probably you're paying for all sins you did,
not all at once,
but all of them feeling a little all day.
because you dom't know take what God gives you,
you just put friendships on the garbage like trash,
you deserve pay for what you did...
probably you already paid you lose who you loved more, yet you still can't thank to god for what they made for you...
maybe you suffer, and i cant undertand but you should be more,delicate and more lovely for people that love you.
I made some mistakes, but I was always there for you and you still
despise me,
you're unfrateful,
god will punish you believe in that,
because karma is a ***** and karma has no deadline.
-d.a

Original Title: the Haunting

I feel lost remembering looking at you in tears
heartache at the memory
Why do I torture myself by listening to the last song
that had you sobbing
and it broke my heart to see?
I can still picture the color of the walls dark orange
the hot humid night in Honduras
on the front patio of the orphanage

I remember the morning you were laying in bed
when you told me you had had enough
We had sold or given away everything
Returning home to the States with $1000 in my bank account
Thank God, for my stepdad..still had a place to stay

Tears stream down my face
Hard to see the notepad as I write

****.

I look up at the sky..first full moon night
Who, exactly up there decide I should be born human?
I thought you were supposed to be a Good God...
What curse did I deserve for you to let me feel this pain?

In the background:
Roette: "Yeah, it must have been love but it's over now.
It was all that I wanted, now I'm living without.
It must have been love but it's over now,
It's where the water flows, it's where the wind blows."

and yes the wind blows...well more like it *****!

Broken, did i break you?
Was I so cruel?
Never meant to hurt you but the road to hell is paved with good intentions

Was it my silence or..
the burning lust I could never quell
..which I wonder at times if it will not lead me to hell...
and worse to a hypocritical Christian..the judgement on those who know the truth
is much more severe than those who have not heard.

Martika sings in the background:
  "when you tear temptation call..
    it's your heart that takes the fall"

The irony of it is
it started as a dream for us
one to share for the rest of our lives
I cared about you...listened to you
You were there to hold me in my dark moments
wipe away the tears
We danced, we had fun...
Years later when you were telling me how much I had changed...
you reminded me that when we first met..I sang to you at the beach on a starry night
Trapped in the romance and I was so far gone
Funny how different we were then almost twenty years ago
You had such high hopes for me
I changed from telling you I would never darken the doorway of another church to a full-time missionary
--15 years later I realized who you needed was a man I could never be

The wolf tattoo I got after the divorce
was because I never wanted to be so nice
or vulnerable again

You were so beautiful in that wedding dress
the way your eye shone
at the moment we were happy and it all looked like a promise

It's hard lesson when heartache becomes real enough
that it is an burning ache in the center of your chest  

This is an open wound
It feels like the pen should be writing gangrenous vile dark grey/green ink
as it lets the poison out

**** it.
   Time for another **** and a sip of wine
   Enough of this romantic ****

J Geils Band...singing about how love stinks..
music to my ears

Does make me wonder why
I let this internal drama play out
or worse get the better of me

And the songs go on
Brett Michaels - Love *****
Lily Allen sings smile - along with a video of her paying some guys to beat up her boyfriend

Not entirely sure..and maybe it's because it's one of the first times I have done this
But listening to other peoples anger and misery damnably helps
--and it amuses me that she got the cheating *******'s *** kicked

Cheating is the one thing I never did
though my ex would argue the point and call **** my mistress

Strangely, I will always admire her for giving so much
and how truly she was committed
Though it stings when she said she did it for God and not me

I know how deeply I hurt her
Yet I don't know if she will ever undertand the sacrifices I made and just how hard I tried

Somehow at the moment
Getting ******* is more fun that whiny assed *******
...and there's something to be said for some good **** and two buck Chuck

Love for  a human (and yes there are times I wish I was an alien..god knows that is how I got treated all the way through high school)
Reminds me how you make a statue
Simply carve away all that is not the statue

So it is with us
   what we must learn about love is as much what it is not
   as it is what we think it is
or what we think it should be...

