Fading clarity
Gaping iregularity
Rapid decomposition
A crumbling postion
Fear and anger fuel the fires
As they unravel the knot of desires
A purely toxic entanglement
The wounds were allowed to ferment.
Now we are slowly dying
Of this there is no denying

20
seems like the end of the line
to me.
Car crashes, bad habits, white rabbits
will reduce me down to just a spec of debris
chillin' in a petri
                               magnified
                           by                   a giant
                        eye        st           aring
                             wi                 th
                                   disdain.
"Helicopter pilot? Yeah right"
hit me like the last thing through a bug's mind
when it splats.
                           Its own ***.
Switched my postion from
                                                s
              ­                                  t
                             ­                   r
                                                a
              ­                                  i
                             ­                   g
                                            ­    h
                                                t
A student

                                 p
to drop out flying u
Eyes down. Laying          to keep on track
                                  low
blinded, cataract, stepped out in traffic
                       splat
like that bug again
or maybe more like promotion
Brand New Adventure
                                                I've seen the way the world
                                                turns
     ­                                                      I don't want any p a r t

what is love?
the soul of happiness
or the essence of pain

could it be fictitious?
created by the mind

but still...

The weight of love
against reality
is close to nothing

basically...

take your mind
add your heart
subtract a pain
add a smile
and try to balance the equation...

but i deter from my topic...

my postion's love not math

so basically

the balance of love
and life
wrong or right
fact or fiction

equates to be

inconclusive...

Sadly your just a player!

If you not willing to fully commit to love.
without any conditions.

Player!

You're not committed to given love, unconditional.

Player!

Unofficially your just playing  your postion.

Player your game has no emotions of cognition.

Player! You've completely lost your mind CTE,
Concussion due to the impact
from head on head collisions,traumatize,
disturbing,recognition.

You're just a

Player!

in a game

Disillusioned

thinking that you're winning.

Stop lying to your self

Foolishly thinking that your winning.

When your just really a pawn looking to
Substitute the role of a queen position.

But there can only be one King.
Don't you ever forget it.

Sacrificial player.

Didn't matter at First,
Easy to put down and walk the road
That Was iN The Beginning.
Around the Time iBegan taking Small Doses.
iFell inlove As iKept Consuming
Was Set To not let it go.
iGot Hooked on this Crystal postion
My Life Began Taking Twisted Footsteps.
By Time My Happiness, Smile, laugh, Charm And big heart faded.
iNo Longer Felt Nothing.
Numbness All Around Me.
TickTock The Clock And Consumption Changed me.
Cold Hearted, hatred in The Eyes Believed The Sober Truth As Lies.

Fluffy snow was drifting late at night,
and the light pollution in the parking lot
captured each snowflake's descent.

"Locate your flake"
said the boy, whose name
rhymes with teal
and is also a sitting postion in the catholic church

The one as high up as you can see
The one that speaks to you.

Watch that one until it hits your tongue.
and you will be blessed.

(1)                 Peter Holcusker was not a sinner          
                    tanned and dried like a prune
                    eyes wandering, glinting the petty change in his pocket
                    cobblestone bruised knees and half-eaten bagels
                    denim overalls, probably stolen
                    the land was impolite
                    it's inhabitants no less
                    "who could love a *****", they hushed
                    aren't they the children of filth and ****
                    they steal and they stare
                    the grumbling of their belly is it not an excuse enough


(2)                 I've heard he lives in a barn
                    near lake Marshdon
                    he keeps to himself
                    a sly and sneaky little chap, he is  
                    he is no guileless soul
                    we all know his truth
                    he needn't say much
                    Peter Holcusker is the worst of us
                    vices know him well
                    he hides the devil in his trenchcoat pocket


(3)               now you ask
                   why has Peter not spoken up for himself?
                   gossip and tattle envelop him
                   yet he like all of us has fallen prey to it
                   why don't we forget
                   all our past- doings  
                   like the town-people have forgotten his goodness
                   everything Peter did with them
                   they have labeled him, caged him in a flurry of words
                   they cut his tongue and spoke for him
                   oh Peter, how did it come to this!


