My skin has been itching for three months
I’m not sure why this is addicting

I’ve crashed a car in my head 3 times today
My mental awareness consistently letting go of the wheel
The Anterior teeth of my mouth have started to yellow in disapproval
I’m not sure why this is satisfying

I’ve been taking toxic psychotropics in light doses more than twice a day
It’s warmth is comforting as the jittering and hyperactivity become null
Bags have formed under my eyes
If you were to open them, their roasted smell would overpower you with stimulation
Constantly on my toes for risk of Insomnia and Narcolepsy
I’m not sure why this is outstanding

Adrenaline is being forcefully factored into my body
If this is the bullet, I’m biting it after an appliance pulls the trigger
As the high passes, it ripples through my mind
An otherwise calm sea, tidal waves pound the shores of my subconsciousness
Vacuum sealed can are filled with awareness
Sleep has become a rare odyssey
Warm comforters are replaced with long trachea trips of boiling beans
I’m not sure why this is alarming

Double trips become tripled and troubling to my mother
Arguments over the hours I shall harvest from the night are increasingly frequent
Slow to roll out of bed in the morning
I don’t hit my carpet, I splash into sugared preparedness
In my backpack hides a cup full of GI Joes
I’m not sure why this is troubling

If anything, I’m drinking a medicine that prevents death by 10-15% for 13 years
The New England Journal of Medicine was happy to acknowledge my existence
Till they announce anything different, you’ll find me taking a mud bath
I’m not sure why this is disgusting

Tell me everything that’s wrong with it
Because from where I’m standing
There is nothing wrong with
Coffee

I thought Van Gogh had it figured out
he fell in love
and cut off his ear
he died july 29 1890 from a self inflicted gun shot wound
He painted
He painted the sky
He painted men women bedrooms flowers shoes street corners chairs boats and fields

I thought Basquiat had it figured out
******
NYC
He painted memories in the present
August 12 1988
NYC apartment ****** overdose

I thought Picasso
I thought Warhol
I thought Stalin
******
Buddha
Had it figured out

but sand fills our shoes in dry texan sun
and the dog howls
howls for its mother
howls for its brother
howls for its sister

I thought the dog had it figured out
eating insects
smelling my hands
eating the ham on the floor

I thought Hemingway had it figured out
Late at night
reading Old Man and The Sea
Suicide July 2 1961
12-gauge English shotgun

I thought Fitzgerald had it figured out
I thought Ginsberg
I thought Kerouac did too
drinking across the neck and back bone and gutter lips of America and back

I thought Bukowski had it figured out
the cigarettes
the wine
the women
the type writer
the sad nights accompanied by cockroaches and a city that is indigestible

I thought Phillip Glass had it figured out
Beethoven
going Def
Mozart lost in his grave
writing symphonies for Death and his cruel tripled eyed angels

I thought
The drunkards were lost
The Junkies were ankle-less
The Mothers were done for
The Fathers had given in
The Young
True
The Elderly
gazing  through the bifocals of heaven and hell
The Prisoners cemented in Time
I thought the Dead
were the ones who published our Dreams

I thought the painter
had it figured out

So I painted

I thought the pianist
had it figured out

So I played the Piano
and listened to the bilingual codes of the keys

I thought the Ballet dancer
had it figured out

So I watched her
I studied the movements
and the bruised toes
looking for a design of an answer

I thought the Poet
had it figured out

So I wrote a poem
and I saw the world.

There is a blue stain from my pajamas blotched upon the white wall from where you pushed me up against. From when your hips gridded against my thighs, a graph with linear equations that doubled and doubled and tripled. From when your fingers found the furrows inside my skin, planting seeds I am eager yet scared to see blossom.

There is a blue stain from my pajamas specked upon the wall, from when our hunger was too ravenous for even the wolves I tried to suppress. From the sweat I licked off and tasted sweeter than gumdrops coated with honey. From when my legs found your waist, squeezing, Medua’s hair demolishing a man too good, too tasty. From where your palms collided with my wrists, blacks and blues and yellows shooting through closely knit pores.

There is a blue stain from my pajamas splattered upon the wall, and I pass it with a smirk, feeling the presence of you. What will be our next victim, I wonder

Paper unfolded is by far
the most beautiful possibility
Before it is folded
Twisted, refolded, untwisted
Doubled, tripled, bent and unbent
To be beaten into a form
A claustrophobic form.

I can feel the world,
stripping itself apart,
the soft paper mache of it's sanity,
being pulled apart to show,
the truth of this harsh world,


the generation before us,
tells us how easy we have it,
you, you didn't have wars,
hanging over your head, like dead weight,
you didn't have, the tripled problems,
why, why, did you leave this for me?


All I feel is horror,
a constant horror,
of what we can do,
of what we are capable of,


history is repeating itself,
over and over, we repeat,
the exact same mistakes,

no one sees, at least,
no one who has power,
they are too preoccupied,
with the petty worlds that they,
occupy,

(culmination)

trading closet fingers in the dark
best friends  knowing where to hide
our savored innocence
must have grinned
taking turns saying
your turn  my turn
hidden deep in smells of coats and sunless carpet
squeeze of family wardrobes
brushing fabric with my gasp or whining
itch in rapid breaths of hair on end
goosebumps pointing everywhere.

mom's vacuum caught our squealing
in a silent flick  pressed
between the wall and bed
between your russet legs my bookmark
bandaged there to get you well
your name means money
telling me you've paid me with your kiss
and worse your smile burns me
through your older sister's lipstick
like your sliding hand
i'm taking in your charcoal hair
the taste of salt i've never tasted since.

furthest from the future
single hormones savored at inception
bouldering we plant a famous kiss
pond-slick bodies slipping off each other in the sun
by ladders knocking knees
slender instant touches floating underneath
she asked me if i thought you **** laying there
your propped thigh towered vaster than the sky
me  writhing for an answer doomed
is all i salvage  time a mercy
like my father buried in his laps.

discussing copulation in a tree
we rose the bar on pleasures sought
our racing pulses lipped
to ***** our budding mores into flight
as if a dizzy kiss would lull me
off the branch to plummet at the ground
or make your belly grow.

green virgins of my youth  i hadn't known
a ****** river pours along our amethystine stair
our early blooming lucidness revealed
yet severed at our inner cry to usher in a storm.

growing older sobers what the vigor meant
despite a tripled sharpness
still i smell your sweat
as when we crept below as vagrant children hand in hand
the shutters always open  just for show
we stifle laughter in the nigh pubescent dark
watch them dine  hush
tickle after dinner play of shadows making love
through the windows we are them
blushing i will strip you as he strips his wife
widened gazes mime a sudden wincing
silent  fascinated fear commits us to the same
against the squeaky glass
exemplar bodies thrashing for the world
of flesh i want much more than most
i shatter windows just to show you that i can.

in growing i grow used to less
and as i learn of you  your troubles
i remember how i'd save you
save myself for perfect adult love
i can't save you  we just **** and wander  ****  wander  ****




.