I so want to write something deep and profound to impress everyone
Which it is the best time the write the last line and to...
           STOP

the "mystery" of the transaction,
that's quiet legal in
Amsterdam...
      you can only actually subject
           a woman to "your" object...
if you're never made such
a transation...
            i guess you're left in the dark
with all the fungus-historians
that speak of the second "big-bang"
of an ape on hallucinogenics...
objectifying women...
            funny...
                           not even funny,
just odd...
              maybe the whole
    objectivity "vs." subjectivity is not
being allowed duality,
     that eventually becomes blurry...
and is instead
  this jargon quasi-intellectualism of
people afraid of Alzheimer's
disintegration of words from
words and words from ideas and
ideas from clarifying idea-neutral
narratives...
              perhaps it's an american
thing,
       since a stripper can't be made
        subject to the "objectifying" posit...  
make that's why there's really
only an objectification-of-object
and no, absolutely no
     subjectification-of-object-***-subject?
is objectification a reference
to genital "intrusion"?
      what if there is no genital "intrusion"?
******* crossword puzzles
that sometimes aim of exposing
working within the confines of
   the thesaurus...
                 a-subject made inconvenient
        by the-object?
     sure, given i was only the fifth
in line...
                        i actually don't know
what objectivism implies
with the confines
   of a woman who will not desire
to make me into a subjective
enterpire of, mothering,
wife...
                  and... what am i again?
object of an hour
    within the absolute lack of
subject on her behalf...
                 for some strange reason
she's more of a subject,
a canvas... than i might allow myself
to not be a stroke of a brush
and some, paint...
          but then public conversation
doesn't attach itself to
the intellectual murk of dualism:
                    it needs dichotomy...        
nice backdrop, a week ago:
   haven't seen a lightning storm like that
acting out parliament over
           london in a long time...
in the back of my mind:
      the subjectivism of women seems
inherently wrong...
   subjectifying could be deemed
more harroring for the idle minor-head
when turning blisters into
       golden flakes on the topic of
   ego                  body
           \           /           \
              mind                id
                                     cosine serpent...
given the sine serpent answer:
                id              mind
             /      \         /      
    body          "ego"
      i can only fathom a threshold of the point
of objectification...
        after the threshold
there's a breach of objects -
      unlike a guarantee of one
man, a hammer and a sack of nails...
       i'm just curious that
there is an actual legal non-debate taking
place...
                the sort of shrinking
**** sensation in english law:
    it's illegal to own brothels...
   but it's not illegal to procure
the act...
                       so what's the difference
between objectification
                    and necrophilia?
the former word isn't as fancy...
  it's not exactly equivalent to mana from
heaven for the Hibrealites...
    i can only undertand
authentic objectification
             as confined to necrophilia...
of what is necessary to express
the crude correlation of "fact" to act...
          since then the death-fore of
eating beef...
           but without actually *******
a cow...
                             so a dead end...
it's just a "problem" with too many
close-proximity words...
         namely the ob-        sub-
              prefix claustrophobia of attaching
a thought to explaining or:
   guaranteeing a decided congregation
on...
             2 years without
  having touched a human body in the way
that i'd like to be touched,
kissed, looked intently into the eyes...
   finding sparrows chirping
on gently toying with lips using
the bare minimum of tongue and teeth?
finding the gentle baron cartilege of
the nose also being gentle leeched...
                 and a giggle?
              just my luck to have synchronised
the two events...
   and written this a week later;
could never take to metaphorical *** antics
   in the known to me
               expressions of being *** starved;
i'm a butcher...
           not an Argentinian beef chef
                      or food critique combined.

Sometimes I get so worried
Worried that you'll hurt me
I don't mean to
Just how my mind works

Like, I want to put all of my trust in you but it's hard
I know it takes time

Sometimes I just need reassurance
I feel like I'm annoying
I feel my path is not connecting with yours
I get so scared
So scared I'll get hurt

I've been stood up so much
I hate it

Before you I had no one
No one I trusted with my emotions
I couldn't
No one could handle them or even try to understand

I don't want to put all of my problems and thoughts on you
I need to let it out though
I know it's eating me alive
I know I still hurt
The distance is what worries me
I know why people cheat
I'm a psych major. 
I know people
I know how they are

My mind is a curse
Sometimes I hate it and want to give up
Everything is just too much at times.

