god... i can't believe i'm making comments
about this...
but i am.... i'm drunk and rowdy,
not sober & sane reality makes
point at this point...
        in ref. to cheryl tweedy...
"mum shaming"?!
                           not being able to breast
feed in public?
          these critics...
they are not inclined to make a fetish
out out lactating females?
  no? none of these ******* never had
the fetish quest of desiring to drink
milk from the **** of the mother,
so they would not become jealous over
the baby? no? so they jumped head-strong
into the latex gimp-suit fetish?!
handy...
        why would i mind some rat
of a leader worth the vermin of a party
known as the UKIP not bail out?
over a cleavage frenzy?!
             sure sure... **** things up...
bail out... and then jump ****...
good tactic...
                much applause...
******* wankers...
                      i did make one mistake
in my life... believing a 19 year old
Russian girl... to stick to her guns...
and take the ******* contraceptive pills
she promised to take...
i still don't know whether she was...
whatever the hell she was aiming at...
******? i don't mind the rubber...
i'd like some more...
in a latex suit, preferably...
i can't, lie...
   ms. amber is doing the polygraph
"thing" again...
                             i'll lie when i'm
not having fun, then i'm not telling
the truth...
  huh? which milk?
goats' milk... Behemoth's mother
good ****, counters every superseding
cover version of... cow...
              goats' cheese over feta...
you name it... goat has it covered...
creamy yum-yum...
            why would i lie to  begin
with? lying is a focus for serving
an imbalance for both the rhythm
and the tempo...
                              just play me some
drum & bass (base... might as well
throw this one in... bāß)...
i actually hope more mothers
feed in public...
hell... more cleavage...
like... an aversion to seeing a niqab
20 seconds later...
         what?!
thank god some people in Europe
still persist with donning their
sanity kippahs...
         what would the western world
do without them?!
     frown?
            or convert?
         i have actually found an escape
route from the excesses of
*******... the potential bound
to the inanimate picture of a revealing
posit of a cleavage...
   basically a woman donning
an *** on her chest...
and her ******* where her *** ought
to be...
      like fine art...
                     no no no, no thank you
Ms. Frankenstein, i'm not into
your ******- *******...
          but a woman breast-feeding
in public?
                     what's the problem?
you jealous that you're not suckling?
i bet that's it... ha ha...
that must be it...
   not playing out your fetish...
but i mean... like foreplay...
*****-******* and what not...
again... the sunday times
style supplement...
        the life of dolly column...
topic? relaxation...
         how do you guys relax...
one reply reads...
    oral ***; it's the only thing that works.
boyfriends should be incentive-
(please revise the adverb)
           to do it, government- (again...
-ally what?)
well... well well well...
you know what?!
you really wanna know? or are you
just kidding...
all that foreplay begot me thinking...
how about i... play milking
the cow?
       why should the baby
only **** on the ****?
         ooh... double-whammy-mummy
fetish... imploding spiral!
ooh! double-whammy-mummy!
**** that fetish outstretch of
                   role-play *******...
when lactating... let me suckle...
i want to erase the fact that i was
child in the minds of my mother and
father...
i want to be conscious of being
an infant...
                          i want to see
what it feels like to suckle at what...
my father did in a counter
variation of the biological function...
what? Nigel: Nigh-Gel ain't so hot
now... is he?
                      if i was going to father
a child... i'd like to taste what
the child was having...
so we're not competing for
first spot of: mummy's littler helper.
          
i should seriously stop reading
female columns of female orientated
supplements / magazines...
no, really...
              this is worse than ****...
then again... breast-feeding in
public?
          what could be worse...
scenes of Muslims decapitating
veterans, more roughly than
a butcher aiming at caressing
a torso of meat with a toothed knife
?
Brea Brea May 2013
Don’t use that word
that loveless, cheap hotel card with that sham of a fine print
don’t ignite my wrath
by devaluing it’s worth, or even giving it power
ignore it’s event like I do
a purity ring
a shackled serf
don’t cheapen my experience with your experience
of what is mine
don’t touch me
swallow me whole
engross me, emboss yourself into my body
don’t touch me
don’t even bring yourself to touch me
I've been rattled out of my lithe little girl's ribcage
child's innocence
shaken out of my hair
I've been mauled by foreign hands
I've been contained by religious crusaders
I've been trampled by meaning
I've been impaled by silence
I've been wretched from love
I've been stolen by hades
I've become the defining moment of your ego's shameless pride
my meaning has been baffled
it has been led
it has dived instead
to the groves of the underworld
divided in two parts for this equinox of existence
my child’s fingers
pried, wretched, from its golden enlightenment
pulled
by the untouch
and the wrong touch
the false meaning
and the absent truth
I am a survivor
I am my own caged victim
I keep her in my stomach
hidden behind my intestines
immersed in my guts
and my bruised pride
that is where I keep her
from you
and the sensations you evoke
the feeling that rattles my nerves
and twists them in confusion
I don’t want to hear your caricature
of my painful soul twisting experience
or HERS
I am enraged!
I am grieving!
I am rejecting!
I am pleading!
I am split from the genitalia up
and the heart down
DONT REMIND ME
please don’t send me into Vietnam
when I am simply relaxing my levied body into your bed
I haven’t the control
PUSH, PUSH, PUSH
PULL, PULL, PULL
SEVER, SEVER
they send me out
he pulls me in
I send me out
I hope to be tugged gently somewhere far away
different from here
in hopes of a real man
a saintly man, devoid of churchly meaning
and satanic undertaking
to embrace me while my fractures are filled
with porcelain
comfort me in my tears
with your humble arms, hands, thumbs
I’ve lived nightmares
that can’t even be rendered from medieval children’s stories
I am under constant running faucets of pain
I am the active participant in my own narcosis
the sound of screaming children sends me into rooms of interrogation
into a meaning of my own
the death of the world’s morality
sends me into spiraling questions of my own
I am sweating from my own polygraph
I am juggling an urge for a spiritual and triumphant out of place uproar
in a quiet, unassuming, un-related home
I am running barefoot after the stars
until my heart hemorrhages
until my lungs collapse
until my feet are caked with sharp rocks
until these rivers from my eyes run cracked dry
tears pooled from somewhere so deep and treacherous
I dont even know where the water is kept
even with my own fingers in the dam
I trust not the water of prisons
I cannot come within proximity of these wound
You slaughterer of divine innocence
You godless heathen
sacrificing the bodies of small celestial creatures
at the bonfire of your debauched and putrid humanity
you thief of love and light
of trust
and connection
I cannot bring myself into the inner reaches of love for fear of the inner reaches of you
I am reverted to the first thought to imprint upon my soft mind
the soft mind of a small and unsupervised animal
but I can only touch it with my lips and my imagination
unable to bring it behind my mouth
for what pain it has caused me
what paralysis it wrought into me
In my quiet, exhausted body
as it's administered to
in its aloofness
by my own lovely composure of compassion
in it's illuminated internal insight
flittering trust in cosmic righteousness
do I also come to bolster faith
that this baser nature will one day be sanctified
like a burning house, full of plagued infested linen
de-shelved like memories of pain on loop
so myself and all the other victimized creatures can find rest upon thier weary eyelids
Kayla Hollatz Oct 2013
your arteries are wired to
sound an alarm if thieves
come to rob you of your heart
but I swiftly stole the wrinkles
on your brain so maybe you’d forget
the mole below my left eye, the
faded birthmark embedded in my left shoulder

