Find the lighter, use it as a lighthouse on a walk below the wall you watch along the wave-formations. Who Wants a Cold One? a Coors Light ad corrects.. When it comes to your home, the little things matter.. an insurance ad blares.. my computer is infected with 3rd party applications unremovable to my meagre tech-ability.. there is a hero as Joseph Campbell once theorized.. in myself like a sick bastardly virus waiting for moments to prove to me "I AM THE SAVIOR, I AM THE CHRIST, I AM THE WARLORD, MICE, MAN, AND VICE".. the windows of opportunity close, I am left waiting the door

& the elevator.

Thirty-thousand years ago, there was nothing but a breeze.. a viscous breeze across chill-spined pterodactyls.. warm-under-the-jungle-brush tyrannosaurus rex, and to think one day I will be just a legend in bone..
Charlotte said she thinks of death and so did Jen. They sat next to the all-you-can-eat and discussed the inevitable. I was sour and playful with no-will-to-understand, just reminding my hair of breezy summer days of 10, thinking of strangeness, of place I was in.

When it's quiet sometimes, I think of old dreams.. dreams I sunk below drown-level as a child in bed and belief. Both mommy and daddy were arguing in the kitchen, this was 7 or 8.. they argued so often one could hear mom begin to cry sometimes, and dad I could see in minds-eye with a grimace so closed and so creased he was hurt and yet honest.. I did not understand so I hid under-stood-silhouettes, oh adulthood..

once in dream I was in pulsing green graveyard like crayon realism strobe lights, tombstones all-round and faint-buzz of outside and one of those strange balded henchmen of badguy Jafar from Disney's Aladdin came peaking outta nowhere with curled eyebrow and baggy one-thousand-one Arabian nightlives parachute pants, curled toes brown-beige moccasins to.. he let out conniving 'HEUHEE!' and slapped me right-side cheek and I JOLTED up bedwise in real time to feel actual physical sting for a few lingered seconds then the sobs of poor mother outside.. I never remembered a dream so clearly again.. they all come, Pro-Found, and dizzy away after hour or two for rest of eternity or perhaps to Place I Can Visit at Death to Review Every Vision and I wonder... when your life flashes before your eyes and the light is encroaching, scenes of mother, brother, father, son, daughter, best-friend, party, break-up, heartbreak, slip-fall, first-sip, first-drag, last-leg, first-kiss, first-hit, first-game, fear, love,  HATE, wait.. do the Dreams come to? Are they all flesh-ed before your eyes as you pass into Light? Are they brought to direct remembrance as you cross the border with Passport of Gods and a Goddess (and which Picture appears on the Page)..?

I remember the old eczema taking bits of skin to carpets round-town and round-lower-mainland to disgust of friends old and new-- this was era where confidence ate itself in mirrors, the sober reality of ugly-ness chiseling away at my Goodness Attempts.. All That Pointless Pain was no Exception nor a Rule, it just **** Happens every once-and-again to the sound of life farting. I used to miss school for feet so impossible to walk on, pussing and bleeding and staining the sheets, shoe soles, carpets, and soul.. limp thru the hallways of Brooks Secondary feeling like bad flavor additive to multicultural Planet Earth-- sleeping 'til the bell rang drinking coffee singing songs I said '**** the ******* educational system and **** me I'm so flatlined..' someday I felt things would really get better and lucky young me I was right.

A half-decade later, I am 21 and hoping, floating, free in the breeze as the wings I have grown keep on wishing the subsistence down. The girl, whoever-she-might-as-well-be, sits immediately vertical chatting frantically to boy with a bit of a cowlick slouching on-up over a bundle of colored paperwork. It seems late in the season for homework, and assume they may have some affiliation with a crazy-hep computer design group in the tradition of Nouevau Silicon Valley.... I sit at my laptop, inching a word a million cubic millimeters closer to God or Divinity or Crescendo or A Bunch More ******* You'll End Up Ignoring---

