There is a sickness one feels alongside the revelation of the embarrassing humility associated with the perpetual stillness to come. There is a peacefulness one feels when splayed out on a basement floor emaciated, engorged, **** stained, ***** soaked. Pouring blood into a dull ***** plastic ventricle. Immaculate precipice. Infinity.

Disassociation
some turn to it for recreation
but I like to feel like me
I hate watching the world
play out like a movie on the big screen

The entire world
I can only see
I can't experience
the joy of life around me

I can't untie
untangle, unwind
all the strings tightly wrapped
around my poor little mind

I don't know what to do or say
I can't even bring myself to cry

Maybe I'm just the needy type
to feel a warm body
his heartbeat
against my spine

experiencing myself
empty of desires,
yet continuing to fulfill my promises
and keep myself alive and active.

hard work
isn't as bad if you meditate,
formulating ideas while sifting through memories.
a strange form of meditation while cleaning houses,
yet all the same distracting from the present reality
until you're on your way home with the funds to
provide healthy food, shelter, and a bit of recreation.

hard work
is barreling towards me.
I am planning to jump over and on top of that wheel
which I was in constant fear of and conquer it.
Not only for myself, but for the ones I care for.
If I cannot be there for myself and conquer my
own demons, then I cannot be there for others
to help them conquer theirs. If I am a poison I
shall only continue to seep into those I hold closely, I
refuse to any more. I'm
withstanding.

I will fight the major influences which rest within my being,
I will trim down the fat to create the muscles to carry myself.
No more leaning.

I am standing on my own two feet.

Until I can control my desires,
I cannot stand with you. Until
I let go of desires and just be.
Strength will help me to let go of the
poisonous cracks in the morals I have
so easily let sink beneath me.

I recognized myself as the person on a horse,
while the horse is up to it's eyes in mud, as
I continue to whip the horse to move forward,
rather than getting off and helping it out.

I realize now that I am the only one who can bury my strength,
just as I can choose to let it carry me. I have found that perhaps
instead I should be carrying my strengths so as to only grow more
powerful, within and without, so that if I need to set it down to
help rescue another's, I shan't be just as helpless.

here's to building on top of what is, rather than taking apart
what was, so as to create something new out of the old.

creation's purpose is beauty  
destruction is wasteful

let us create and if we are finished
move on to the next creation,
rather than continuing to
poke and **** at the old.

beach’s brightness and heat
soothe weary skin and bones
so good to feel warmth upon shoulders
and sand between toes
reminiscing in familiar scents
of cool salty breezes
and warm sun tan lotions
shaded eyes swimming in clean ocean’s blueness
witnessing waves’ wonder
as a wet world walks onto a dry one
so many people seeking refuge
in rest and recreation
so many voices volleying beach *****
and tossing frisbees
so many feet leaving 1,000,000 footprints
rendered shapeless in loose grains
casting shadows in cups of sand
as day wanes and crowds disperse
curiosity ponders this micro desert of mini dunes
who has walked here through the eons?
who walks here still?
the setting sun shimmers on the sea
sparkling upon 1,000,000 crests
surface tension of the ocean’s tableau
rippled by wind and gravity
driven by earth’s rotation
forming floating cups of golden iridescence
resembling footprints in the sand
moved by their beauty, curiosity ponders
did someone walk upon these waters?
does someone walk there still?

I use my imagination
Like a drug of recreation
The master of innovation
It's always there
Keeping me away from reality
Knowing what it does to me
Takes away my fear.
A phoenix from the ashes,
Superman behind his glasses,
I'm invincible.
Guarding me from action
With my own distractions,
It seems sensible.

Outside of Comfort is change
It is an experience of adversity
Simultaenously profound and conflicting
To lay away the building blocks of self
Into a new construct, with the hope
That it, in its togetherness, is a testament
Celebrating the distance required
For the recreation of being.