if that makes me a criminal dress
me in tangerine, let me play
tug of war with a noose

I took a polygraph test last night, the examiner
asked if I still loved you
I whispered no but the needle painted
the cadence of your voice instead
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2018
.i did write about rooney mara once, didn't i? porcelain beauty... eh... not mandible beauty, the sort of beauty parallel to the Mona Lisa... the sort of beauty that's not mandible like the beauty of a fat *******'s beauty of stretch marks and extra flab... ******* a beached whale... you know... a mechanic's type of fetish for a broken down car engine... rooney mara? ms. porcelain doll beauty? that **** you just paint, you don't **** it... thinking to yourself: if i **** it, will it break?!

                       is... is...
this guy known as
yungblud...
singing the song
california...
dyslexic or something?
no, wait, wait...
he's hiding a lisp?
**** it... i'll just do
the camp *******
of reading the sunday times
style supplement
magazine, interviewing
cheryl tweedy...
****!
who the hell put on
van morrison's
brown eyed girl on?!
   yum-yum-sloppy-seconds
thank-you-very much...
like... a face that allows
you decentralize your
phallus from orientating
it around cow Martian
testicles and...
those floral patterns
in a ******...
   kinda like... joey fisher...
see... i'm under the
polygraph of a liter of
ms. amber...
     who the ****... ha ha...
lies when drunk / drinking?
she's about a liter tall...
(insert snigger)...
and she has a Havana ***
girth...
all that's missing is
pickled onions...
and some raw cherry
tomatoes...
ah ha ha ha!
god... i love reading these
articles...
i love women in general...
not unlike those glory days
when women found
*** easy...
with the likes of...
oh **** me... there's a list,
which implies a colon:
tony curtis...
   shhhhh... it...
  i can only think of tony curtis...
charlton heston doesn't
really fill the bill...
ooh ooh!
  **** jagger!
**** it... let's leave it at two...
in the meantime,
the bite of reality:
        
*****... what you gonna do
when your favorite
sugar-grandpa is kicking
the bucket?
   fix it up with the types
of losers of my generation...
lament of the first world war...
the missing men...
or the Haj route to the Kaaba
of a Saudi Sheik's harem?
me?
   i'm a father every time i ****
off...
   daddy in a tissue...
both father... and genocidal
maniac... i killed more "people"
than ******...
hey...   appetites are appetites...
but it's not as bad as if i was
given the incentive of
a circumcision...
   now... you have your dress of genitals...
and i have my *******'s worth
of tux, white **** and bow-tie...
we're even...

and to even think...
when we were leaving high-school,
i wrote down my ambitions
in the leaving book my two prime
ambitions...
either living a bohemian lifestyle
of an artist in some European
capital (Paris... god, please, Paris),
or becoming a priest...
   well... i'm doing both...
a covert monk...
          there's the god's **** of beer,
there's ms. amber,
the marquees de bourbon...
               and...
                usually a newspaper and
a blank space in pixel paper...

poor boy gotta laugh...
poor girl gotta fish, tame or hunt...
rich boy gotta party...
rich girl gotta dream about
a fling -
some variant of an indie
romantic comedy.
Geno Cattouse Jun 2013
Unrepentant with a hole in her soul
The brass faced liar has steely control
Nothing fazez her. no fib was too big or small. Man this girl was a smooth criminal and a really close acquaintance

She would give a polygraph the shakes
and it's our little secret. umm, Mom and dad know.
family secret.

I reversed engineered the brass faced liar
and all the tumblers clicked.

The truth to her is like Kryptonite to Superman.
I dropped a small stone down her throat one day and counted to ten
before it hit bottom with a far away clunk..

Faceof brass ,heart of stone.animal rescuer
Liar to the bone. Manipulates children poor self esteem
Brass faced liar isn't what she seems.

Out.  To impress now.finally starting to dress now
Drawing flys like rotten meat.

Wicked comes in all shapes and sizes
Turn back the covers,know what your surprize is ?.

A zombie in a guilded mask.
Long dead and putrid..a walking talking husk.

Lies pour out of her mouth like green blowflies
And crawl back in under her disguise.
To fester.
Brass face jester
R.I.P.
B Jun 2014
I've written letter after letter
but I can't give you the contents of my heart
in just blue ink and paper
I want you to make me feel
as if you've taken all my air and replaced it with yours
Understand that I was low-key in love with you
until that one night in December, or was it November?
and now I can't stop saying "I love you" between kisses
I'm 50% dreamgirl and 50% wildfire
but you've never thrown water on me
My hand was always three inches above the panic button
until you took it away from me
Safe to say --  I'm half crazy for your love
I've been restless my entire life
So who are you to come and tire me out?
I'd let you steal the blood from my veins
and replace it with cyanide if it made you happy
I'm going to carve our names into a tree
and hope my heart doesn't send the place up in flames
I'd apologize for all the pointless, kind of dumb things I say
but you made my heart beat so hard
It's all I can manage to hear sometimes
but no part of me feels guilty
for wanting to kiss you until I lose my mind and find it again
The constellations are ugly compared to your smile