It's a sunny day, the rain having slathered-off into obscurity somewhere with the Monsoons when the Sun gave the Moon a Soft Slap and the poor purity white-kid went off whimpering, bleeding nose-- I sat, the other night, playing another Grand Strategy game as Tom divided his time between a vaulted and damaged lover, his labor, and his life (friends, food, video-games, vice)... Chai, old Chai the Thai Guy mentioned past his nose in previous iterations of Depictions sat and described his pins-and-needles upset at his bosses at one his three many jobs.. desperately firing text-messages into receiving-space-panel and reflect and back unto Tom's smartphone dash asking him to order a six-pack from a local delivery service cuz his adrenal was giving him heartpain with hurt, and Tom being Busy as All-Ways Tom Is wasn't able to decipher the scramble in-time to make contact before closure of the liquor stores.. poor not-so-poor Chai at first felt castrated at realization he would miss the 11 PM dot-time, but didn't mind as he rendezvoused with Tom and I at Willows Beach where Tom reminded him of a whiskey he'd bought sitting counter-wise at his place.. we kissed a few Mary Janes rightsideup, dragging our butts in the sand to discuss what was wrong (each of us had a problem that night, save for perhaps a less-vocal Tom, I describing my annoyance that a lazy consensus had erupted in my sorry-hometown between my sorta-friends and friends-of-friends that my writing and sharing my writing was arrogant and I an arrogant *** for sharing and I just confounded that they would find my passions so trivial-- perhaps jealousy, perhaps complacency and judgement-for-lack-of-anything-better-to-do and ah **** em all if they think like that, I'll write and be the arrogant me they think I am and share 'til I'm blue in the face and dead perhaps for outspoken intellectualism in their autocratic pointless-waste worldviews.. sad that I dislike them only on the basis they disliked me first..)

I had planned to stay late and leave early-morn (5 or 6 AM) to catch a first-off morning bus back home and sleep, hoping for most part to avoid the shattered-***-mess of a home I was living in.
About 2 days ago, give or take, a water-line for the laundry machine had erupted to soak our entirely-carpeted basement suite, forcing the poor new landlord (a sweetheart of a man named Ron having just taken possession of the house from previous owner on May 1st and, it seems, left 'holding the bag' as they'd call it in day-trading-investment-lingo) to tear out the entirely-soaked carpet and replace it with sensible laminate flooring and rendering the entire suite virtually unlivable for indefinite-few-days and so for me work and friends and especially writing become a welcome reprieve to I, a first world Refu-Jeez.. us, so terribly-off I sip a latte near sunny panorama windows-so-clear-they're-not-there overlooking the crosses of Yates and Blanshard with European church of Gothic architectural style poking heedlessly into empty-open blue.. ironically and strangely there is a liquor store quite literally right next door, and's one I shop at often for its decent prices (God is Dead or Just Drinking to Cope with Sartre and Kierkegaard's Ultimate Thesis) (Kierkegaard especially '*** Kierkegaard seems a good and long friend of God the Almighty) (...I talk with such Judaeo-Christian Catholic rhetoric it never ceases to amaze myself as it bleeds to page..) (stranger thing is, tho, there is no beginning, no middle, no end.. you read or you are bored and either/or is just fine..)

There is some hypothesized crescendo-bliss Tech Singularity on the way in the try-dition of Ray Kurzweil and William Burroughs.. Oscar Wilde to.. (see The Soul of Man Under Socialism in essay-collect book De Profundis).. one day we will all be eternal happiness expressed in song and dance and LED erected-projections of Imperfect Universe (Our Imperfect Earth) with lives stuck on infinite repeat.. our idea of Paradise.. and for those with ability to remain rushed to cortisol (stress-the-best hormone) it will be Hell on Earth, so DRAB and THE SAME all the TIME and it's READ and it's WRITE and it's RIGHT.. the world runs faster with every passing day so desperate to discover the Globe is Flat so we can Hop Off the Other Side into what one might assume to be The Better Place.. elusively picking-up speed thinking 'closer now definitely closer now' unaware (or, secretly aware and unwilling to admit for what will one do when one cannot run?) they are Running in Circles Over and Over and Over and Over and Over Again... cannot take the hint in the fact the Pacific (same Pacific) has been crossed a hugeillion times, nor the same McDonald's in the Azores of Atlantic Portugal is the Same ******* McDonald's stopped-thru on the then-trillionth time last year... and all whilst the International Space Station remains muted up-above crossing 'round and 'round 'til the Jehovah'n Day of Judgement (Chris Hadfield now below with advice for how to run a little faster even blinded in one eye..) then there are the dying Prophets Predicting Industrial Collapse who preach upon the Mount of Internet Sinai Eternal and state "the world is now unsalvageable and we are all about to die.. if ever you wished to find Buddhistic Nirvanic Peace, now is the time so start meditating and imagine Death as New Life and Geopolitics as Game".. forever and ever and ever and ever.