Thick but delicate
Torn by the slightest incision
Conformed ****** precision
Once an empire of components
Now a sacred atonement
A hollow carcass
Sacrifice spawns recreation
Fashion's latest invention
Like secretions of the mare
the hazy aroma hangs heavy in the air
Ghostly warmth misty like winter's old willow tree
Like the former lover I've set free

There is broken stone under my feet,
toppled pillars, their carved surfaces
reduced to dust now filtering through
the stray rays of light.
The windows now wide open
like wounds, like the skies and seas.
This fallen cathedral is a signal,
this is holy ground
you may never tread on.

These ruins are my birthplace,
the dying light, my mother.
These stones are my bones,
the fractured columns witness
my recreation.
I am new,
fresh,
unbroken,
untouched

And as I open my eyes for the first time,
the wind fills my lungs and kisses my lips.
And I am in love once more.
I am in love with the light
breaking through the clouds,
in love with a warmth
that I've never felt before.
In love with the seas beyond my walls
and the ivy beneath my feet.
I am in love with life
and what I am slowly becoming

Fiercely in love with the breaking
and the tearing: the shedding of old skin.
And I am happy
I am wild
I am free

I am home

Let me place an indent,
Of my intent to the Supreme,
And plead Him to bless,
Latest version of life’s software.

My hardware turned soft,
Due to wear and tear,
And software hardened,
Long after ageing years,
I long to log in an indent,
For I belong to you for long,
Oh my dear kind life maker,
Take me with you along.

My memory space is too short,
To live long and prolong,
Please upgrade my motherboard,
From megabyte into gigabyte,
With a backup chip to guard me,
From bothering risk of data loss,
Oh lord! It is time to revamp,
My life’s biometric system.

Empower me to recall,
The memory of my past life.
Let me learn from the lessons,
Of my past to avoid future strife.
And use my yester skills,
For the rest best of life.
Let there be no sinning and sinners,
Wind up the office of hell as well.

Develop and telecast bio-software,
With multiple options to live or leave,
Sign up, sign in and sign out,
Cut, copy, paste and delete,
Log in, log out and log off,
And more such touch skin tabs to press.

May you install ante virus software?
To bind body and soul at will.
For soul is the sole software of physics
Of thy creation and recreation.

Excitement!
Anticipation!
Dread and Gloom!
All these emotions running through my head to name a few.

Taking the plunge,
And self-publishing one's first book,
Uncertain of this loving recreation's first foray into the world,
Will it be loved?
Will it go unread?
Only time will tell for this collection of prose and truth.

A lowly wooden bench lent itself to a lonesome aged narrow man in a common garden in the smallest hour of the day’s beginning. In the thick haze of the summer’s waking light the common is thinly met with the company of others. Just an old man and his acquainted bench who came to give his eyes sight to the grass and trees, and to rid himself of thought.
He and the bench creak as he sits back; clutching at the satchel veiled among his dull drudged garb that bleeds into his pallid slack and cracked skin.
The wiry hairs bushed around his nostrils recoil to the deep inhale before the sigh, his yawning blue eyes sliding behind a milky glaze follow a bushy tailed rodent hurry into the confidence of a tree.
Through all nonchalance a pair of hobgoblin lugs under a brown woollen hat slides up the flanks of his head to outlying drowned tones of laddish laughs and lewd levity, an unseen clutch of kids filling the common’s spread with their foolish louting prances. Intimidating the preferred and performed with their innocuous idiocies; a mere asocial array of follies without the thought of good manner.
The thoughts of the old man are only briefly drawn; his ears leave the sounds of reckless recreation and back to the hushing song of the swaying grass, the rustling shake of the seasoned leaves on gorged and drooping branches. To his own wilted waning heart, the tremors, quiver and shivers within his own cage, his thoughts turned to his own temporal passage and to the re-joining of his love, of whom no longer lays her head on his shoulder, whom no longer wraps herself around his arm on the lowly park bench.
His lowest lip gives to an emotive tremble as he heaves himself over to the hem of the seat, his hands without any other part to play; frenetically tickle one another with frail kinked fingers.
With what little his body has left to give the eyes well to the upmost point of a tear, as he feels the weight of his wallet in his side trouser pocket against the rough of his skin. Where there within lays an image of a most loved face in a prized time, so that it may be remembered so it may fetch ease to a remittent floundering morsel of a man who could justly with the dead.
The photograph within his keeping need not be looked upon from under the shine of a laminated holding; it needs only to be there, only to be known that it is there.
The satchel was undid and fetched from within the clutter came an elderly notebook now held in his hands. A phlegmy husk of something said breeches his gummy chops, and he spits as he spat shouting out at the still of the garden.
“You should always write more than you do,” she would say, “you are better for it when you do and it lifts me as it does you, when you do.”
The old man reads from the notebook with a weak hate for the world.