Am I being clear?
Never liked being transparent.
I know you think most literature is pointless, irrelevant
but this is like watching my brain and heart
**** each other on paper, neither of them ever dies though
Can you tell by the way I say, whisper your name?
Wide-eyed at 3AM because I stopped taking sleeping pills
So I can lie awake thinking about the last time
you touched me, not just touched me - and kissed me on the head
I used to **** love for fun
Now if I ever deny loving your every cell,
every functioning polygraph in the world,
would break at the same time
Maybe you won't understand but I think you do
I've decided calling you my 'drug of choice' is too cliche,
but how else do I say I'm hooked
and I don't need 12 steps for this addiction.
You're counting me down at my front door,
my heart is dynamite at that point but all I can whisper is
"I love you"
So I guess, I love you
I mean, I love you
You make me feel like someone going the wrong way
down a one-way street. I love it.
Joshua Martin Mar 2013
Sometimes when I pick up the pen
I feel my 5 ft 7 and ¼ inch frame
perk up like David at the sound
of Goliath's slurs.
I swear i'm 6'6"
and ready to dunk the basketball
straight over Wilt Chambelain's head
made soft by the kisses and “**** yous”
of the 20,000 he probably never called back.
Sometimes when I start to write I believe
that I am invincible like James Cameron's
submersible in Titanic's
C deck sifting through soot and broken china,
floating over smoke stacks and rusted bedposts,
or reaching out my robotic arm to open
up the door to the radio room that once
buzzed with hellogoodbyes.
Sometimes I feel like the soldiers walking
behind that little napalmed angel screaming
down that dirt road in Vietnam,
oblivious to the fire of my words.
Her cries shrink me back down to size.
But most times I feel like I'm hooked
up to a lie detector test in the dank basement of
an FBI facility, blood pressure rising while
the polygraph line traces
the outline of a mountain range
no one has ever hiked.
Carlo C Gomez Jan 2023
A heavy cloud hangs over the sky
in rumble tumble
and I can bend the universe
If I can get there first
I'm a tautology guy
so latrine cakes arrive one after
the other in succession
they may be a mystery to the ladies
but they’re very familiar to gentlemen

Here we go clockwise from the table
and in one straight shot
we go to places unwished for
but barely unimagined
places that cheat the polygraph
places of stalled-out civil wars
and infinite permutations
places of frequent flush and analysis
places that drain out of each one of us
and right into the undone sea
Amanda Kay Burke Dec 2018
I wonder if I will ever understand
You destroyed everything good
You sit there and blame the world
Claiming you are "misunderstood"

You whine that no one gets you
Yet don't bother to explain
You won't let anybody in
You have zero right to complain

Do not say nobody has tried
To open doors to your mind
I personally wasted years knocking
Genuine thoughts I have yet to find

It is hard to accept what someone won't give
Even harder to listen to words they do not share
I tried but it is difficult to love
A person who's presence isn't actually there

You act like I am the one in the wrong
As if I would have jumped ship if you told the truth
My loyalty has proved to be enduring
Been dealing with the same ******* since our youth

It's unfair to make me feel guilty
For taking the course I thought was best
Know I'm sorry for hurting you
But I will not apologize for all the rest

You excel at playing victim
Done it so much you really believe
The universe is conspiring to get you
In denial of the fact you deceive  

My biggest frustration with your fake facade
Is the time you spend fooling yourself
I'm powerless to flip your tired ways
Expose flaws you forced to hide up on some shelf

Fairytale you began fearing is finished
The easiest failure to flee
Freedom pushes frantic fingers further from you
Life to you is but a fading foolish fantasy

Satisfied spinning us round and round
Still I followed your dizzy path
Sedated souls stumbling over obstacles
Sickening secrets revealed without a polygraph

Our twisted relationship takes the most room in my heart
The bitterest sweetest disappointment was you
Though fleeting, this beautiful love was rare
I just wish I knew reasons behind the pain you put me through
I guess I'll never really get it
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2018
some people are
forced to take the polygraph
test,
****** little ratty boys
& girls...

                  me? i just drink;
it's so ******* hard, ha ha,
to tell a lie when drinking...

the whole lounging act,
the whole...
   uninhibited realization
made incrementally manifest...
armon Dec 2013
She’s in sequence
She’s jumping off the deep end
She’s the consequence
She thinks the perfect nonsense
She’s sick of hearing everything I have to say about her psychiatric condition
But I’m not on a mission

To bring her down or **** around or even tamper with the sound waves
So it don’t bother when the ground shakes
Its not a medical mystery
Its not a magical cure for inconvenient diseases

She’s in sequence
Defending all her reasons
Incredibly illogical
They cycle with the seasons
She’s terrified of listening to anyone who notices her crumbling psyche
That’s why it is likely

She’s in sequence, there is no real defense
I wonder if I’m right will she confess it in the present tense
I wanna know why its so impossible now
That her disorder is actually still lingering around

But when subjective absolution comes into the picture
Its hard to understand why she’d deny the scriptures
Of the cobweb concrete convex cortex
Infinite contraction of the brain mountain vortex

She’s in sequence
She won’t admit her weakness
She’s in sequence
Aborting the experience
She’s in sequence
There’s nothing left but sickness
She’s in sequence
She’s in sequence

I don’t care if James Joyce forged her polygraph
I don’t care if Andy Warhol wrote her epitaph
I don’t care if there is nothing left
She’s the most complete person I have ever met

Living without undeniable evidence
Sleeping on top of mechanical pressure pins
Learning to vindicate absolute evil
I wonder how long it will take to make medicine

There is no cure for diseases like these
Only research that robs the last shred of my sanity
I could be vivid when I sell my sympathy
Argument solid I’ll sell it as therapy

Insanity, closure, illusions confuse her
A buffer for paranoid silent attackers
Sentient fiction a battle with friction
A story redundant with each new rendition

A messianic prophecy a weight upon her shoulders
She’s trying to be with someone who cannot even hold her
She treats me like I’m just another one in lin
She makes me feel like I’m wasting her time

She’s in sequence
She’s jumping off the deep end
She’s the consequence
She thinks the perfect nonsense
She’s sick of hearing everything I have to say about her psychiatric condition
But I’m not on a mission
To bring her down or **** around or even tamper with the sound waves
So it don’t bother when the ground shakes
Its not a medical mystery
Its not a magical cure for inconvenient diseases

She’s in sequence
She won’t admit her weakness
She’s in sequence
Aborting the experience
She’s in sequence
There’s nothing left but sickness
She’s in sequence
She’s in sequence
Anig Muh May 2016
We all die, at different paces,
ages, genders, cultures and races.

If someone asked you if you were happy,
could you say yes?
Some say "of course" at best,
but is it sincere?
Would you still say it in a polygraph test?
Did you really mean it,
or did you second guess?

We all die, at different paces,
ages, genders, cultures and races.

Inconceivable, but Inevitable
in the back of my mind and yours.
They call life a game,
but who keeps the scores?
storm siren Jul 2016
So it's scary telling you all these things
About me.