For someone to walk into my life like you
It's unbelievable
Its scary
I'm scared of what you can do
You have to power
Don't miss use it.
Please don't

If you must, then let me down easy.
I am the person who puts 100% into a relationship.
I will do everything in my power to please you and myself.
I like balance.

Have I ever told you my deepest fear?
Well it's love.
As beautiful as it is, it can end in seconds

I have so much to give
So much to show you
If you give me time I will

I don't mean to be of offence to you
I just want you to undertand

I'm sorry but my brain wont stop drumming, I don’t want it to happen, I don’t want it to end your balloon is on my screen and I don't want you gone. Ive let it get unhealthy. I have another part but your balloon won't leave my screen.
It's racing and drumming and the dam is breaking, my lungs are hollow. Don’t leave. You stop the pounding. Please leave you make me hollow. Kiss me. But it will ruin so much. I'm happy So right. Pieces found after so long. I never felt this torn. I hate myself for it.
I feel it again, the drumming wont stop. I'm spinning and its been so long. Was the dark just a phase or the light a mirage? My head is drumming and the band is catching on. The tempo's picking up and my brain is eating butterflies and hitting baseballs.
Nothing is wrong you don't want me there. You want her and the base starts to go, the colors are flashing now and the dark puddles are forming.
I hate you. I don’t undertand. Just leave me alone. I don’t want your handwriting on my paper. And the crowd is cheering too. The panic is in my bones and I want my mood ring to change. It's dark, sitting on navy and I need you gone. But he doesn’t want me there and you can't keep me safe. All I want is clarity. The drum solo is starting.
It's banging in my veins. This one's worse but I cant feel my feelings. I keep wanting for you to say you want me there. And I just want her to give me my paper back.
The drumming, the base, the crowd, the tempo increasing, and my veins are bursting. Just give me my paper back. I don’t want it to smell like you. I don’t want your handwriting
I miss my beautiful chaos. I was safe no drumming. She wanted me. He doesn’t and the balloon was never mine
I never felt my panic leave my hands. The graphite squiggle is almost drowning.
Holden. Catcher. Supposed to take notes but I cant stop if I do they will see the drumming. The crazy
And the balloon still has my paper. Chapter1 ******* I want it but I cant ask for it back. I don’t need your help,your pity. I need my chaos, my comfort. Student. Student. Bell. Ringing. Stop. The drumming. Give me my paper back. Mom text me. You understand. Make the drumming stop. Sarah. I need juniper. Bleeding myself dry. My, hand is the drum. The words wont stop and I need help
I need help
I need help
I need help
I need help
I need help
You're nothing, the drum beat is beating you down.
Categories
Vegetables
Fruit
Cars
Words
Wont stop and now it punching me. I don’t think I want you I want her and the balloon still has my paper.
******* too. 11:47
Feelings are ******* nothing and my honestly means ****.
dont curse. Youll spiral and I hate the drumming, not a beat, thumping punching chaos. 40 minutes of panic. Mud cares. I don’t need help. I hate you. I let you go, go away. I don’t want your pity
I love you
No one knows. Feelings ripping my skin im bleeding out. 5 minutes.stop.stop.stop.stop. I don’t want this, please the tempo is unnoticeable and my skull is cracking. Give me my paper
5th page? Crazy; still escaping. I have my paper back. I hate you. You ****** up. No I did. No ones fault. Lies we both know you blame me, its my fault. Take days. Run away
North Carolina. Always. Just called me. Drum is slowing. I still miss you foxing. You love me. I don’t know how to feel cause you ******* me over I ******* you over. I wish. I wish. I wish I wish. I wish.
To stop. Be there for me. Love me. Want me.
Want me, want me
So hard. Still craving the inevitable. Never wishing for unknown. Never surprises, and the lights dim.
Im sorry, im sorry, im sorry.
And the drum stops
It wont stop and im sorry. Im so sorry. I wish I was more I wish my head was less. You don’t want me there
Stop crying, breath, don’t think.
Stop. stop