It is only natural to find existence to be 'weird..' layered with Who's That's and giant What The ***** everywhichway you turn.. did it start in a Big Bang, will it end in a Big Crunch, Big Freeze, Big Bang.. ? all questions once ignored for certain ignorance and resurrected as questions concerning the Nature of the What The ***** (also known as 'Science').. and if it did start in a Big Bang, did I start in a Big Bang..? and if it does end in a Big Crunch, will I end in a Big Crunch..? am I a sudden flash of REAL in a Universe that isn't me..? or am I an entire Universe.. perhaps even more than that...? the questions pulse in youth like bad words or bullets. I once stayed up all-night thinking of infinity with my head soaring space-wise forever and ever and ever and I stopped in sudden panic thinking: I could lie here up all night and all day 'til the towered age of 37 (I was 14 at the time) and still be no further on the Universal Map than from thumb-tip-middle to thumb-nail so I wrapped up the attempt with a mix of fear and incredulity, went to school next-day exhausted and tried to explain it all to friends.. they got it, I suppose, but we were all 14 and played basketball instead (I imagined infinite-spinning-basketball on thumb of Michael Jordan).

It's always best describing life in form of Disembodied Poetics.. sure some Philistines won't understand '*** their minds are made of Clockwork, Digits, and Blockthought.. but the general psychic underly implied in all with human faculty will ring-a-ding-ding! and remember all such ancient thoughts and feels as forgotten as a child, locked away until the Spirit rose-up from a rosey thorn prickle to flower straight-up into a Rose! or so I hope as a one-of-many writers-- all of which will write so-as to speak on your behalf.. all floaty and marking a purpose.

Words left unspoken
Pain left unbearable
Time that's irretrievable
A life that's unlivable

Where words were left unspoken, time continuously creped away becoming yet a memory.
The pain makes life unlivable.
The knife that cut her skin left scars - still a constant reminder of the pain unbearable.

The Knitting Needles Museum
has a prudish name
that frightens the schoolchildren
and obscures the oppression
of desperate and ***** women

The torture museum
and the war museum also
lack the inspiration
from a muse
They are monuments

and should be called that
With the unbuilt museums
of destroyed art and
ancient cultures, they can
fill a street in any city

'Ecce ****', behold man
the noble beast, the master
of things and nothings -
virtual and vanished
worlds that are unlivable

How many parts? Transient…
Tearing apart? Permanent…

An angry one. Powerless…
It’s never done. Sorrowless…

The battle rages. Survival…
Till one prevails. Revival…

Is there a third? Unaware…
Has it been heard? Everywhere…

Forces at play. Unresolved…
Hear what they say. Unabsolved…

Fight for your soul. Unlivable…
Your self-control. Forgivable.

she boiled my blood inside a *** of steel,
with bread she cooked it thoroughly till foam,
had covered all, unseeable, unfeel-
-ing, vengeance wrathful, hardened to a loam,
          where blood is life, she caused the life to be,
          unlivable, no more a life to me

(C)2012, Christos Rigakos

The turn of a lip, the rise of the cheeks, that smallest action that makes my heart skip a beat.
Often they come with the cheapest of prices, even produce through electronic devices.
Other times, not even all the money in the world could entice one.
They are made for love, made for laughs, made for fond memories flooding back from my past.
Unrestricted in pleasure, forced in times of pain, there is not much better, then kissing one in the rain.
Some say they are small, some say they are trivial, but to me not getting them in life....unlivable.
Starting of excitement, cleanse away anger, the best thing to see when you first meet a stranger.
I'm speaking of giving one to many, but only really to one of a few, she may not know, but this is for you!
A smile costs nothing....yet they will change your day...
So, Smile.......smile away!!

Is life nothing more
than a series of moments
strung together
like a poorly crafted
beaded bracelet,
the flimsy string base
nearly broken
under the weight
of the hand-woven design?
Or is the design not even
of our own creating,
fitted and shoved together
by someone else,
our will and drive
bent
to fall in line,
in pattern
with what we are
supposed to do?