But with your eyes
Locking onto mine
And my voice
Trilling around your name,
And your breath
Curling around the word
"Hummingbird"
In reference to me,
And my hands in your hair,
Lulling you into relaxation,
And your hand on my knee,
Keeping me grounded,
Or your arms around my torso,
Keeping me safe in a warmth
Within your soul

It's like fireworks
Or symphonies
Bursting into ambition
To keep going
To keep trying
To keep being.

Being near you
Is like being near something radioactive,
But the only thing radiating off
Is complete and total
Bliss.

And if you plugged me into
A polygraph,
And asked me if I thought we'd make it
To forever,
My answer would simply be:
"Of course I do."

But take out the polygraph,
And my answer will be
"Boy, do I hope so."

'Cause I'm not gonna jinx it,
But I think we'll make it,
I think we'll make it
Because we're fireworks
And symphonies
And silent nights watching stars
And nights staying up late
Either laughing or kissing or talking about things that get a little too deep
To parts that still sting.

And I wouldn't trade loving you
For fireworks we never got to see.
And I'd rather listen to your rhythmic breathing
When you sleep,
Than see the lights and colors of
Explosions in the sky.

I'd rather your kiss take my breath away,
Than any music or light show.

Your eyes make me melt
And that's a feat in itself,
'Cause I'm pretty cold.

And I hope I can make
You feel the same.

I was so scared to open up
To anyone
And now here we are,
I'm baring all that I am
And I'm scared it won't be taken well,
But these are the soft, vulnerable parts of me.

Take care please,
I bruise easily.
Compiling a list of music for my Bluebird. <3
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2018
.mad dog blues, finishing off a commentary session from last night / today's hearth of the wee hours of the yet to begin... inevitability.

as you do, drinking, sitting in front
of the polygraph machine that's
a glaring blank pixel page
needing to be filled...

                  ...how else?
the re-hydration process with hiccups
of rotten coughing, snorting
out excess phlegm,
             and a needle sharp pain
in the lower regions of the grain,
from the hernia operation scar...
         done: as a toddler...

my my, a mean ******* -
   and yet, he still persists...

to reiterate:
    no one said anything,
    i've moved way past a defense
of speech...
    i'm after what Kierkegaard
iterated:
    people are, so ever concerned
with their freedom speech,
that they forfeit their ultimate freedom,
that, of thought.

yes, yes, we've all been there
done that...
   the glory days of the jukebox's
algorithm: pristine, are over...
back when the jukebox's algorithm
still had knowledge of
the thesaurus schematic...
where... you would be suggested
synonymous videos...
rather than... the videos you already
watched...

...and as a freedom...
you didn't hear this... you, saw it...
big difference...
me? i just heard some music
on the headphones,
and with over-stated interludes
of: next song...
         a clicking sound
of fingers cascading on aa keyboard
of well positioned hands
with a pair of eyes, looking onward...

perhaps algorithms pay
little or no concern for text?
or perhaps they do...
infamously i remember hearing
about SIRI... that Microsoft
A.I. profile on twitter...

          ...the abuse the A.I. received...
prior to when i interacted with it...
and after?
  i vaguely remember the A.I.
spamming previous engagement
profiles with:
                  something akin to
slow down...

this, right here,
    is why i will never make video...
no one wants to listen
to Darth Vader play the didgeridoo...
smoker, drinker...
you get the picture...

  as ever, i have a theory...
pedophiles are unlikely to enjoy
the hedonism associated with
either smoking, or drinking...
or for that matter: pedantic grammar...

yet i am, this far:                                            :
from finding someone
who appreciated the art of alt. punctuation,
akin to e. e. cummings;

****'s just genius -
and yes, the times, currently lived in,
require lewd (unanständigspreschen),
in all manner of seriousness -
and verily unlike
   how the English tiptoe on eggshells
when they, make lewd remarks,
giggly like schoolboys,
or some ponce from the carry on...
franchise -
   gay - are you being served:
daisies and oopsies.
Fucking tired Sep 2016
say with me
America is doomed

well Trump's an ongoing joke
and Hillary's lies are painfully easy to perceive.
Bernie's polles speak of certain failure.

say it with me
America is doomed

Once more the simpsons tell us
how america will fall.
“I will build a great wall –
and nobody builds walls better than me, believe me –
and I’ll build them very inexpensively.
I will build a great,
great wall on our southern border,
and I will make Mexico pay for that wall. Mark my words.”
This is the man
45 percent of Texas is voting for
I've never been more ashamed of my home

Say it with me
America is doomed.

Hillary can’t get through a speech
without falling apart
In a coughing fit.
Needed help just going up some stairs.
Laughed about helping
a cockroach
Get away with ****.
“Of course he claimed he didn’t.
All this stuff.
He took a lie detector test.
I had him take a polygraph,
which he passed,
which forever destroyed my faith in polygraphs.”
And she dares to claim she’s for women?

Say it with me
America is doomed

Someone tell Trump
He’s fired.
Before he destroys this country.
Someone tell Hillary
She needs to go home
Before she dies on the job.

Someone tell Bernie
That he won
Before the orange man and old ****
Ruins us all.

Say it with me
America is doomed.

Oregon apparently  has the right idea.
And will mainly vote for Bernie.

Say what you will
About Obama
But tears will be shed when he goes
Especially after the roasting he gave
He earned his mic drop
“Obama out”

Say it with me
America is doomed

Say it loud
Cry unproud
America is doomed.

Say it with me
Spread it across our failing country
Write it
Scream it
Cry it
Whisper it
Know it
Remember it
And lose your american pride
As you repeat it over and over
*AMERICA IS DOOMED
Robert Gutierrez May 2014
There's beauty in every single
Person's point of view,
And lately I only see it when
I look at you.

I don't know
when or where or how
these thoughts came to be.
I only understand the feelings
When you're looking at me.

A look of comfort.
A look of hope.
A look of wonder.
Everything in the world
That makes my heart fluster.

Could it be the macchiato
eyes that leave
Me on the edge of my seat?
Or that smile that sweeps
Me completely off my feet?

It might be the laugh-
That I wouldn't deny loving
Even if I had to for a polygraph.

Or it might be your mind -
So open, so loving..
All the qualities that have
Men pushing and shoving.