(4)                I saw him begging on Downbury lane
                   his beret was from Harrods
                   who in their right mind would  give money or pity
                   to a prince-like pauper
                   Mrs. Zeta  saw him in the pharmacy
                   "He must have stolen all those medicines", she hollered
                   "Disease  is an apt punishment  for people like these
                    these villains must live in constant  misery
                   ; that's all these slimy miscreants  deserve "
                  

(5)               The goldsmith and carpenter, radical believers
                    of the notion of heaven and hell
                    look at Peter as if he is already living in the fiery pits of
                    shame
                   but they do not pray for him, looking all polished in
                    their Sunday suits
                   the army of hypocrites walking in unison to  church
                   singing baseless hymns in great fervor
                   they leave religion an all its virtues in the bible at the
                   pew
                   then gossip away to glory eating pudding  after service
                   mostly about the widowed or Holcusker


(6)            all the gossip-mongers huddle
                their spiteful remarks like invisible daggers aimed at their
                 latest victim
                their words pierced  poor Holcusker's ear
                 echoes of opinions and beliefs
                hound his mind, for who knows how long
                oh look, God, at Peter drowning in a sea of helplessness
                how often he sits, whiskey in hand
                looking for ways to sway his mind
                away from his unsaid murderers
                


(7)            "Peter, are you as bad as they claim
                tell me you're not the anti-christ, they say you are"
                he does not wish to say who he is, or not
                but he knows for a fact that 5 years ago
                he was just like these hearsayers
               looking down on the so-called plebeians  
               salivating at stories about them and gulping them just the
               same
               circumstances and karma are powerful beings in this
                universe
               He regrets ever saying anything, for the postion, he is now
               in


(8)           Holcusker was a farmer, living happily with his
                sweetheart
                he had three precious cherubs, whom he cherished deeply
                he too went to church every Sunday
               with Mrs. Zeta, the goldsmith, and carpenter
               eating chocolate truffle after service, mocking the poor
               widowed Carrie,
               now a harlot, trying to make a living for her children
               his words were sharp and ruthless
              and now he is at a loss for them
              the great misfortune took everything away from him
              "Oh, Peter tell me what did you do so ?"



(9)           tears stained his eyes, he wept and wept and wept
                he cursed the past and its unruly effect on the future
                "oh dear, o dear  I did what I had to
                I did what I thought was right in the heat of the moment
                but I can assure my heart guided my unlawful actions
                even the psychic could not predict my dreary winter  
               the opinions I kept ever so freely, were now aimed at me
               I was the runt of the town, the fool, the disgrace
               now stories and rumors are synonymous with my name
               yet no one has come up to me to ask me the reality of the
                situation
               why would they I don't blame them
               for, I wouldn't have done it either "



(10)         now Peter Holcusker lives alone
                he carries the burden of his past mistakes with him
                he is  prey to mockery and stares
                the source of all gossip and rumors  
                but I ask you, witness to the story
                Is is right, in all its entirety
                to reduce the dynamic **** - sapien
                subject to change and circumstances
                to a mere static picture of that one thing
                he once did,?
                I leave it to you the same species to answer this lingering
                 question
                are villains always villains?
                who's to say who did what?
                and can we for once break free from the atmosphere of
                suffocating hearsay
               and see things for ourselves
                I ask this humbly, the rest my dear is up to you

This might sound rude
    But right now im not in the mood
Listening to little kids as a mother sings her babys to sleep
     Talking to my boy as hes sayen hes about to leave
   Im just sayen im not in the best mood
My body isent funtioning in the way id like
And id rather not be sober on this ok night
   Id rather be doing something
    Somthing other then miss you
My father
    Your name
Well thats easy its chad
Your postion
Was a father
A husband
A listener
A provider
And the best part of chad
You made the choice to love and take care of me when you dident have to
    You wer a great dad
And i miss you dearly
You were the best person iv ever known
    My hart longs for you
        Chad
I had just started calling you dad
The day you passed
All o wanted was for you to stay home
To ride bikes with me but insted you had to work
   You had to leave
My daddy i miss you  
I just wanna hear your voice

Slayer plate time Quest heart ways, let hymm birds birth
Eye glisten turn toward stary set' letter
Ethers bedding point mother hue gowns bones lurch
Grave gracious bed thee warrant trim sent fetter
wake to thee ceiling gold adorns regretter
tis nor en-earth en-holy slumber ******
lay'er postion whence kit kist steady tremble