365
Three simple numbers, a lot of meaning.
365 the number of freckles scattered over your body
365 the amount of times you told me you loved me in one day
365 the last 3 didgits of your cell number
365 the amount of times I watched your chest rise and fall until I fell asleep

365 the total ammount of days since you left
365 May no longer be the amount of freckles you have, she may have found one I missed
365 the amount of times you've said you loved her, it may have multiplied or tripled
365 no longer your last three digits, believe me I've checked

365 days of living without you
365 has tore me down and brought me to hell and back
365 no longer stands for the total number of days in a year
365 stands for how may days my heart has broken and how may times you've said goodbye

I sit in my cage and wait for you to open the door
I've hidden away so long, that you don't even know who I am anymore.
But I see your face and it conquers all the rest..
I wish I could have realized that, for me, you were my best

But I've changed so much since the day we met
And when you said you loved me, I didn't think it was true
How could you love someone you barely even knew?

Since you've been gone, I locked my heart away
But now I'm gonna expose every inch of it
So I cant stop hiding and so the pain will go away:

I love to write poetry
I find comfort when I'm in the dark
I used to cut myself
And I believe every person is a work of art

I've tried to commit suicide
I never had a lot of true friends
I'm terrified of gorillas
And I'd really love to see the oceans

I have tripled the amount of people you said you had slept with
At least four of them are people you know
When you met me I was ******,
So you can imagine that I didn't take things slow
I hung out with the "wicked witch" of your group
And she introduced me to something that helped me not feel so low
And as I was up for days, hiking and praying to find love
Pupils dilated, lying to the ones I loved
I kept think of you, and why I wasn't your one

I stopped taking my pills,
Which were for Bipolar Disorder, not my thyroid
I didn't tell you the truth because I thought it made me sound crazy
I made out with your best friend..
But at the time I didn't know his ex was pregnant with two babies

I slept with your dealer
I dropped out of college
I'd rather have love than knowledge

Hard to make possible, when I'm addicted to ***
I crave human touch
Especially from the one person whose love I will never get.
I understand if you hate me
I hate me too
But I also love myself for finally telling you the truth

I'm afraid to grow up
Afraid of being alone
I'm afraid you wont show up
And that I'll forever be in this cage that's called Home.
But I've been sober for more than two weeks
I'm rebuilding myself
I have to take the initiative and take care of my health
I miss you like crazy..
And when I see you on Facebook I think back to that day
when you told me you loved and then I walked away..

I know that we'll probably never be together
And I guess that's okay
I just hope that you'll be able to forgive me someday.

I put a deposit down on a house.
Great, whereabouts.
Mars.
Is that the name of the new estate we passed yesterday, when can we move in.
Eight or ten years.
What, who the hell’s building it, the seven dwarfs.
It’s on the planet Mars.
You bought a house on planet Mars, did you put a deposit down.
Yeah, ten thousand pounds.
My mother was right about you, twenty four carat *****, did you buy the Tower of london as well, maybe the Statue of liberty as an ornament.
Don’t be silly.
You’re calling me silly, I’ll be a laughing stock when my friends find out about this. I can hear them now, that’s Sally, her husband bought her a house on Mars. I should have married Geoffrey, he lives in a big house, and he’s sane.
He’s also gay.
I don’t care, I would have straightened him.
You really can be melodramatic at times.
Melodramatic, that’s it, you’re so dumped.
Right then, I’m going.
Great, if you hurry you’ll catch the 65 doing the planets run.
Phone rings, It’s mummy.
Hi honey how you doing.
Terrible mum, I’ve just thrown Paul out.
You should have done it years ago, the boys a *****.
I know, I’ll not tell you what he did.
Knowing him, it’ll be something spectacular, have you seen the news.
No I’m depressed enough.
You wouldn’t believe this, that estate agent up the high st was selling plots of land on Mars, they were going like hot cakes, they sold out in minutes.
That's why I threw him out mum, the idiot bought one.


The House Part 2

Oh darling, get him back, they tripled in price after ten minutes, they were saying they could be worth a million pounds in ten years time.
What, are you sure.
Yes, check the news.
Phone call to you know who.
Hi Paul where are you, sorry about throwing a wobbler, you sort of caught me on the hop.
Geoffrey’s putting me up.
What, did anybody see you going in.
Why.
You know why.
I don’t know why.
Never mind, when are you coming home.
Don’t know, Geoffrey says I can stay as long as I want.
Just say the word bike shed to Geoffrey.
Okay, Right he’s went a strange colour, think I’m coming home now.
Home.
Listen Paul I was thinking, wouldn’t it be great to start a family on Mars, or even keep it as an investment.
No, I've been thinking too, and you were right, it was a dumb idea, I sold it back to the estate agent.
What, how much for.
The same, ten thousand.
My mother was wrong about you, you’re a forty eight carat *****, do you know how much they plots are worth.
So it was just about the money.
Yes, you done one right thing in your life, then you undone it.
It’s only money Sally, we just put the deposit down on that new estate.
You put the money down yourself, I’ve decided to redump you.
Wow, I’ve never been redumped before.
Get used to it loser.
Next day - Phone call from the estate agent, Sally answers.
Just a message for Paul, that’s the gold taps installed, when would he like to see them.
What do you mean gold taps, he only put down a deposit.
No, he bought the house outright, three hundred thousand pounds.
Phone call to you know who.
Paul, Paul, I love you.
You are speaking to the answer machine of Paul, please leave a message after the splash of the Jacuzzi, though I may not hear you over the noise of the ladies netball team.

The children would be packed and ready days in advance.
At first, we packed for them, but as the years passed,
They were experts at rolling clothes for twice the space,
Using laundry baskets rather than luggage tripled our carriage.
We'd leave early Saturday morning, almost night,
Departing from the Ontario weather like a bad odour.
Kathleen was away at school.
Mags and Andrea were in their teens now.
Ten years of March madness was terminating.

Herself would sit shotgun with Triptik and thermos.
The kids would awaken south of the Ohio,
Hungry, grumpy, and eager.
She had it all planned out.
Crosswords, colouring, wordfinds, books, Gameboys, lace,
Sandwiches, juice boxes, treats of all sorts,
For another twenty hours on the road.

I invariably imagined our Mini in the return lane
As we crossed the Bluewater Bridge into Michigan;
Trip over, kids exhausted, us, quiet, subdued,
Just wanting our own bed.
But twenty hours on the I-75 lay ahead,
Turn left at Knoxville
For Myrtle Beach, sun, tennis, seafood,
Separation.