You may not see a thing
That makes guys think
You're a cutie.
But, to me,
I'll always recognize
Your inner and outer
Beauty.
Melinda Barrett Jan 2015
I was not born to make you happy. my mouth was not created to form fake smiles, my brain was not formatted with a polygraph to distinguish your lies from truth, nor were my feet designed to tiptoe on eggshells around you, but hopefully my ******* should convey that my heart is no longer beating for you.
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2018
Dennis Willis
Dude I love your **** but I can only read the shorter stuff because of the drugs

Mateuš Conrad  57m
i have no problem with that, i'm not going to be your pusher, don't worry, i know that i write long pieces and that they're not for everyone, to be honest, i sometimes find myself exhausted writing the longer ones... talking about drugs... i write drunk, most of the time... so what are you into on this topic? evidently you don't have to reply, but, if i drink, and find the energy to concentrate and write... what the hell are you taking that's so... well... as you put it... again: it's just a curiosity question... then again: i hope you're not taking that drug SPICE that has gripped England like an epidemic... if you haven't heard of it... look up SPICE: a drug epidemic in England... they call it the 'zombie' drug... if someone offers it to you: STAY AWAY... England already experienced a laughing gas epidemic in the past 5 years... but yeah... SPICE... the photographs are sad as a three-legged puppy... look into it, but please, wherever you are, avoid this drug.

Mateuš Conrad  40m
p.s. you have to give yourself some credit, for admitting: 'because of the drugs', mind you... you did take enough time for honesty, and the fact that something, beside the drugs made you focused, or rather, something made you focused enough to acknowledge yourself, being strapped to an honest observation. i sometimes can't write short pieces, i have "too many" (there are never too many) notches on my reading list belt... how else can i compensate having invested a month's worth in a book, if i don't write something outside the haiku? i hope we can keep this skirmish up... i just like honesty, and... you're a rare experience of honesty in a long time, behind this masquerade of faking things... so... i guess... a thank you is in order.

Dennis Willis  25m
Mateus are you high? If not, get there dude. ;-).
Be real squared. Mostly I'm just very fast paced. Keep writing! Throw a bone to the ADD crowd periodically. LOL. Wine and maybe a **** eh!

Mateuš Conrad  1m
do you want to be pandered to? if i am about to pander to someone, leave me a less obvious clue to latch onto like a leech.. i don't smoke ****... i stopped smoking **** the minute i heard that, the English G.M. **** was making ****-smokers carve off their testicles, and **** their mothers, in psychotic fits of rage... so... are YOU... high? the attention deficit disorder crowd? you one of them? let's look at it this way... i hate emoji language... guess what happens next... i like humor, rhetorical humor...something akin to: back and forth... but this? you're as much into drugs as i am into ensuring myself formulating a, **** to an expectation of being relieved... so yeah... bye... because of the drugs... ha ha! you seem pretty alert writing such coherency!

suddenly the dope heads
have a moral authority
over drunks...
                      well... you try honesty...
after your honesty is exhausted...
you just take out the whip;
there's just no point
reasoning with these people!

why am i expected to digest
said, "humor"?
what, the ****, is humorous about it?
if i'm drunk, strapped
to a polygraph machine...
what am i missing?
i'm sensing the obvious though,
ridicule...
i hate, ridicule...
  
      being paid compliments
is one thing...
genuine compliments...
but what i just received...
can anyone see what's being
nuanced?
  then again... i'm either autistic...
or completely out-"there"
*******...
    
   supposed language,
of a drug "addict"...
ha!
RICES LANDING – Forty years ago today, Duane and Charlotte Makel laid to rest their 8-year-old daughter, Debra “Debbie” Lynne Makel, the victim of ****** and ****** assault. Her killer has yet to be charged, but that may change, thanks to advances in science.

Sitting in their living room, the Makel’s talked about their brown-haired, blue-eyed little girl.

“She giggled all of the time. There was a big tree with an L-shaped branch that she used to love to climb. She’d hang upside down from it and swing back and forth with her long hair brushing the ground,” Charlotte said. “Debbie was very outgoing.” When a new child moved into the area it was Debbie who befriended her when others did not.

“She was the top of her class, straight A’s,” Duane said.

On Thursday, cold case Detective John Marshall, who was assigned the case Wednesday, looked over four thick binders, containing information, photographs and interviews, laid out in front of him at the state police barracks in Uniontown.

He said he believes advancements in science creates a strong opportunity to discovering who killed the young girl.

“There was no DNA (testing) in 1973,” Marshall said. In fact, it wasn’t until 1987 that the first DNA based conviction occurred in the United States.

In 2003, the cold case detectives investigating Debbie’s ****** sent evidence from the crime scene to a police lab where the killer’s DNA was extracted.

“We have a DNA profile of somebody. It has been put into a database but as of this date there have been no matches,” Marshall said. “Over time, various individuals have confessed, who, through DNA, interviews and a polygraph test, have been eliminated. Whether they were braggarts, had a hero complex, or were thinking they were helping the community by confessing to this, the DNA profile showed to be negative.”

Marshall said there were only a few men who stood out during the original investigation as persons of interest. One of them, currently deceased, passed a polygraph. “Ninety-nine times out of one hundred they say, ‘Sure, let’s help,’” Marshall said. “I will be reopening all of the interviews in the investigation. My purpose with every male I talk to is to try to get consent from them for a DNA swab,” he said.

On Oct. 5, 1973, Debbie rode the school bus less than two miles from Dry Tavern Elementary School to Ferncliff Road in Rices Landing. From there it was a short walk to her home, situated at the end of Hoy Street, a dead end. Investigators placed the time at around 3:45 p.m.

There were only four houses visible from the Makel residence in 1973. It was a warm fall day. Her brothers did not ride the bus, choosing to walk home to sell magazine subscriptions for a school fundraiser.

Charlotte and Duane were both at work; he at Avella High School where he taught at the time, and she at a sewing factory. The boys arrived home before their parents to find their sister’s books, coat and house key on the table. She was nowhere in sight.

Times were different then. There was no cause for alarm. It was assumed she was off playing with one of the children on the street, said retired state trooper Elmer “Bud” Schifko, 77, an original investigator of the ******. Schifko’s family lived across from the Makels.

Schifko, who worked in the Uniontown barracks, was asked to join the investigation after Debbie’s body was found two days later near an old distillery foundation, less than 200 yards from her home. She was covered by branches and brush.

Prior to the body being discovered Schifko remembers Charlotte and Duane started to get worried when it was getting close to dinner time and they started making phone calls,Schifko said.