“Am I for the worms yet? Am I to be from this rock?
Am I not yet too mad for this mad maddening world?
Four corners of an empty house, a homeless place of curling wallpaper and aloneness for company.
A room in a vagrant house with no light to fill it with a decrepit fool for a keeper
His stink stinks the walls for days as the blow flies form a speckled haze as they feast in filth of his unnoticed demise
With no manner of intention and for relation or friend, there is no cause and no mention for any to attend
He will rot with the house and his memory with it, with his memory does his love die and together they are ghosts in a world where ghosts do not exist.”

The old man pauses as he forcibly triggers one finger to his temple and ***** in his lips. His empty cries fall to a mumble as his hands tremble with his dear notebook in their grasp.

“Take me now cruel are the fates, take me now and rid me
The worms will welcome me, my flesh for an endless night
My life for a world without this life, for a life without his world
I would hold with a brim smile if it was not for my memory of her, if she was not to be lost at the close of this stint
I know not or want knowledge; I seek not of a design and not of meaning
Just a cure for this affliction for my must to her who brings me so much sorrow
Through blissful ages I can no longer hold, and can barely recall
We are all just people who will soon be once living, to be unlived and to forget is a conflict in myself
I have no answer as I have no question, you can have no answer to a question you do not seek nor ask
I dare not speak but I have no end for this, I have no solace and I have no end.”
The old man; the poor old man began to close his dear aged notebook and find the need to bring a smile, perhaps a moment of lunacy to calm the tightening knot beneath his breast.
He pulled a scratching cackle from the pit, wild and uncooked wiping the drool from the crook of his maw with the back of his blotched, mottled hand.
The old man found some seconds of a stoic amenity as his wild eyes grew gallant for those mere moments before the grey metal heft of his sullen vesture fell to his shoulders, he became heavy once more as the world retook him and cloaked again in the present - the light ebbed from him as swiftly as it came. The old man reproached his satchel to humbly return his dear old notebook.
There was a crack like a pick to ice with a hollow thud like a boot to wood as an immediately dissipating claret mist fizzed above his head. The make shift found-about cosh still swinging through the air and over his crown, the old man’s wilted body twisted and slumped to the floor face first. The concrete path before him tearing at the skin of his chin, his frail bones cracked as the meagre weight of his body forced itself into his neck. Laying perverse and unnatural the life was soaked up into his woollen hat and out across the concrete, to the grass – to the worms that writhed below the muck. His eyes were as lifeless as they were when he lived.
They did not wait for the gentle hiss of the spray or the bubbles that popped in the pool that surrounded the old man. They had snatched the satchel and ran off into the spread of the common until they were nothing but outlying drowned tones of laddish laughs and lewd levity.
Crazy old *******.
A lowly wooden bench has lent itself to a lonesome aged narrow man in a common garden in the smallest hour of the day’s beginning. In the thick haze of the summer’s waking light the common is thinly met with the company of others. Just an old man and his acquainted bench who came to give his eyes sight to the grass and trees, and to rid himself of thought.

Oh the ponderous musings of the truly insane,
When art for arts sake
Takes the place of rationale and reason,
Drowning itself in creativity.
The thoughts and dreams that take flight
To new heights, never before seen,
Calling forth a new self,
Both brighter and darker than before,
In which, recreation as a whole is inevitable.
It is by that insanity
That we who are so are made whole
And put the world to our blade,
Calling forth naught but the greatest greatness
Never satisfied with but the thought
But made alive through the craft.
Oh the ponderous pondering of the truly mad,
Our wings insanity.
Our breath creativity.
Only then are we truly alive.