That is generous of you
to
request my insight on what you write,
please review my response with an un-ending mind.
So thank you but I must decline...
I read so much but mainly I just write.
I fear if I read your work, I would only find myself discouraged once again.
Understand that writing releases some of my inner pain,
It doesn't matter who's pain, why or from where it came,
I just have to let it out all the same.
It doesn't matter if it's for an injustice done against me or against another... I feel it all the same.                                        
For 1 example;
if the pain is about an injustice done to another then I don't question as to why they don't speak up. I figure I've had peace in my life, more than enough, to make up for what other's go without.
So see, I build up a little confidence, from time to time. Falsely convinced that I've talent in my own writing's & fooled to believe they would actually be of some help.
Then the blinders fall off when I start reading another's work,
revealing to me what, TALENT,
really means.
Then I put my pencils and my paper up along with my diluted ideas that I can help.
The emptiness swallows me when upon realizing, my words will never be read or heard.
They're not good enough. I write hoping to make a difference. So, I ask you, "what's the use in trying raise awareness for any purpose?"  
So yeah, then the depression coils within me turning into a knot,
it gets so tight that if I don't bounce to write, I might as well die.
In spite of trying to hold it in, my veins ink the blood out,
forced pulsating feelings and raw emotion's splatter into words.
I do feel that addressing one injustice at a time helps this world to be little more kind, if only for 1 at a time.
So, I'd rather stay on this same mirago round and not get off this time. I know once it stops, the pain resolves. But not really!
Only long enough to settle before it sour's
into depression. Recounting in my mind, I'm worthless, a fool, thinking my words could make a difference. At least not in this world much less for 1 person treated unkindly.
The mirago round stops and the world's the same. Nothing's changed so no, thank you... I'd rather spin deliriously, believing that I did 1 right thing, even if it's changing just 1 person's state of mind.
So instead of getting off to stand,
I'll stay on my delusional ride, unlike you at
least I'm not pretending to take a *ucking stand for what's right!
This is my answer in poetic form.
May God forgive for the profanity, at least it's not hypocrisy! Right? Oh I forget, the one's that
are in a postion are the ones who forget about serving for a mission,
they lack moral vision of what's right!
I guess then I bid you night.
#VenjencieArnold #SacredInkedBlood
#MyDelusionalRidewrittenbymeon
True!! I hate feeling this way. God forgive me if I'm wrong and help me to stay strong esp if I'm right.

Blessings, Venjencie © 4 months ago, new edit by me on ©09/23/2018 SacredInkedBlood

I saw you today and you've never looked more beautiful
And I broke down crying in the car today
5 times
in a row
in the fetal postion
You've never been so close yet so far before
And last night I screamed at God
And I kissed the picture of you I keep under my pillow
And the photo strip we took together I use as a bookmark in the book you bought me
I'm still reading it and every lover in that story still sounds like you
But then I remember that you found that book for me
I had been searching for it for years
And when you found it for me
it made me feel loved
because you listened
and you remembered
and I hope it meant you loved me, god I hope it meant that and more
Even if the story is about a girl too messed up to love like me
Pages and pages of loves lost and found echo all the ways you acted with me
Sour and
Sweet
and Cynical
and a Drug
and Curious and Witty
And Athletic and Brave
and Selfish and Lonesome
The book you bought me tells stories of men that all remind me of you
in different ways but all the same still
When you found the book you found it off my favorite quote
about finding an oddball lover, the one she'd always love
I like to think your the Bart of my story
I like to think your my oddball, wizened cowboy of a lover
I like to think you were the happiness of the story

(v.m)

I am in the postion I want
to be, I look in the mirror as
I look deep, as it cuts my emotions
out of me.

My emotions are over the
floor, as I wept aloud slowly
did the mirror release me,
shattered like me all over
the floor.

Eyes wide open cold stare
to the world, but no longer
do they see, the eyes empty
to all that they were meant
to see.

My veins freeze over, my
mind now empty, nothing
moves in there not a thought,
as emotions have drained on the
floor next to me.

the afterthought of rain
lies heavy in the air tonight
the earth slowly steams
aand on the elctricity lines
the  family pink  of galahs
amuse themselves
doing 360 degree loops
on the rain slippery wires
round and round and round
with child-like glee

down tne road, the  jackos
settle in for the night
amid laughter and gossip
and much flapping of wings

i watch the geckos race up
the wall to postion themselves
under the porch light
and await the night's buffet

somewhere over near the pond
the old frog begins to sing
i am pleased to hear him
i thought we had lost him to the heat
his basso profundo love cries
follow me into the house
as the mosquitoes  begin their
bloodsucking serenades.

and the earth slowly steams

THE POSTION IS GETTING WORST & GRIM,
TELL ME,BOY, DO YOU STILL BELIEVE HIM