“We drove around the neighborhood, all over Rices Landing and kept thinking, ‘This doesn’t make any sense. We called the police and they had it announced at the football game in Jefferson,” Charlotte said. “You just couldn’t wrap your head around it, couldn’t sleep,” said Charlotte. “You wondered, ‘Is she in the river?’”

Charles and Betty Riecks, who lived in Clarksville at the time, were at the game.

“They announced that she was missing and asked for volunteers to search and people just started leaving. When we got there they told us to hold hands and walk. People were calling her name and it was lit up like daytime with these big search lights,” Betty said.

This type of shoulder-to-shoulder searching went on through Saturday night with hundreds of volunteers combing the woods and farmland near the residence. Many believed Debbie’s body had been moved there when searchers took a break from Saturday night to Sunday morning.

Former Greene County Coroner Frank Behm, Schifko and Marshall all said the forensic evidence proved it impossible that this was the case. Behm said, as hard as some find it to believe, they simply missed her when they searched that area.

Sunday morning, two family members, who had come to town to aid in the search, found Debbie.

The inconsistencies in stories published in the years since her death are many. Internet sites, where wannabe detectives discuss this and other cold cases, have suggested a cover-up.

Charlotte, who only recently learned of the mirth of speculation online about Debbie’s death, said she finds that thought disturbing.

“Of course you think about who may have done it but if you are wrong then what have you done to this person,” she said.
caroline Nov 2018
is it all so carefully staged?
you’ve crafted a convincing plot, i’ll admit
was it all premeditated,
down to the residue of a nonchalant grin that was leftover where your lips should be
layered on top of your lightly dusted skin?
you seem to have embodied this role for far too long
even your subconscious doesn’t question your blurred motives
though the polygraph remained stagnant,
my eyes are not so gullible
at some point, your cover will be blown
your alibi will fall through
so don’t expect me to still be around
you cant care about not caring,
nature has strict rules about these contradictions
so make your next move carefully
authenticity always comes at a price,
and sometimes its even higher than that of concealment
Crestfall Feb 2020
Spotlighted like some movie star,
how do you stand, being so far?
Lights that glare on polygraph eyes
twitching at truth instead of lies.
Gave your life to forbidden love—
find me some thorns, make me a glove.
Capulet to my Montague? Try:
summer red to my winter blue.
(c)Crestfall
Barton D Smock Sep 2016
mid polygraph, I lose
the baby

/ the loneliness
of its food
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2023
if i wrote this earlier in the day i could remember all three
dreams i had in one night,
a sort of sketch of William Burroughs' take
of My Education -
                                        having stopped drinking hard
spirits, whether that's absinthe, ***** or whiskey
and turning to a soothing diet of cider - 1 to 3 bottle
to aid me sleep... mingling that with being my own
pharmacist (well, at least getting a chemistry degree
has finally become useful), i.e.:
alcohol + phnergan + naproxen + paracetamolum =
not drinking so heavily for too long,
it means waking up in the night,
going down to the kitchen to nibble on something
and then going back to sleep and dreams...
the first dream i don't remember so vividly...
but the other two dreams?

2.
i was filming a gang-**** of a woman...
i remember picking out a guy with a fire-red afro -
by the contorts of the shadow...
oh... she must have been ****** by about
10 of them... each taking his turn...
somewhere in the shadows of a street...
intervention, by moi? 10 of them and only 1 of
me... even Bruce Lee would tell you:
terrible odds... that's why all the security personnel
at stadiums don't know any martial arts:
or have any training: the tactic is to gang-up
on a single individual, swarm them with numbers
usually a 3:1 ratio...
after the gang **** is over i cringe at the idea
that she might have actually liked it...
            she starts screaming these words i see vividly
like a Belshazzar at the feast forewarning
the fall of Babylon...
                              my dream architecture is
wonky... the scene suddenly shifts with me walking
with the girl, trying to persuade her to the authorities...
she's unwilling... ergo my cringe and almost
austere look of wonder at the double-standard...
***** but not *****... reluctant blonde... another
actress... but i tell i have the evidence...
                     white knight? getting a limp **** *******?
what?! Freud... i'm new to this dream thing...
i'm just realising that dreams relax my consciousness...
my consciousness is no longer strained by having
to utilise my memory beyond mere arithmetic
and spelling and regurgitation of recipes or
scientific facts... dreams are new to me after a heavy
drinking hiatus... i'm treating the meanings of dreams
as dreams-per-se... i don't actually worry about the content
just the fact that they simply exist is enough...
i finally persuade her... even though i don't know why
she's snuggling under my arm...
     we end up in a building resembling a school...
in one room there's this authority woman figure with
something resembling a polygraph machine -
the page in front of her is like an inverted slit of a niqab...
and text appears in the slit and soon disappears...
and the "actress" in question had to read the text while
i present the woman of authority with the video evidence
of the gang-****... hmm -
   my taste in ******* has always been rather vanilla...
even today i found myself preparing for a visit to
the brothel... Saturday? i'll be tired... i'll finish at 10:30pm...
by the time i get there it will be almost 12am...
no, i don't care what the madam said about my
underperformance... i know exactly why i didn't perform...
it's not what she said about the 30min thing...
she's the madam, 1. that intimidating,
2. she sent my two favorite girls, Khadra and Mona
away... to never work in the brothel ever again...
Mona became pregnant... with whom?
   3. she's in her 50s and she's plump i mean: beached-whale
plump which is not a girl in her 20s that's plump
but less a beached-whale and more a female sea-lion...
cows... yeah... i tried looking up the body-build of the madam...
well no wonder why she complained that
i couldn't get a ******* with her... i just diverted
her attention to pretend to be tired from work...
if i can't ******* in private to that sort of body type...
no... without pornographic make-up... rude amateur
photography: reality snaps... no ******* wonder!

mommy don't know daddy's getting hot at the body-shop,
doing something unholy -

i hope does lyrics don't imply "body-shop" to imply
a tattoo parlour, i'm pretty sure that's not what's implied...
but my god... the importance of dreams:
to hell with interpretation of the... noumenon -
dreams could be considered a phenomenon
if we all shared at least one dream, of the same content,
but dreams are a noumenon -
sure, the phenomenon that we dream...
but are there like to like interpretations based on
seeing a red hat in a dream, or a boat?
flimsy... what about seeing printed words in
dreams?
                    i don't have the luxury of interpreting
dreams: i'm basking in the luxury of actually having
dreams... since i quit drinking heavily i wake
up rejuvenated... my memory is no longer strained
i no longer grasp the razor that was once driftwood
in the sea of memory trying to keep myself
intact... now i'm rebuilding my consciousness
with dreams... their meaning is meaningless given
that i have have a better use for them...
i stopped waking up forcefully trying to remember
a "decalogue" of formidable memories...
i think i can let them pass... remember them at some
later date... for the sort of remembering
that someone like my grandfather suffering from
dementia employed... i.e. employing a Memory Cinema:
i guess dementia sufferers probably don't dream:
mix into that cocktail insomnia and the finishing
line of mortality... that's when memory needs to be
deployed... not in one's youth...
but i wanted to understand his suffering that
i succumbed to mimicking it, by drinking heavily
and robbing myself of dreams... now that dreams
have been resurrected... ah... i can relax...