When Shrivelling Hands be too Far to Beg,
Those very Guardians point to Gauge your Fame
Stars as Frozen Mentors rely on Peg
That once Removed will never be the Same
Yet by Faith both Sires press your Engage
Merely your Gifts that for Greatness promote
Not by Profits; But the Lord's Hand arrange
Admit Recreation your Time devote
Though not all, bid some Temptation advise
On his Solicitor we Understand
Whose Faces will Sell; Or Rumours incite
To plomb most Well-Wishes on their Demand.
Be this Fourth Commandment: Well we take Heed
Such Wind we Ride on a Dangerous Steed.

‬

i am a man of science—
something like that.

i was never one to put things up to faith or religion; no, i am a firm believer of all things formulated out of reason;

until you came along,

with galaxies in your eyes and star dust in your hair; (when i kiss you, i swear i see supernovas)

and who do you think you are, anyway?

to come barging in to my perfectly explained universe and re-arranging all my theorems,

to come waltzing into rooms, acutely unaware of how you send every ***** of mine in to overdrive;

dilated pupils, and an increased heartbeat, and a spike in some hormones, and a light going off somewhere in my brain— (diagnosis: love)

i despise the effect you have on me,

the churn in my stomach to have you smile at me, the thrill to hold your hand, the constant train of thoughts about you that has muddled the part of my head that can explain all this in a more scholar-ly way.

but no. all that i knew could not explain what i felt for you;

no, you had me denying newton's laws of motion— with every action there is an equal and opposite reaction— (you had me hoping my love would recieve, instead, an equal and similar reaction)

no, you were not just a lump of atoms born in to this world for the mere purpose of recreation and, inevitably, death— (to me, you are much more than a scientific construct)

no, all the chemicals boiled down in to nothingness and all the formulas were void of their values and all the terms were mere jargons that could not help me fully comprehend

why you are warmer than sunshine;
why you could take away the oxygen in my lungs faster than anything else;
why the planets seem to align in order to keep you here;
why gravity does not exist in the spaces you occupy;
why distance is my enemy;
and why i am in a love-hate relationship with the rotation of our earth (it depends on when i can see you again);

it was suddenly not just physics, or astronomy, or biology, or chemistry

when you came along.

When the universe began there was chaos and disorder,
Before we divided, I focused on my own outside border.
Besides the fangs and alien forces,
Laughter expanded my walls and charted courses.
I could navigate the paths to each universe separately,
Though the walk was treacherous I continued inevitably.
Time passed by slowly, no matter the location,
Other nights I lost time because of the recreation.
My mind understood things that shouldn't be understandable,
Not the meaning of life but answers to the beyond incomprehensible.
Inside the photographs and paintings all over,
I could see the movement, the change, that wasn't there sober.
What I wanted to say wouldn't come out,
No matter how hard I tried I couldn't get passed the doubt.
I heard everything said but didn't comprehend,
I could smile but I was unable to lend a hand.
Lead outside, I raised my eyes to the sky, to be enlightened,
I had known it all along but before I was frightened.
It was endless, and dark, with a depth like eternity,
Unable to look away it nearly swallowed me.
Back safe inside I traveled a short journey,
Hopeful to find the laughter that expanded my walls originally.
A magical place through a door, and through another,
Musical sounds and lots of color.
On a similar level I could blend in,
But a destroyer of worlds nearly made my walls cave in.
Escaping back to the other side,
A Charizard in the kitchen, a monkey in disguise.
Don't get ****** in, don't get ****** in,
It's madness and trickery, you must defend.
Stay back and be a spy,
Through a pentagonal shape for my eye.
A tickle-y feeling so I go down the hall,
But I am diverted by a door like a wall.
Locked, I can't seem to grasp,
But a leader with a hat showed me passed.
Or rather through a secret door,
Into a chamber I didn't know before.
Inside I discovered beautiful things,
And I tasted the delight that pumpkin brings.
My reflection was clearer and more defined,
I guess I never before saw the signs.
I felt like a secret confined,
So I fled to return another time.
Into a room to visit a neighbor,
A quiet and peaceful, relaxing chamber.
This universe is nice but not my first choice,
So with a present delivery I went back to the noise.
Under a rainbow knit blanket I found,
Heartbeats in hands that I thought to spread around.
The blanket returned to it's covered state,
And I took the secret to somewhere safe.
Through a door, and another door,
The light struck me as I saw smokey waves and heard a roar.
Horn of Damocles, Horn of Damocles.
Saved the day, saved the day.
Destroyer of worlds as well as creator,
Banishment happened sooner than later.
The walls lost their breath, but the stars were still bright,
The music was enchanting along with the light.
Enough adventure for I,
It's over, goodbye.
It's a sad word so I choose another to say,
Bye-bye seems less far away.
The rainbow blanket no longer stirs,
The universe has calmed and the aliens have dispersed.
The bone-man soothes the soul,
With his music he rocks and rolls.
Takes the nurse away for the night,
Thank God cause I almost lost the fight.
Did I tell you the universe is in your eyes?
I heard it earlier from someone near by.
He was rather blunt but I was unaffected,
We didn't **** but it was a nice suggestion.
I forgot to mention that we crucified,
A man who I know, and wouldn't rather die.
So we set him free, earlier in the night,
Before the laughter I saw something slight.
In a painting as a gift for me,
Jesus on the cross and an angel of mercy.
With that I'm going to conclude,
Oh Magical Manna, I approve.