Shrouded in darkness,
Smothered in pain,
Causing this hell,
To come again,
And will i choose to walk,
or to stay?
Or will i learn,
Learn to walk away.
Im done with this,
The light is gone,
Bust still im here,
Though i know you want me gone.
I wish i was gone too,
But you dont undertand,
What i chose to be,
I shose to be more than a man.
Im a shadow,
Im a demon,
Im from hell, and heaven,
Somewhere between them.
I surfacing,
In a world of hate,
Im stuck on in the water,
Like im the bait.
Baiting those creatures,
From the depths,
You dont want to catch them,
You want it to be my death.
Well im done with your ****,
So find another sacrifice,
Im powerless,
Cause im stuck in a straight-jackets vice.
Ive got my problems,
You have plenty of yours,
Im not takeing conflicts,
Im not taking anymore.
Fend for yourselves,
Leave me out,
Like you always do,
I remember with absolutely no doubt.
Im done here,
Thanks for hearing my show,
But ask yourselves this:
What do YOU know?

How strange is it, how weird it is
You bless me with your company
Only and only when you need me
You know I'm right, ain't talking crazy.

I bring it up cuz it just struck me..
Everytime I asked if you were free
If you had time to spend with me
Times when I needed you, like, really..

Oddly, mysteriously, inexplicably
You were caught up, you were busy..
I'd say okay, only to find you all cuddly
With strangers online, giggly and flirty..

If I were to do the same, abandon thee
You'd question my friendship, my integrity
Am I being possessive? Am I being needy?
Hey, I dunno.. Why don't you enlighten me?

You like to say, I'm crazy, albeit affectionately
That I undertand you more than your family
You'd said I'm your best friend, ***** buddy
Then why aren't you ever there, only for me?

6:51 p.m.
I read the text you sent me.
It was hard, it was goodbye.
I never thought it would end
this way.

I've been selfish and careless
Broken and mourning.
But I hope you'd undertand why
And stay by my side.

I thought you cared,
But you didn't.
It was all a lie.
It was all for goodbye.

SORRY, OK

I AM JUST WRITING STUFF OUT OF ME, IF YOU HAD VOICES LIUKE MINE

YOU’LL UNDERSTAND, YA SEE, I WAS TRYING TO POINT OUT
THAT, I WAS A BIT OF TEASER, LIKE THAT

I WAS HORRIBLE, WHEN I WAS YOUNG, I GOT FOUGHT FOR THIS
BUT I DO UNDERTAND, YOUR VIEWS, GAYS ARE NICE PEOPLE

I WAS BATTLING VOICES OF ME TEASING GAYS AS A KID

I AM SORRY, IF I OFFENDED ANYONE,
BUT I WAS POINTING OUT WHY I NEED MEDICATION

I AM NOT HOMERPHOBE, REALLY, I WAS SAYING

I WAS ONCE,

UMMMMMMM SORRY  UMMMMMMMMM SORRY UMMMMMMM SORRY

UMMMMMMM SORRY  UMMMMMMMMM SORRY  UMMMMMM SORRY

I AM JUST GETTING NEGATIVE VOICES OUT OF MY HEAD

FOR CONVERSATION OK, COMPUTER

I wrote you a poem
But you didn't undertand.
for each word means something to someone,
and you're just too different to know.
I wrote about the summer
the haze and the roads
when we walked through the sickle scented fields
row by row
when we held hands
and kept on doing so.
and I wrote about the fall
the autmun wind that blows
and the pumpkins and the warmth
within houses
row by row
and I wrote about the winter
when leaves still sparsley hang
from limp trees
that the wind hasn't blown away
left over from the autumn
when snow has yet to fall
but gloomily we wait,
outsise preparing,
outside,
our houses
row by row
sled in hand
waiting for something to either fall
or start to grow
and I would write about the Springtime
but you never lasted very long
because when I described the three others
you just turned and frowned
and told me that I was wrong.