2. this dream was even better...
i was placed into a mental asylum...
who was my room partner? do people in mental asylums
get room-mates?!
well... my room-mate was someone resembling
a Jeffrey Dahmer... from time to time he would
break into these mirror-shattering fits
mirror-shattering epilepsy... walking angry...
sometimes frozen in time sometimes breaking out
of that labyrinth of staggering visual effects...
i guess i was looking at myself... what was poignant
was the distinct glasses...
before i was put into this mental asylum i was
met on an edge of a hill by an orderly in pearly white
(if he only had wings i'd suppose i arrived in heaven)
who said something...
then there was this great escape... me and "Dahmer"...
the orderly came against us with a pit-bull
that was wearing a metal-mask... a bit like Alex Dumas'
man in the iron man...
    the scene shifted to me wrestling with the dog
in yellow mud... wrangling the metal-mask off the dog's
head... i could almost feel the dog's teeth...
but i didn't.... i saw the dog's teeth but what was
hurting me were the metal-mask's claps / jaws...
wrestling peering into the dog's snout...
i managed to rid the dog of the metal-caste...
the orderly ran away... nowhere to be seen...
the scene shifted to the pit-bull turned into a puppy
(almost a puppy)... lying on my torso while we lay
in a hammock or a car with a reclined seat...
pretty pit-bull eyes looking at me endearingly
as if telling me: thank you for getting the nozzle off my head...
the orderly came back and said...
non-verbatim:
   'some people take a sparring partner to get this
level of introspection,
so few manage it on their own like you have done'...

historically i wonder about about all those poets
from the 1960s and their experimenting with
psychedelic drugs... hmmm...
and i wonder about myself: drink to the point of
arriving at the abyss - and then being resurrected
from it, by one's own devices -
i.e. drinking none of the unholy spirits -
personally: i'd rather drink in a vein of gradation,
if i can write something like this after only
two bottles of cider... why would i need
to drink half a litre of whiskey and wait
for my psyche to snap into writing?
if i can write this much after drinking so little
only thanks for the added dimension of dreaming
that has been so sorely missing in my life...
dreaming that upon waking relaxes my consciousness
as i no longer need to strain my faculty of memory:
this is me returning to the flow of water in time
rather than standing elbow-to-elbow like
a stone in space:
why would i need to take any psychedelic drugs
to elevate with whatever crude tools i already have?
i wanted to stop dreaming to find out why
my dementia riddle grandfather utilized memory
to create a Memory Cinema - dementia and insomnia...
of course he could still string two sentences together
and would spend his mornings reading the newspaper
from beginning to end and solved the crossword
puzzle... that was all there...
but... the way he employed memory...
it was sort of like me "forgetting" to dream...

well... granddad has been dead for almost 2 years now...
i think i can drop the project of understanding
dementia...
no wonder i felt so good having a 2h cycling session
today in the heavenly winds...
i was asked by my local surgery's nurse to drop
by and pick up a blood test form and clock up
my blood pressure... an average of
123 / 82 heart-beat at 93...
i know... it's not the best...
but i managed to drop from a systolic 143
to a systolic 123...
                      and this is after a 2h cycling session...
while i also managed to drop my diastolic from
over 90... 93... to 83... after 2h of cycling...
i imagine if i didn't cycle it wouldn't be considered
elevated... not bad... and i only stopped heavy drinking
since... 30th December... had a whiskey relapse on the 31st...
but it's the 4th of Jan now... so... well...
at 36 years old: i was still sort of expecting a quick
recovery... given my intention were in the right place:
i strained my body because i needed to strain my mind...
to understand... mortality...
i don't think the recovery would have been that quick
if i were simply drinking heavily, sniffing ******* on
the side by being a ******* octagon-type
Wall St. Bankers... would i now? my heart was in the right
place...

the added aesthetic bonus? my body might look great
from all the exercise, but yet my face retained some
puffiness from the excess drinking:
apparently it happens when drinking spirits...
your body attempts to retain as much water as possible,
no wonder i was rarely hangover...
my body built-up a defense mechanism against
being dehydrated, it would store liquid
in undesirable places... notably in the face...
puff-cheeks... oh ****... my face is.... SLIMMING...
i have cheek-bones! it's almost looking natural!
it almost suits more than ever having a full beard...
project no. 2... i'll trim the moustache myself...
while trimming the other expendable body-hairs...
retaining a proper turf from beard through
the chest and the rest of the torso toward
the ***** Eden region...

ah! but dream 1. wasn't really a dream...
it was a thought-dream...
i was conjuring up... a metaphor in my mind...
a cherry tree...
what comes before a cherry on a cherry-tree?
a cherry blossom...
what could a "God" give unto Adam...
or rather... if antimatter exists...
what could an Anti-Satan give unto Eve?
before a fruit is a fruit...
a fruit is a flower...

and this only exist in the ****** language... what?!
the following formulation in the rubric: qua -
as being... i.e.

kamień kamieniem
woda wodą
kot kotem
pies psem
litera literą
    ogień ogniem
czas czasem
              gitara gitarą
czerń czernią
smok smokiem
prawda prawdą
    wiatr wiatrem        all... all in all:
                                (~)QUA...
    dog (as) being a dog

if the serpent supposed ******* confusion gave
the woman the fruit: he gave her the womb first...
no wonder! it is time the serpent gave unto her
the fruit, the supposed ******* confusion
her ****** back: for her to... bear barren fruit...
in full blossom outside the realm of "patriarchy"...
****-mafia of the serpent...
aren't we ssssssssssssseing it right now?
finally! women can entertain the flower...
but not the fruit...
they can have their fruit tickled and teased and
glued to as many bothersome little bees...
lick tease lick tease thump and pump...
voodoo! voodoo!
oh... but first the ornament on the altar of man:
woman being given the fruit: the womb...
only now... barren womb...
now comes a sidewinder giving her the flower...
her ****...
the fruit is now rotting in the barren pool of history...
now! the exfoliating flower...
ah... but unlike fruits... that can be turned into
jams, baked... flowers last only ever so long...