I found no peace in our final escape.
Conversation with her had halted.
A round-trip of dialogue in my head.
She'd said, I bought a house.
Words wrapped like an egg-salad sandwich.
It was our March break.

As I lay here and gaze out at the moon light
Imagery of day dreams and flashing stories **** the ticking of time and useless frights.
In my dreams I am the warrior with his magical sword.
I'm the captain of the "enterprise" or the traveler to distant worlds.
I sense the other creative hearts as I start to drift to sleep.

Floating from my body
My soul takes flight.
I am only bond by limitations, upon myself, in which I set.
Flying with the other "astral travers" in "projection" I feel less and less bound...

To hopelessness and worries.
I left that behind at the start of my journey.
In dream and soul travels I am profound..

An energy tripled as I catch up with other astral travelers
Who are not afraid to let their souls lose to travel.

New lands to explore. To see, feel, and experience.
Even without a seat on a jet, a green card, or what we bond ourselves down with what "reality" is never true logic.....
But an old and useless line drawn by a picked fence.

Until my soul returns in morning
To my body when it awakens.....

The spirit and dreams are sometimes more than what we can explain.....

For newest of inventions are descoverrd and written in history's books....
Due to daring souls who allowed themselves freedom in astral plains....

Never needing to grab their coats from a hook...
Edison, Socrates, devinvci, and the like....

Are still living spirits to open eyes that look past what is and is not supposed to be.....

For like me, we live forever....
Free spirits.....
Not just in our dreams.....
But, as we build or write to life our inventions...
Because reality was a closed eye....
The free spirits of the astral traveler and creative inventor
Could do such bright miracles....
As they left an open eye in which, for all this wonder, it sees.

feet glued to concrete
limbs shaking wildly
pulse has tripled
i cannot move

terror surrounds
jaws locked
anguish cries out
i am surrounded
the perfect storm

anger swirls menacingly
doubt trembles in fear
loathe strikes electric
i cannot focus
my eyes have blurred
was that a smile
or a bullet?

i am lost
narcotic-induced
incapacitation
nebulous days
followed only by
tenebrous nights
with evil thoughts

i am the afflicted
a victim
my emblem exposed
naked, they see me
for the child i am

their tears have dried up
just empty words remain
i am alone now
stranded with shaky hands
and too many orange bottles
the words will not come
they, too, have left me

so i sit
and i cry
but nobody hears
nobody cares
my salty tears slip
down my cheeks
and sizzle away
into nothing

how fitting

To partake of a strange feast where the price claims haughty
too, bits of sanity
or decline.

Courage must be the face to the lion
in a pool of fear
and recognize the unacceptable.

The scorpion waits, a grumpy nip the heel
going round, sprain in soft sand
dessication tripled, slip in butter.

The search via crumbs to secret root
underlining hefty conditions
undermining liberty.

it took a year and five months without you as mine to make me realize that i broke your heart.
and i am so sorry.
when we've tried to be friends in the time apart,
and you told me you didn't want to come see me because you were afraid your heart would still bleed for me, and mine wouldn't for you,
i should've known.
but it took until now,
when you said you still update the playlist you made me
called "hers"
and i saw that i took your love and squeezed it
juices dripping over my fingertips
and i realized that even though i had gone numb when we ended our little romance novel,
you hadn't.
how was i so blind?
how did i miss that you were missing me?
and now i feel my heart beat backwards,
i feel everything i felt in the three years i knew you come hurtling back to me
my stomach is heavy with you again.
but the miles between us are tripled now,
and i don't believe in going back,
and i can't believe that i hurt you
in that order.
but i miss you, miss you
and i can't help but feel regret weigh me down
---
i wrote this days ago and i didn't have the courage
to make my thoughts public
to admit a little bit of my heart still bursts with love for you.
and my pregnant pause has reared its ugly head,
because now i know that someone else loves you too
she is beautiful and kind and everything
everything
you deserve that i could not give back to you
and she is right there,
something i could never be for you, not for more than two days at a time and here's what hurts:
i only ever wanted your happiness
but now i watch from my phone as someone else kisses you and
laughs with you and
thinks of you and
i hate that you are happy with the life we deserved
and i broke your heart and she has fixed it and nothing in my world is fair but this
this is the worst of it all
my first love, my most tender bruise.
being absentmindedly pressed by another

When you have no money nobody wants to know,
Being made redundant, my morale is feeling low.

Waiting on the government to process my claim,
Can't pay my bills, I'm panicking, but I am not to blame.

Creditors chasing me, letters piling up behind the door, powerless to do a thing, but this I can't ignore.

Loosing the will slowly, my head hurts from all the pleading, my children and my dog they will soon need feeding.

No support available, this walk I must do alone, crying myself to sleep, I could have been prepared if I had known.

My world has suddenly collapsed, the domino effect has begun, rippling through my cash flow, this summer isn't feeling fun.

The days are feeling empty, to broke to go anywhere, trying to scrape together copper so I can treat my children to the fair.

Relentless job searches, I'm tearing at my hair, when you are left without a penny and there's no one around to care.

Holding my head in my hands, trying to keep things together, depressed and down I hope this isn't forever.

Fighting off the feelings, trying not to take it to heart, hurt that I worked so hard, from the very start.

I was always there, worked overtime for free, helped out when things were bad, stupid, silly me.

Its ok for the big boys, their wage it tripled mine,
They may be in the same boat, but they will just be fine.

Pacing the walls I'm slowly slipping into madness,
Clinging onto hope, getting lost deep inside the sadness.

A temporary glitch, I'm hoping I will be able to recover, its times like this we need help from one another.

Scared, more terrified but what's worse is I feel alone, trying hard to keep upbeat, trying to remain in good tone.  

My children too young to understand, and my dog just looks at me funny. Not realising the world is dominated by that paper stuff called money.

My thoughts are racing vividly, trying to capture an idea, paralysed by the sudden shock along with intense fear.

My world has collided, my heart begins to fade,
All of this could have been prevented, If only I'd been paid.

1
Grisham John
my artist friend
is a sensitive chap
so a year after my wife dies
he gets me a date

2
Turns out at the restaurant
the woman walks up to me
like she were a floating jelly -
her left eye flying, her right eye sinking
her arms wild like horses
and her nose tripled;
each finger like a bullet
and she looks in all directions all at once

3
I call Grisham John on his cellphone
and I roar:
You paired me up with a hideous woman!

Relax! he intones
*You either hate 'em or love 'em -
that's how it is with a Picasso

We are
            moved
by the
lives of others
We are
             affected
by things that aren't
happening to us
We
        feel
emotions
we didn't
conjure
Our pain is
doubled,
tripled
&         intensified
Through the constant stream of
E m p a t h y
S y m p a t h y
Agony
But
without
it
there is no
                    love
And
without
                            love
what a
b o r i n g
u n f o r g i v i n g
world
we'd
exist
in
Drifting
                   lazily~
through our own
self pitty
Realizing
only
the
wetness
of the
rain
And
not giving a care
to the
                  life
it creates
Yellow roses
And tall willow trees

You are the rain in my heart
You fall with fear from your sky
I catch you gently on my tongue
You give life to my existence
**I need you to grow
You need me to matter

There will be a many reasons why, he is really suited to be a good leader to his views on church reform, poverty, climate change and divorce that had shaken up the world opinion. A leader who is an influencer to other people like just Pope Francis that he want a real leader does not shy away from crisis and debate, but embraces them as part of finding a solution.