im sorry
i miss you
i cant understand why

i ripped you
from the wires
you connected to me
you screamed and died
right there on the basement floor

im sorry
i miss you
i dont undertand why

you didnt speak
you didnt say
anything bad about me
and im struggling to see why
after all this time

im sorry
i miss you
i wont understand why

we broke like glass
we tore perfectly
like a wind tearing down sails
in the fierce storm
in the midst of hell
that i caused

im sorry
i miss you
you will never understand why
i will never understand why

with a month in absence of usage... it would take a man about a week to internalise a tongue foreign to him, acquired, esp. if he devolved to using a native tongue and spoke of community sentiment... while having to return to using an acquired tongue: on a pure cognitive basis... for what do i use english for? i have no ability to tell a neighbour from a foe, or a broken urn depicting a pregnant Aphrodite, rather than one ***** and abandoned... a month using the native spreschen will leave man question as to how he is to storm the "Bastille" once more: once more become the spider, and once more wait in a renewed spiderweb... for i am just that: what between me and the "casual" exchanges in a supermarket? it takes about a week of sloth to reanimate this acquired tongue to at least write it in this altar of space... for is it ever spoken outside the time i occupy this bound hands outside it? if it really has to appear casual... i don't see why i have to become a B-movie actor feeling omni-phobic about: a list of things that never constitute entertaining the analogy.

so my neighbour has this female Belle -
a tiny little creature - white
with heterochromia iridium -
and she hasn't been castrated...
      and the male that comes to her has
already consumed the grownd -
sown his seeds and whether not
having impregnated her:
      now makes diabolical sounds outside
my window:
           like a moaning pedohpile...
i am also curious about the goliath ginger
i own, castrated:
                looking for what a non-
castrated owns...
              darting between house and garden:
playing an invisible broom
to erase the *** of petting cats but not
infringing on their biology...
     but when i hear this cat that's courting
a teen-girl equivalent?
        the oddest of sounds a mammal
could make...
                 and then watch with
near despair at the castrato: simply because
he is a pedigree and whoever breeds
pedigree cats needs to ensure a monopoly
so that a subsequent owner doesn't
own a bull to make money off...
  poor thing, even though he is much larger
than a common dog...
           scuttling among the fallen leaves...
while this moaning ******* growls
and moans a jerking off...
                but then i am strangely clamed:
and what of the prior month:
when the foxes ravaged the outer-suburban
landscape?
      how calming the wild jarring and
grit tooth to imitate laughter?
        petted animals that have not been
castrated - and that occupy a suburban
environment as almost prompts...
  i can undertand an uncastrated feline
in the countryside...
          but here: the fox seems so much
more pristine in his calls...
         a howling wolf would also add to:
how man domesticated the wolf
  and taught him barking: by himself
barking - and if Prometheus stole
  the fire from the gods:
      what will the devils tell of the man
who stole the howling from their karbarah?
no fox, for it neither be cat nor dog
will ever forget its ancestor:
     *hyena...
             and i find much comfort in this...
that i rather watch the hyäne
   & the fuchs than mann & affe...
   it's just the sorrow for my goliath ingwer...
the epitome of a bull:
or what would have been boar taint...
  akin to the knur in a harem of hoags...
i rather peer into the hyäne
   & the fuchs...
   than watch man debate an origin in ape...
2 foxes in the night will always
sound more appealing than
a teen-bride, a non-castrated cat
groaning, moaning like some pervert...
and my ginger goliath:
            trying to insert his eyes
into the hormonal dynamic of a missing
pair of testicles...
        and if i can have no wolf to
claim a narrative of Luna -
      bride and bridge toward Hades...
     with the status of karbarah...
    in England throned:
                a ***** call to mark as more
in line with a comforted thought:
than an un-castrated petted ornament:
when watching the disorientated
shuffling of a castrated pedigree:
  ginger goliath...
           am i truly the man who
could weep for an animal's innocent
mute?
            seems i am a hindu in
a squiggly artefact of revealing babyl:
   2 foxes in the night will remain
more appealing to me than
      what: will eventually breed a litter -
like in my native land:
            of graveyard "children"...
   cats that are necrophyliacs -
   who live in the graveyard so they can
feast...
               as i have seen stray dogs
in Poland:
                 in England i see: dogs in Versailles...
i laid slabs on an extension roof
   of the Battersea Home,
   and i've walked the corridors of their
hotel glass kennels: all indoors...
        can someone please take pity on
my castrated cat?!
                      i can't watch him unable
to abstract having a pair of testicles missing!
for the sole reason that he would
break this ******* moaning neck of a cat
with one paw strike...
        what a ******* sad sight...
   no wonder i'd rather listen to foxes
in the night...
                          so much easier to listen
to a freedom...
     with the castration of breeds:
i find it a cruelty and nothing more...
   the mop's worth of the alleycat will
experience and confuse my angelic ******...
the missing wolves,
        the hyenas ancient: the foxes sly...
    and the bewildering sentiment as to
why people wear headphones when commuting...
because that ******* clamour
of metaphorical horse-hooves of a train
clamouring is: my prayer, my bowing
before the alter of progress?!
        3 cats and 2 foxes make all the difference;
- can't believe i can feel more for
an animal than i can feel for fellow man...
but then again:
            maybe it's easier,
    in that: it's worth gravitating on a mute:
and not having the poodle of wanting
a "meaningful" conversation...
  just as today: his excessive meowing
met my reply:
     you've ended up speaking more than
i have in the past week;
     keep it up: we'll ask the peacocks
to join the choir in our church we see before
us.