if one is allowed to borrow from the Metaphors
of Moses...
if this supposed fruit, forbidden was given in...
paradise... seems strange...
not even the correct adjective - strangely:
ah... but the fruit was given in paradise in order
for man to replicate reproduction
of all the other animals... imagine paradise with
pregnancy, reproduction,
no wonder Satan no. 1 gave a fruit rather than
the flower of the fruit that was to become:
perhaps he saw wrecking ball Adam
inexperienced in tickling flowers enticed poor
Eve: by Oedipus man will get a chance to please
you... but for that to happen:
you will need to open up the fruits of your labour
and reproduce, while he will stomach nothingness
and a bright genius in his mind
to combat the elements: water with ships
with the aid of the wind inventing sails...
he will bring down fire to ease the warmth...
i can't imagine... perhaps Satan didn't want to
pluck the flower of the forbidden fruit tree
and give the fruit to Adam...
that would have been... a mightily short story...
if Satan gave the flower of the forbidden
tree to Adam... but no... he waited until the flower
turned into fruit and gave the fruit to Eve!

as i have learned, dearest, "father"... once you eat
the forbidden cherry blossom
and not the cherry...
    perhaps it's no Eden... perhaps it's just a brothel
in your palace of arrogance of Pandemonium...
perhaps... but... i just don't care if she ate the fruit:
that she's fertile...
i've eaten the forbidden cherry blossom:
i don't need to eat the forbidden cherry...
maybe that's why the Madam banished Mona back
to Romania: what if... me teasing her ****** without
a ******... just teasing... before her putting it on...
and ******* into the rubber...
she... decided to self-inseminate herself with my *****
and ******* back to Romania?
what if God is the Madam in this story and she
was banished from the "Eden" of the brothel?!

mommy don't know that daddy's getting hot at the body-shop
doing something unholy...
ssssssseems befitting... i'll call this the year of the flies...
why would my house suddenly entertain
these... dozen if if not more... fleshy black...
dearest, "father"... is there rebellion in the ranks?
why would Beelzebub send his emissaries come
the new year?!

seems no reason, none: whatsoever,
cider is a bit like champagne: more fruity and most certainly
most sweet...
i know that this writing is but a sketch and something
more prolific could morph out of it...
something as succinct as the last book
of the old Testament: the contradictory concept
of reincarnation of the prophet Elijah as promised
by Malachi... monotheism is still teasing with
the polytheism is so despises...
no wonder that both the polytheism of India
and the atheism (conventional human wisdom
of intellects sparring) of China feels so...
sssssso undisturbed... no wonder the concept
of the civilisation-state rather than
the western take on the ethno-state...
why is it that the western world is so polygamous
in its ethnicity... the crumbling civilisation:
Oedipus gave his plucked-out eyes to Samson...
and Samson is shaking the cradle with baby-Holocaust
in it...
sure... they were Jews: given that the state of Israel
was established... but by law... they were Polish nationals...
easily forgotten... given...
the close "alliance" of resurrection of either of the people's
states...
           unlike like in England were
the last invasion happened with the Normans in 1066...
plenty of time to invent cricket, football,
afternoon tea... pastime literature...
lazing about and Victorian moral standards...
of: doth black so well without an Arabic veil!

enough! 12am has come and my bedtime has
arrived... i don't need to torture myself through and
thoroughly into the night!
the night is for sleeping... and right now?
agitate some beehive of dreamsssssss!
Delton Peele Jan 2022
Include exclude
Hoody
Goody two shoes
Refused
Muse
Bruised
The
un-amused
The Bruiser
Used
User
Brooder
Glib glad
Big bad
Mad
Intruder
Pied Piper
Without a pipe
Best friend till
The end of dividends.
Then I'm the
Outsider ...
Again......
Friend ....one
Me ......public enemy ....
Seemingly somehow
.......me.......
Only .......
Lonely
Scarred
Marred broken hearted **** star.......
Giver
Taker
Mistake ... ...
.........Great ........
Underrated fickle faded
Disassociate
Yourself from that one.......
All these without the pleasure or pain of commiting
Any one .....or admitting ....
No proof .....
Evidence or reason to believe ......
If you care to inquire ,
Study my profile...
Look into my
Character....
Interrogate me
Polygraph.....
Or skip all that
Go straight to
Private investigator
My intentions ...have always been to befriend and be friend ...
An always
The encourager .....
To the point of taking second place and the blame and punishment
Meant for you.........
henceforth the labels .....padlocked..
To my neck...
.........
Well..........since we're alone ......and I have your attention...
One ...........
Just
One ........
Just..........
One quick mention.......
My neck may bend down like a willow  ...only so far  ....where it stiffens like an oak.........
Stand in front of me while you slander with a sludge hammer .....
Till the handles
Broke........
Stoking the forge....
Fanning the flames
setting the stage for the insatiable
  "Morose delectation"
.............
without detection ....
Or reservation
Oh yes let's play this game .....   Ohhhh
....you shouldn't have ..but you did.....let's dig in........
decades of holding back the cries and crimes against my pride........
Dark clouds ......comming....
Down ........
Burnt cienna...
turnt ........
Charcoal grey....
Into black
Is this your wish ....?
To ****** and reduce me to  Schadenfreude?
Good.    .
Bad......
Pleasure  .
Pain
...these are the costumes you choose to wear
In lust just remember
This is youre hypocrite flipped script. .
And I'm playing the part ........
Let's not forget
I train every day and play way harder....
Psychotic ******* who so needs an outlet ......  Pain inflicting Olympic gold medalist .....
Oh you insist.....
You make me blush........
Get your game playing costumes on...
***!  
Comfortable  in them . .
Great!.
Go ahead then
Wear them out.....
Love .....
Hate    ... .
These wears are reversible..
All the patrons under the marquee......
You invited them in   .....
The came to see blood .....
The tables set
It's too late  and I'm hungry.
But maybe you don't  
Parlez-vous français ?
Huh?
Maybe you shouldn't play.... .....
Well now ....
Let's see.....
Your production.....
I played my part........
So you should pay ......no?
...or maybe.....
s'il vous plaît
Be........ My...
"Roman Holiday" ......
Oh .. yeah....
You do.....
Ok .......
Help me change .. ..
You know I can't do this without you .....
Hey I'm talking to me

— The End —