As a follower of Pope Francis, I really admire his characteristics that he is reaching out to non-customers or non Catholic. That is why Francis makes sure to reach out to non-Catholics as well, for instance by declaring that God has redeemed all of us, not just Catholics. He embraces the risk he did like when he was young, he became very ill, and the nun who tended him disobeyed the doctor's instructions and tripled his dose of antibiotics, because she knew from experience that without that higher dose he would die. We can't be an effective leader if you're always playing it safe. Last is to listen in diverse voices. He is listening to his cardinals all over the world they consult with him to help him make decisions. He wants to get other people's opinions that he can gather ideas about their own experience.

That is why I choose the Pope Francis a good leader for me because I am a religious person and a follower to our dear Pope. To help all the people in need of guidance of God and a world needs leaders who are just compassionate and merciful.

If I could go back to the day I first laid eyes on you, if I could erase your very image from the deepest parts of my being, I'd do it in a heartbeat. You couldn't begin to know what you do to me, the crippling pain that I feel when reality actually hits. And it hits so hard. I don't want to have to face this. You don't know me, you'll never know me. And if we ever so happen to meet it'll be a fleeting glance lost in a sea of other gazes. You'll never know me as intimately as I'd like, and boy, does that hurt.

You're perfect you know. To me at least. You make my days seem a little less miserable and even with all that you've been through it didn't **** you. It couldn't break your spirit. Its what inspires me. But see, the thing is, I'm not strong enough. I'm not powerful enough. I'm not enough. I can't be like you. I can't shake this. It isn't as bad anymore, I'm a big girl now. So Don't worry about me, not that you'd ever know what I'm going through anyway. How could you?

How many times have you heard this? A lot I bet. Thousands of times. Words can't be that unique can they? Millions of ways to phrase the exact. Same. Thought. I want to be special. I want to be remembered and so loved that the darkness can't seep into my bones anymore. They've taken all they can from me. I don't want to say I love you. In fact I wish that I could hate you. Strip every bit of humanity from your being and magnify your flaws. I want to be able to despise you, but in some way, the thought of leaving you completely behind is horrifying. I can't, I won't.

If anything its getting worse with each passing day. Every thought I have is tinged with you. I think of you the most, your joy, your tears, your raw passion that fills up an entire stadium and rocks the very foundation that was barely keeping me upright to begin with. Your voice mesmerized me from the very beginning and **** if I don't resent you for it. You're all I've ever wanted, you make me feel protected even when there are a million miles and faces between us. How is it possible, to love someone so much?

My heart beats to the rhythms you create, the tempo carrying me away from everything that has ever caused me harm, away from the harshness of this life. It keeps me safe from everyone. Everyone but you. I know that you'd never hurt me, or anyone else for that matter intentionally. And that revelation alone has caused my resentment for you to double, while the love that I have for you has tripled.

There is a war waging inside of me, it feels as though I am tearing myself apart limb from limb, it scares me. I'm scared that soon, there will be nothing left of me, nothing left to give. There is only thing that will remain inside of me, the only constant in this blurry haze of love, longing and doubt. I'm afraid that I'll succumb to these emotions. All of these caused by one beautiful, perfect, terrifying person.

You

The first girl I ever apologised to
created craters in my veins and filled them with love and she didn’t even know
how beautiful she was, lying next to me face-to-face with nothing but TV reflections and an orchestra of words spoken in silence
I wanted to tell her I love her over and over again but my eyes stole any sentence I could form in my head from my mouth and did nothing but stare
They say a person’s face gets more attractive the more you look at it but I feel this is a lie; if I had only got to glance at her face for a second, she would still be the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen
and we fit together like tetris blocks, building a foundation to plant the root of forever
and I want to grow beside her, watching her blossom from a caterpillar into a butterfly, from a star into the sun
and I want to be the steady trees that stand beside her, humble and proud, showing her that I meant it when I said I would never leave because I am rooted deep into our soil of forever
and I couldn’t even if I wanted to and I kept my heart chained to my ribs before I met her but she waltzed in, handed me the keys and I haven’t been the same since.
I felt her come crashing into my life like an asteroid; I am sure I was wiped out and taken to a universe where only good things happen because I can no longer see bad, only flowers where bullets should be
I can no longer only see red, but violet and magenta and mahogany too and she has opened up a world where everything does happen for a reason because it has led me to her
like a sleepwalker looking for home only to find something much better than that
like a sleepwalker waking up to find themselves immersed in golden sands and out of touch with reality but rife with the knowledge that she’s real
and her touch is there to remind me of this,
the world’s biggest mystery gracing the palm of my hand with their own fingertips, two DNA connected and the vibrations of my love for her bouncing back to whatever God introduced me to her to say thank you
and I remember the first time I held her hand. We sat in silence as I traced my fingers over hers and back again, like a visual of tentative attraction on loop.
I didn’t believe in anything until I heard my name on her lips and suddenly angels existed and
Sometimes I feel like I’m hallucinating but I don’t mind when her presence in front of me is tripled and I can see not just one of her but three and each one outstretches their hand as they morph back into one person, as if to show me that in all her various forms, I am safe
and I have never been safer
I can no longer only see red, but hues of cyan and aqua and agate blue and they merge together to form eyes I dive into searching for the very depths of her ocean and I never gasp for air
because I am safe. They merge together to form irises that look at me like I’ve never been seen before, like a rare breed of an extinct animal discovered again; irises that look at me like they could stop time with their intensity
and I want to stop time with her
I want to contort it to wrap around her and I and protect us in the promise of eternity
because the stars will set the sky on fire and everything will melt in embers and ash without her
the planets will misalign
the soil will sink the trees at their roots
and the ocean will swallow the earth it once harmonised with
and I will, simply,
cease to exist.

is it too much of an onomatopoeic dissonance that this is synonymous to
   regret dubbed as slouched nirvana. Across the bonfire, there’s volition
   as glare, light as judgment. Why they call her
Luningning, I know not.
      Take excess for jaunts and flesh, and pay no heed to illusions. The mirage
  on the wall is but fire-dance on the bitten lip of true company.
                    heady static pierces pinecone. Soon the moon will sink like **** to ****. Or felled star as tripled glaze of salted lip. Or the ****** of the butterfly.
     Are we here to metamorphose these tiny susurrations into a commune?
                     Dank and stale as ****-laced pavement, the whole world now
    spires in uneven strobes. The last song on the karaoke as memory. The knead
      of temperamental air on the scalp. Take pork rind for bread, intemperance
    as tribute. The night dons its silken robe and shows her pair: two moony eyes
               piercing the noise.