This is why I don't speak
Because every time I open my mouth
Nobody likes it

I guess I just cant express myself well
because everything I say
Gets returned with hatred

I'm tired of people telling me to speak
yet when I do
they don't like it

Maybe I just don't undertand
I'm probably the one at wrong
I just don't get it

I don't know how to form coherent thoughts
even if when people read my writings
they say otherwise

I really don't understand
why so much hatred runs through us
I didn't mean to offend you

I was just happy
because I did something good for once
but I guess its wrong to be happy for one self

This doesn't make sense
like my voice others don't understand
but its the only way to speak without opening my mouth

Aye aye Captain,
the Enterpise its not.
Said reliable Mr Scott.
Wind it up, lets see it work.
Said courageous Captain Kirk.
Its a logical looking clock.
Said the inimitable Mr Spock.
Such wisdom to the face.
Said the life form made of Lace.
Tick Tock Tick Tock said the clock.
I dont undertand whats being said.
Im just a clock, that goes tick tock.
And now its time for bed.
Boing.

cogito ergo alieno - as i always wondered, how does a cat constrain himself inside his head with but a meow? or a dog inhibiting a bark? then i'm left with an answer, a summary of my vocal capacities: blah.

  and for a moment i almost had,
but then another upon another
thought materialised -

and i couldn't fathom as to why
we forget -
it couldn't be by chance -
or nights with blackout drinking
antics -

  i think therefore i forget -

       after all cogito ergo sum
is only partially true; since?
  thought is crippling in some ways
to a desired translation of ergo,
a true manifestation of *sum
transcends thinking -
in that thinking is a waste of time,
it is a puritanical assertion of
raw materialism, body alone -

thought is the gateway to the soul,
and the logic of such possession
cannot logically undermine that
in descartes' terms -
     belonging to the extended "object"
that's god...

        a logic ascribed to an illogical
posit... then back to undermining
   a natural predisposition -
no soul, no god, no psychological
  fancy, or truth, for that matter.

           yet i'm unsure whether thinking
makes me forget,
or whether not thinking makes do
likewise...

               doesn't matter,
          thinking these days could be deemed
as a meta-paralysis -
                metaphysics i undertand
to be synonymous with transcendence -
**** it, thrown in a benzene ring
and add on the prefixes ortho-
        para-,
                       pata-.

    i'm not feeling this poem,
this poem is rather prosthetic, fake,
  "superstitious" -
       i must have forgotten the heart
with this one...
  
i'll just leave it as a: curiosity...
          it's nothing more than just that...
the odd case of:
        rummaging in my head
while lying in bed
  trying to conjure a maxim from
a paragraph as a magician might
conjure a white rabbit from a top hat...

    i'm pretty sure though:
i think, therefore i forget...
            so much of memory is invested
in the eyes, and the slouching of
thought...
                   i'm pretty sure i remember
best, when i'm not thinking...

                 this, that and the other:
a pile of regurgitated spaghetti
                donning a lavender vest -

  sometimes language, really, really does
look this muddled...
          maybe there's a reason for it...
some sort of depiction of
   returning to drinking,
while hangover -
with this, a very crisp and sunny
english first of december...

    i can't tell the difference whether
the alcohol affects me more
  or the cold... mind you,
i was born with a gorbachev stain
on my right shoulder-blade...
    i have an ancestry of heavy drinkers...

a ****** poem? most definitely.
a curious poem? perhaps.