I have no morals
Just mortal misunderstandings
The portal
Under my bed
Leads to a world
Unmanaged
Imagined
Illuminating
Culminating in the unconscious mind
An uncontrollable culture
Cultivated
In some odd crevices
In the humane
Brain
Inhumane ways
Weigh the options
Opt out of righteous
For the night
Just escape
To a place
Banished from
Reality
Rely on nothing
But irrationality
A skewed view
You can ask
New questions
Though there’s only a
Few answered
Before your time’s due
Do
Or die hard

.My mind replays my life before my shut eye
Leaving hellish days for heavenly nights.

I awake
At the break
Of day to face
The life I live
Heroic actions
Enacted
On day to day….


But when night falls
So will I
Deep asleep
And seep into
My other mind
True creation
Recreation re-created
To wreck creations
Feel no pain
Fright
Fights off folly
In the alley
Of a dream
I am finally
Laid to rest
In peace...

Bring me a lantern dear ,
Strike out the fire ,
for my bed awaits me at this late hour .

The curtain is drawn ,
my blanket lies o ,
I rest my weary head ,
and Oft to bed I go .

Awake me in a thousand years ,
Why don’t you ,
and watch over me as I sleep I pray ,
until I awake. .

For as long as I slept the earth froze ,
or cooked ,
or both !
and hell ( they called it that ) men died from its Icey breath ,
        and even they cursed the day they were born .
Vermin rats mice scurried then froze to death as even they found no
relief from its polar vortex .

For babies were left out to die in its falling snow ,
Old men stumbled and fell near their homes ,
of which even they did not see again .

I turned and the earth burnt ,
It’s heat burnt forests and grass land as I slept ,
if the suns rays didn’t then man set woodland alight ,
for the thrill .
Men abandoned their pursuit of recreation and kept indoors ,
Until the heat from the sun had ran its course ,
and the earth found shade in the shadows of its night .

I turned again ,
Fly tippers left their unwanted garbage over farm land ,
at the end of the streets ,
In the country where ever they liked ,
for no one cared ,
Certainly not them .

Silt turned to mud and buried towns and fields ,
and man looked ever on lost in grief ,
or weighing their silver on scales of death .

Creatures of the deep of every kind lied dead from plastic bags and toys of every kind ,
Mattresses.,
Supermarket trolleys dumped .


Cans of fizzy drink were left discarded tossed on beaches .

Migrants sailed from their captive shores on dingy unfit for the sea .
they were swollowed whole by the great waters .
.
I turned again ,
Children wrote obscenity s on walls for their thrill ,
carried knives and stabbed each other ,
for their own gratification.