If only* my eyes never tickled when it saw you,
                                                          ­                    If only my heart beat never tripled when it sensed you,
If only my body never shivered just to feel you,
                                                          ­                         If only my hands never quivered just to touch you,
If only my nose never itched from the scent of you,
                                                                ­                             If only my soul never hungered just for you...
If only you were single, I'll tingle and mingle only with you,
                                                                ­                         We'll soar the skies far above the eagles... If only...
*If only..... you knew its only you
                                                             ­                                       Only You...

i pray that today
you will read my words and concern

i will write happy, i will mostly write sad

we both know there is a dark spot in my mind
surrounded by the light you have created

but you are the reason for my happy words

and the inspiration for my sad
because you are that contrast

-

i pray that tomorrow
you will read my words and smile

i will write happy, i will write sad

we both know there is a dark spot in my mind
surrounded by the light you have created

but you are the reason for my happy words

and the inspiration for my sad
because you are that contrast

-

i pray that next month
you will read my words and be proud

i will write happy, i will write sad

we both know there is a dark spot in my mind
shrinking into the light you have created

but you are still the reason for my happy words

and the inspiration for my sad
because you are that contrast

-

i pray that in a couple years
you will read my words and reminisce

i will write happy, i will write sad

we both know there was a dark spot in my mind
emerged by the light you created

you are the reason for my happy words

and still the inspiration for my sad
because you are that contrast

-

i pray that in the future
you will still read my words

what would i write, what would i write?

we both know there was once a dark spot in my mind
unsure if that has endured
tripled in size
or simply non-existent
perished by the light you have created
or the light you have substituted for dullness

will you be the reason for my happy words?
if any remain?

or have you truly inspired my sad
because you went from black and white
to simply black

-

i pray that you would not continue to read my words...
...out of pity

i would write sad, i would write sad

we both know my mind would be dark
pitch black
a lack of light

i would have run out of happy words

because there would be nothing but sad
filling the empty holes
you have dug with your absence

everything is black

You gossiped around
And you put him down
Since he wasn’t as rough
Was in no way as tough
As other guys were acting
You continued the trashing.
Bullying is always in fashion.
Alawys some wimp needs mashing.

His clothes were impeccable.
You found that despicable.
He kept himself neat and clean
You did with that something mean.
He was good at sport games
You reviled him just the same.
He got high grades in classes
Still you all acted like *****.

He won awards, your taunts tripled,
It couldn’t be worse if he was crippled.
We can see now his incipient fame;
You never let up with the ugly names.
An A student, who never did wrong
You let bullies lead you along,
Another poor schmo for you to dismember;
What do you suppose he will remember?

Will you suddenly call him friend
When school and the torture ends?
Will you go see his lectures and shows?
Isn’t that the way it always goes?
Suddenly the bullies are good guys?
And you think nobody ever catches wise?
Go on and hope that is how it goes.
He’s an elegant guy. So, who knows?

I saw your name
And this car ride
Turned into a game of Russian Roulette.
Amazing how the very thought of you
Can reverse my body chemistry
In a matter of seconds.
Smiling,
I didn't even have enough time to blow my cover
Because it hit that quick.
Now I sit, rigid, in the passenger's seat.
God, my legs are weak.
My fingers are cold,
And I have to clamp down on my leg with the tips of them
To keep my voice from shaking.
She can't know.
She can't know that my happiness has been left behind
Like you leave your insides at the top of a steep rollercoaster.
Later it will catch up, slam into me with its new claws, and wrench the food from my stomach
No matter what you've said.
But not now. Not
Now.
I am afraid
To get out of the car when we stop.
Will I collapse to the ground like a newborn colt?
These ****** legs
Shake
And itch to run.
My only composure
Is in my secrecy.
I can sit three inches from my own mother
Silently imploding
And she will never know.
She can't know.
She is all I have left to protect.
My heart rate has tripled
And even when I take deep breaths
They rattle in and out of my lungs.
It feels like there is an electric current running through me.
It feels like I've just lost a lot of blood and the adrenaline is vibrating through my whole body
To make up for the injury.
Every time we hit a bump
My knees seize up
All on their own
And a shiver passes through me.
My white hands flutter before me
Like moths
And if I don't concentrate
My lungs stutter in air uncontrollably
And little pinpoints of light stud my vision.
She can't know.
Just get home.
Bump
I grip the seat.
Bump
Sweat slides down the side of my face
Cold
Like the point of a knife.
I swear I can see it glinting out of the corner of my eye
But its only my white cheeks and glistening eyes reflected
In the blackened window glass.
The girl there is ghostly and deeply shadowed
And for a moment our eyes find each other
In terror and then in
Resignation.
This is our trip
To the gallows
This is
It
This ride
This car eating up the still damp pavement
Lights making the steam that billows from it swirl and dance.
This metallic taste that fear floods into my mouth
Is my last meal.
This is my chariot
And death doesn't know she's driving it
But my number is up
And I stare down my execution in the oncoming headlights of someone else's car
Someone who can probably breathe right now.
Lucky *******.
My ears ring
And the music from the speakers sounds like it's underwater.
Thank god I don't have to talk much.
Almost there
Turn, bump
And my heart tries to climb out of my ribcage
My veins cold with
Fight or flight
But some cruel little part of my mind laughs at my body's frail defenses-
I've known for years that neither
Can save me.
Almost there
No
Please-
I don't want this to end.
Because it's hell, sure,
Sitting here with a nuclear holocaust ripping through my organs,
But I know this devil.
I can systematically lock myself down,
Keep it in,
Keep it quiet.
But the second I leave this car...
The moment I get home,
I will have to know what you've said.
I'll have to face whatever you think of me
And that
Is the most terrifying thing
I have ever sped towards
So ******* fast.

The tips of my lips curve toward the stars
but the words on the tip of my tongue
and too heavy to bend upwards

So that's where they remain
at the end of a thought but never
floating to your ear
because I can't let you hear
the things I've been holding, saving
for a time that I realize now
will never come.

Because they were heavy before
but now the dust they've collected
has nearly tripled their weight
and though they try to break away toward the sun
it is a futile to try to break through
years
of bottling up.

There are things that will never be said
some things are impossible to understand
with or without words
and we must let them be.

Seven times seven to the seventh power
Will tell you how much I love you this hour.
If you tripled the stars and a few more could borrow
It would give an idea how I'll love you tomorro  
                                            

The Matzoh, was tripled in Vernarth's imagination in the first chalice of Elijah, which was expected for this mass balance in the Eunomia and in Euphrosuné, for whom there were few steps in the applicability of the kingdom and the underlying legislation of the fourth chalice of Elías, who was already inaugurating the end of all commemoration. They would have the accommodation relative to San Pablo and San Juan to join and to stage the arrival that was expected of Elías by his spiritual presence attending as an ekklesia in the assembly of the family that was preparing to dine, they will open the house in the Fourth Arrow of Zefian for domesticity and conversion of the magnanimous visit of the Hexagonal Birthright to Judah, without the yeast ferment to cross Zefian's sword in the halo of remanence that originated behind the wick of the Menorah that Vernarth held in his hands, thus When lifting it and tilting it horizontally, Saint Paul made it the Notós and the Dyticá, making the gospel a sacrosanct concoction in a double chalice crossed with the Matzoh bread in the hand of Saint John, with the first-grade olive thread that had to teach it to the spirit of the community, next to the kályx inside a Kratera, that welcomed them on the grail greater sprinkler for a great spiritual climate. They all grappled with the stillness for those who welcome them in a silence that was from another world, where Saint Paul and Elijah in their first ovation applauded Vernarth's goodwill for having brought Saint John to Judah with them, specifying the return of their forced diaspora, which meant a great breath of prostration from the letter of the Romans, for a plot against whoever converges in a community inside and outside from the site that saw the divine light, with the very mass of light hanging over the ribs of who can establish his sovereignty, with frugal needy publics that came from Corinth. Elijah was spiritually in the Cenacle, and he was in the fourth cup of the full moon that burned in the styles that hung from the highest multidimensional reasoning before a prophet, who was still fleeing sensibly from King Ahab pursuing him towards his state of humiliation, where he could not compensate himself from a concentrated oak table, and in the Mataki that made a universal meeting enabled with the twelve guards of Seleuco, who attended by means of a conditioned dreamlike weakening, and by the worship of pious exercise that would soon take him in the flesh and in wine, from his own needy who were once his chains. Ritual gestures came from their faces when they saw the kind of fidelity when they felt that they could live with their hands with roasted and immolated meat, with pieces of matzoh that they liturgized similar to Pesach. The center of the sacred synagogue fire was of sacramental flow in the eclectic portal that came from Procorus. The schizophrenic of the pantheon of union buffoons went with Euphrosuné or Eufrésine, who were instantiated among the laments and revelry for the Maenads, who shone in the flow of their sadness, to the full of their joy with cyclamen that was sustained in the prosopon worn by both goddesses with the maskein stew of Vernarth and Euphrésine, to dignify their presence before the Hexagonal birthright. Thus, the Maenads retreated beyond the third sacred fire, close to the base of the low burps of Dionysus who were scalding with Euphrosuné, in delusions to make her Maenad.

Saint Paul says: “From the cistern of Siloe the Torah was reinterpreted, the blind could not see and enter the turbulent waters of the lower cistern, similar to those of the Hasmonean. He also could not enter the synagogal, he said that he could not enter because they left him outside because he was handicapped and could not walk freely. The Mashiach told him to get up and take his belongings. The nonagenarian got up and walked to his house, just as the Master indicated. On the way he met some followers of Shammai, telling him that he could not carry heavy things on the day of Shabbat. Subsequent to this beneficial event, the Mashiach was enthroned due to this decision before the Sanhedrin, because he mentioned to them that he got up and walked, thus Yeshua interpreted the Torah in his life and property. From that moment on, the 18 clauses for converting Gentile pagans to proselytes were optimized, modifying only two, constituted by Yeshua. The school of Hillel was systematized under his erudition with the Pharisees since its foundation, making this the rabbinical school that would prevail from now on, due to the magnificence and exegesis of the Mashiach. "

In this way Shammai, with his rigidity of protocol, was questioned by his interpretation, making Hillel's more human and of personal piety with Faith-reason. They get up from this micro-journey of reminiscence, and Vernarth walks with Saint Paul and Saint John, Vernarth takes Artemis's bow, takes Zefian's fourth arrow that he brought from the Duoverse, then takes the bow and propels the arrow to where the Vóreios del Aftó, to transfer the bronze tip of Hillel towards that direction, distancing it towards the arrival of the religious objective, and creating the transferred hand of Vernarth in that of Hillel, to channel at the exact point of arrival where the Megaron will begin to be erected. Shammai, together with the minority of the voices, was skewed in the fourth arrow that was propelled in the objective of the Torah, "Bow and Arrow", touching the theology of the house of Beit Hillel, and demarcating with systemic devotion and mercy the Eruv, who was present with Hillel, making a dramatic life, the traumatic gloss of who one day carried a tree on his shoulders to a dark and unburied altar since the equinoctial of Aphtho; carrying the log, even if it had been on Shabbat, which brought Kaitelka as the last guest with Borker, when the last mogote of the whirlwind of the Profitis Ilias wind tunnel was almost closed, bringing this ballenid heavy as a cross.

Etréstles was suspended in a tomb in the necropolis. There was a great quantity of accumulated air enclosed in the moldy walls, with populations of specters that moved translucent by other populations that walked inconsistent and of proto masonry, that in some resembled pink marbles on some striated slabs, letting pale rhizomes slip away, under a oblique land that was manifested meager on an unstable pedestal. Adhered to this exteriorization were Kanti and Etréstles, who, in their hydrothermal paragenesis, lay as a petro form at a great range of heat, making periodic effluvia of their Devonian geology; peering into a carbonization of the sedimentary rocks, which they attributed their attention to when remaining in the favorable climatic zones that made episodes on their hydro-thermal sediments, leading to the carbonization of the surface of the necropolis with micas and serpentines, to cool down, in the fields of the natural self-sacrificers that resisted the effect of the heat generated by the Zig Zag Universe, etching each other on pyrites and graphites. With a purpose of compactness, which increases and extends the widening of the enclosure to the emanations of the channeling that in the traces, it will be on linens that will come in the first charges of the homily from Tsambika, and then from Mount Hymetus in Athens, follow proliferating in populated hives of bees ******* in its forest, towards fragrant necropolis, in causes of the vapor of its magnificent flowers and herbs; so much so, that from the honey-paved lipoids, some spectra will emerge from being toxic, longing for the strigilae or S-curved striae (reverse or straight), copied from pagan sarcophagi.