Then
A man who slept in a doorway awoke to freezing wind ,
a lady bent down with  hot broth to warm his poor heart again .
Children with bags in hand picked up litter ,

And I awoke after a thousand years of wrong ,
the sun cranked the ice on rivers and lakes ,
and the man fell in love with the world again .

Mental Insanity
Creating imaginative hallucinations
Of true records
Within my brain.

Consisting all of the one I love
From recreation until lust
Yet one sends me
To hell and forward.

This of the main ingredient
With the one she loves
On top of a bed,
Underneath the fireworks.

He, whom I am not, her lover.

preparing months for an exam
for a number that supposedly determines your worth
******* up to teachers, people you don't even like
just for them to hopefully write a few commendable words about you

all for the hopes of being deemed "acceptable" to some supposed authority
for a place that will decide what you'll be doing for the rest of your life
making these drastic decisions at the age of 18
when not too long ago you were just picking out your prom dress

listing down any type of hobby or recreation you have
to make yourself seem a little more unique
since the competitiveness between you and your peers is sharper than a knife
who will make the final cut in the end and be deemed worthy?

Rain drops fall from the tree top.
Tree top drips, from the leaves above.
Recreation of a storm that has already gone.
Fall from the clouds rain to be captured again.
Again to the wind, carried across the darkest sky.
Land on a limb falling like the tear from a saddened eye.
Tree tops cry, winds go by.
Fall gentle my tear, like a drop from heavens sky.

Into the Clearing
I make note
Of the uninterrupted
Brightness, Unbroken

This makes for instant
Accountability
naked at best
Unveiled
Unfiltered
Unspoken

Interim testing ground
Stop and take a look around
When Elements invade
The private places object
Unknowing of the merging
Of a natural nature unto itself

Oh, the soft and sacred
Whispers softly unto
Those with ears to hear
Let the mystery of the Holy
Slowly unfold for thine eyes
Once distracted from the
Wonders of my Wooded
Recreation

Here stands You,
untethered by the
Winding ropes
Of illusive lore

We no longer care for There,
Now that we are here
It is Here
where we Refuel and
Recenter for our next
Adventure.

Choose with careful
Consideration
then Commit
This is It
Next Lesson
Or Level
I will revel
Boldly...
From my
Place of Power
And Knowing

Journey Onward my fellow Wayfarers :-)

You my cure,
a painkiller, a drug?
Delirious consumption.

Being around you
Let me forget
From thought, to happiness
I immersed myself in you
But the illness progressed

No plateau
No recreation,
As I sipped your words and tongue,
I was slipping
Sliding your syringe
Piercing, my skin
Everyday, of every week
The obsession would spiral,
But never peak

And everyday was a day away,
From the antidote I seek

I stole the timbers of my life
To fuel the fire of my addiction
And as everything crumbled,
And became less
My illness still progressed

I lit it,
And it flamed,
My pyre

But the beauty of your fire-lit face,
Engulfed my world,
And left me higher

What is the difference between love and addiction?
So little, but love seems the greater affliction.

I'm a little rusty on the incantation
That allowed you in my dreams
We just crossed paths in a different dimension
Now beg you please to leave

Caroline, what a sorry explanation
For a visit from the dead
The girl I knew is still halfway 'cross the nation
The girl I liked lives in my head

Visits from you have never been a good sign
That my life is going well
If I'm so desperate for a phantom's recreation
I'll walk backwards into hell

Caroline, what a sorry explanation
For a ghost of a best friend
We had it all and you threw it out the window
It's been five years since the end.

I'll admit that it is tempting
To accept the spell you've cast
Laughing, crying-- all the good times
But then why did it not last??

Caroline, what a sorry explanation
For a frauded history book
Five years ago we had a chance at reconciliation
If you ask me you're still a crook

the words lie about
small pieces of crystallized thought
communicating by sympathetic tangents
like the speech of the wind
attempting to mediate in white light
at the edge of an emaciated desert
their invading pressure threatening
to drive me out of consciousness
into a whisper
that darts along a tongue
the intimate recreation
of the speed and space of thought
energizing a concentrated existence
forcing me into uncompromising solitude