Thousands after miles, centuries after centuries, adorning themselves in the boxes on the outer fronts of the tombs, almost as in constant Constantine-Hellenic brilliance. With their flat covers, they poured over them the devastating trisomy, whose extra diploid organism chromosomes, however from that aberration, would be parity of all beings tripled in their homologous chromosomal hereditary complement. Generating disproportions that in their execrable variation, would be destined to the patio of falling over them, in three inverted marble patios, revealing only some in their extremities, appreciating them with semi-covered figures and in relief, filling again by genetic trisomy for gentile practices to take them to Vas Auric Cristiano. Faced with such famous empyrean and reliefs, the Universe that also agreed, with greater conferred the spiral, towards the locus of the sepulcher chromosome, predicting lights on capitals in Theoskepasti, for goods that collect centuries in a hundred collected lilies, go where the imperfections, but already cut from its liliorum, in unknown metacarpal hands.

I ask her if she saw your eyes
She said she did that they are the
“boy eyes” but tripled and then
says but “have you seen your own eyes”
I said I hadn’t so I ran to the mirror
to see and started crying
at the way my dark eyes are full of peace
(giant wet pools of love) melting against my skin
through my pores
all because of
(you)

i am composed
of rotten pomegranates
a rich stench of sweetness emanates from my pores
loose-limbed,
i am glistening, in my prime, about to free fall into my own undoing, like a flower slick with nectar
just waiting for the bees to swarm
reaching towards the sun
and, in vain, turning towards you instead

and i'm crumbling into desecration,
my honeyed blood churning
tripled suns
I swear my body is illuminated
I swear that i smell of flowers
and i know that i have reached the point of no return

so tear me,
your slender fingers
severing me from everything
everything i'm rooted in,

tear me away from the dark musk of earth


and fill your senses with my loosened aroma
as i fall away from grace
crumble into fire

and turn away from the sun one last time

From Lower Normandy Marie came barefoot, still, Agios Andreas but this time to be reborn in Coutances with everyone embraced and revived by reconstituting Saint-Sauver Lendelin. From here in this parish similar to the electromagnetic ubiquity of the Beit Hamikdash, all walking girt only for a few leagues in the transit of conversion and silence that was only interrupted by the shutters on the coast of the islet. Her humble appearance of a farmer from the meadows of Carentan, cheered her healing hands that would add another servant without letters and numbers that represent the wisdom of a holy woman, who loved her neighbor, going back from the Porta de Betania to revive with the return. of his blessed drizzle of holy water from the stigma of the Lord. It illustrated their faculties by presenting them in a new beneficent world free of transpersonal, rather it was linked to the guarantee of extremes and their evil debaucheries that would abound in humanity now and always, showing mercy that made any living being confuse by being in the middle of the heavenly sprinkles of holy waters. The fields of salvation for the lacerated ranged from extremes, and points that babbled to the Olympian gods, giving them the abandonment for some time the apostasy that raged their disgraceful powers, Ignoring the subjectivity of ancient poverty with the young woman who was from the same roots inherited from archaeological substrates, which did not allow it to find its roots, redirecting what the pilgrims do not know that illumination takes without return and that great works were the participle of a verb that would never be reborn again. That the examples touched the bottom of the ionic crowded with icons that were left infertile there because they could not dive into polluted waters. That the Sirens shrunk in the salt of Aphrodite, not being able to temporize in the indecision to grant them plenipotentiary powers to make man a being with gills in the tender flesh, and of the great works that save the man who prostrates himself anointed from his defects in not granting themselves extraordinary early days, with directions to save themselves from the catastrophe and sinister ones that speak of the same thing; of the Man who breathes and does not make an effort to breathe, so that when at the end he is boiled in the apnea of ​​his stubbornness, he can make sure that he needs clean and pure air, to see millions of kilometers in his three hundred and sixty degrees, and also can that sub mythology makes of mythology; seeing in millions of lustrums without ending more lines that support it, nor who closes the doors to you from a first second or third degree of evolution of itself, renouncing other points of those like Marie de Vallées and Bernardette de
de Soubirous the visible particularity of the good of doing his Will. The Lord instructed them for herself from childhood as it is led to the Lapse, The earth, and The Universe decreasing chronologically so that she would be Logos of Christian Virtues. That what was accomplished will certainly be accomplished even though they suffer pain from the wars on their backs, and lead them to the most adorably perplexed fidelity of God.

Marie Des Vallées speaks to everyone: “I Kyrié Mou, oh my Lord, I am your medium and the grace to do it in what makes it available in a few minutes to stay alive! I am your obstacle so that you do not disenfranchise me from the Horror Vacui ..., disturbing the emptiness that puts bands on my idle eyes by validating and embellishing more your work and its mathematical fools, in the dense wastelands that lie in the static of the ship that can never help to Prometheus! Or the late morning that the martyrdom of Good Friday changed to rescue you! Oh, what ostentatious luxury is argued by the evergreen of your olive, lanceolate in some like sacred stingers and green glabrous, which stand multi-floral and become scaly by my arid and fatal mouth. What a wave of the myrtle will be thrown by the wild olive that is ignored like the thistle! or that a black hawthorn for a thousand years will be flashing the iris of my paternal sets, like bushy palms in soft and hard mothers, like the sawdust of man's discernment, whose rusticity becomes sensitive in what he lived, and does not live in Bethany! Except for the one who is just in the hands of death and who receives a mastic or seedling that closes the lips of the frozen morning. Just as in the tripled auroras where the pomegranates will continue to find the apse with Ruthwell's cross "

you can't hear me
i've grown so small,
it's hard to see.

the feelings have tripled,
they swim around me,
mouths opened wide,
gulping me whole.

i'll sit here in the dark,
thinking about my heart,
and wait for my breath to escape me.

"Vernarthiano and well-wisher name leads me to you in temporary fissure and tolondro, abjuring virginity in my maiden legion delivered in barbarism, and in blood betrothed for those who more in the finesse prolactin emulsion is renewed as a teenager, opening spaces to bring depressions of inheritance, for whom or those who found hieratic parents and children here in the disputed ****** that nests their nature.

Escaping from the beast and the libido of the criminal patron of the dynasty, which continues to flow senile gold through the scattered veins of beasts that hunt spoil, falling in love with the young and their commiseration. I swiftly attracted the henchmen who bleed before the door of the corporal and fateful destiny, opening in Hellenicidal impostor blood of the Holy Land, and in contradiction by Maccabees with immobilized blindfolded eyes, intimating the extreme virginity of a quasi Sibyl maiden, grasped in the tweezers. Of Seleuco, expired in the dark chamber of Wonthelimar, and in ardent desires that sever brains in the darkness of the cavern of Chauvet bilocated in the roadstead of Skalá. Vernarth I have come to you as a double birth, moaning descendants of the helots, phrases that found no excuses that salutely leave compassionate, like Antiochus who exhorted me to go to your solemn Investiture of the Himation. Ad mostem festinamum Eurydice said that she sang to me romantic atolls from the balcony of nowhere, unrequited I was consumed with the love that flowed through the vena cava of the sufferer in Apollo. Ezpatkul looked at the koelum or demiurge sky in his epiphany, summoning your Gerakis to station themselves near Petrobus, entrenching me tightly in the clutches of the Ibic Rings to be referred to your luminary by the seat of Leros.

My parents by the name of Demetrio and Fila brought me to Roshus on the Perian coast of Macedonia, where I was given as a gift at the regent's wedding. I am Stratony of Macedonia, the daughter of Strategy of Syria, my mother. It is I when writing this epistle, which in turn had a prosperous one, but in posterity when my consent was distanced from the same tenor, my mother was solicitously delegated to Seleucus and then to my father Antiochus. Then I shunned Demetrius II, due to his extra union with Phtia, Daughter of Olympia II of Epirus. It was enough that a link in this Seleucid genealogy was lost in the open from a sick dynasty and successions, so that they appear on the henbane embankment, and go back from Lambdas and Epsilons of consanguineous matings, betting principalities and fratricidal blood, cursing themselves in campaigns since the same that is sheltered in mutes and feelings in Judah by Olympian torments, and immortal Gods shrouding fleeting perishable itineraries of life to the tempting mayor of the puppets, and of the mortal reigns without disposition rattling in Samothrace libido, of hundreds superior, and all the enlightened contents of a captive genealogical of semi-gods trying to equalize.


Beloved Vernarthiano on Venus, anxieties made me fly to the sound of the souls of Trouvere, committing crimes in my larnax, for tears that have spread one spring afternoon, which I only saw in contained affections, being able to walk through Roshus with my mother, in the discharge of essences saturated that truncate release in the Epsilon hopper. Subtending lines and diameters towards the ends of the curved arch or broken lines, being able to refer to the circumferential buttress between the sides of the angle of my asthmatic regret…! When I removed my hand from this obituary, I saw that The Hague reigned at its lowest point, which made the ink pinch that made me a princess out of her lines, and characters that were molded in such proactive and literal numbers. Beautiful and charitable is the beautiful donna that is born flowered for nuptials of the angelic white indigo "Deus Meus Captivus", in your purpose I could be Stratonice regent of wandering honoring through the palatial corridors of my mother evading intentional and reasons of victory to our good honor, and of the audited and emphasized names of "Victorious Armies" in their real meaning in our patronymic, after the victory of Ipsos. As Argeadas, the king yielded to the prince, what his subjects receive from replicated dynasties, in retreats and shallow swells of temperament, linking liras between liras of Corinth and patronizing condescension in the dominions of Persia.

Much more than an umpteenth outrage in the bands of tolerance and knowledge, I was able to discount the years to come. Passed through our unconfessed lineage, reaching our sarcophagi in the good news by raising the frame, and lifting my mother in your tragedy by three that are tripled, knowing that they allude to Saint John the Apostle, over the loafers who drool in scabs stepdaughters of party mouths, and monarchical slaps that have united us behind the scenes, and in the interlocking followed by re continued guarantees of worship, pro-Seleuchism or Antiochism vanished in buried Diadoco briefs, adjacent to the ibid in mega nuptials or Olympic descendants, and in the relatives of the Orphism-transgenerational surrogate! Vernarth give me a taste of the well, I require a new territorial ally in your quilts to new heads branded in his autumnal Hegemon.

In the attempt to take out a dagger and put it in the night watchman, I was already amazed at the reading of the fluttering of the Gerakis, who threw the tantrum of other Gerakis with the souls of Trouvere, kidnapping half of my letter that had cut for you Vernarth with chlorinated tears of solid, towards the swallowing of the airones that intimated in bastardized allegories, containing intoxication and unsheathed unison echoes of the bronze settled in the thundering law, making the Gerakis and the Trouveres fall together in some Mycenaean jars of wine. Anger provided beds of each one for manly acts in the Patmian Olympic allegory, denying the reactions of those who become the purveyor of the riches of tragedy, in immaterial environments that discuss not having it if they only run aground in logical narratives of Demosthenes' contented spoiled bozo. Smooth sites wound me with poisonous openings on the campaign pistils and on the Áspis Koilé shields, being worth confusing against the hives of the queen mother and her drone, tolerating and yielding to her heir, with foolish demeanor in caring for him and inheriting him a procreated barbarian reign.

Now we are barbarian slaves and heirs, in unresolved conflicts of parents deprived of a loving life, by progeny that ennoble crusades that stone patrimonial alliances for consanguineous alliances that should never have prospered in the bitter toast of Stratonice worried in her borne sarcophagus, avunculated in true pro lactic godmother of the son of a nascent Zeus. We are all divided as a lineage; there is nowhere to gather more dismembered successors of Macedonian polytheists, after central efforts to reign without a crown. The same of the love that reigns without meaning, imparted from the decadent effort that worsens to resurrect the aristocracy that lies of grubs,  and the sacrosanct helminth in our Alexander the Great, preceding intercessions of the Royal Marriageable Dynasties before your most illustrious, in the new kingdom of the Lord that does not he sees himself enthroned in the black trepidations of our ill-managed partitions, by humors that flow from the couplings and bandages of who is said to be the abbot of a Vernarthian preliminary.

Vernarth, culminated in the auspices of the complete conjecture and its subsequent grievances to request your office, in subsequent claims that induce to draw the irascible thunderbolts of those who only want to make us wake up from their apostasy, alone and insubstantial, covering muddy stores of grace, which establish walled up reigns in all honor and charm of hearing the true voice of the Mashiach, with all its solemn title being able to help all those freed from the Caucasus scene, and in the edicts that nullify memories as human beings of their castrated history.

Before your letter is read, I add Stratonice as my name is, and I am aware of his reading by uttering: “The signal field has been prophesied, it has condensed the Hegemonic energy of Alexander the Great, pointing out that the diseased body of Antiochus; my father…, is supplanted by that of the to happen all the trances and difficulties that are assumed after the hazardous departure in Babylon. Therefore it must carry every corollary prophesied in the death of my grandfather Seleucus in the hands of Ptolemy Ceraunos. Wanting to dress up the irrevocable interference that occurred in Judah by his Diadocos gangs, opting for the effect of his offspring, therefore on his spiritual stretch of residual and static energetic mass, ad libitum that will end when unleashed in his son. By now all will be consumed in the pathogenic body of Antiochus, and of the love for my mother where she was abducted, and possessed by retaliation from Alexander the Great for proven insubordinate ethical demands. "

Sympathy is shared
Love is spread
Happiness is doubled
Illness is subtracted
Laughter is added
Sorrow is divided
Care is multiplied
Helping hands are tripled
Smile is widened
Tears are wiped
Parties are thrown
With cousins:
Evenings are crazy
Nights are chirpy
Mornings are long
Afternoons are short
Just
In joint family system