I've been here for a lifetime,
or at least a quarter of one,
but the glue that
keeps me together,
it feels sealed,
stuck together
under the command
of something or someone else,
some entity that is not myself.

Day after day
feet following
in military style march,
left right left,
pumps beating hard
on the pavement
running, propelling me forward.

My robotic heart
pumps lead,
tongue tastes metallic
as it formulates
the expected utterances
for the ambitious woman.
Yes sir, yes ma'am,
achievements regurgitated
at pairs of ears
who listen merely
at how formulated,
premeditated phrases
may prove themselves worthy.
I aim no higher
than Mount Everest,
spitting my list
of captivating factors,
of perfected musings
of this unlivable habitat
I am to call life,
when all I truly yearn to do
is scream out
the loudest yelp,
that, no,
this isn't all that fascinating,
and, yes,
I would rather
pucker my
dried, worn out lips
around a cold glass
and inhale some
clarity and serenity.

Is a life that's driven,
that's focused,
that's ****** hollow,
its meat devoured by ambition,
is that a life that's lived,
or have I given
everything
away?

An unwanted child.
Dead in a rush of shameless rage.
A never wanted child, live global exit. Boom.

A child with no hope of winning life's lottery.

Not one of the slain is now such, each is a ticket
to horrible fame and blame and shame,
and maybe more money that the slain child could have
ever earned, I know,
small towns in Texas breed unwanted babies
each Prom Night.
Unwanted babies grow
to become unwanted children,
reared by grandma who had not wanted ma,
that prior Prom Night, previous to a wasted life.
- No facts, pure manure conjecture, due to pregnant anger,

poor and weak, the master religious class enforces
rights to horrible, unlivable lives …
- bear that child or face the wrath of Texas, a breeding
that looses the lesser angels crying worthy worthy worthy,
see, makes 'em mean, ready to ****
- but you gotta enlist 'em young... get the feel of that gun...
but some fall through the cracks... good for nothing,
wash outs -- Watch OUT- some mad losers feel cheated,
thinking not fair,
I never had a chance,
but in the end, you all know I was here.

Once, see me horribly big, as a monstor of the rule,
life must be lived,
breathe and become
useful, but first survive full myelination, and
- 25 years
that takes adult super-vision, for a kid,
some how, some seem to
learn to love, without the experience, maybe
see it done on Sesame Street,
you'll get it, unless

nobody ever led you to associate yourself and Kermit/
- not easy being any thing ungood for something.
- dyslexia can ****, any shame on a child can,
if it is culturally nourished on rights to hate,
and hurt, at will.

Shame on you, America, for not caring,
with deep parental love,
for accidents of ignorant lust alluded to as common,
on TV... ****** right to ignor ovulational cycles.

-Secrets for the weddin' night, right, Grandma?

Ask the shooter's Grandma, should this child have been yours
to rear in the ways of productiveness?

An unwanted child.

Not one of the slain is now such, each is a ticket
to horrible fame and blame and shame,
and maybe more money than
the slain child could have
ever earned,
before the sudden shut down;

as unwanted babies grow to become unwanted children
reared by grandma who had not wanted ma,
-- right to whose life?
Renters, in an owned world,
poor and weak, the master religious class enforces
rights to horrible, unlivable lives …

such as loose the lesser angels crying worthy worthy worthy,
see me, see me die,
once, see me horribly big as a monstor of the rule,
life must be lived,
breathe and become
useful, but first survive full myelination, and
- yeah, at least 25 years
that takes kind minded adult super-vision, for a kid,
though sometimes that may be a teacher, it is rare,
a book can act the parent, for an early reader,
some how,
some seem to
learn to love, without the experience, maybe
reading is using science convincing me I think,
I can imagine, being loved for growing, I
see it done on Sesame Street, I think,
you'll get it, unless

nobody ever led you to associate yourself and Kermit/
- fingerprints prove you were born,
- those do not extablish value.

Shame on you, America, for not caring, with deep parental love,
for accidents of ignorant lust alluded to as common,
on TV.

Ask the shooter's Grandma, should this child have been yours
to rear in the ways of productiveness?

--  15 close range handgun kills,
I can only imagine, and hate myself/ I know, I can see --
To earn a One Shot, One **** medal
in Call of Duty: Mobile, you need
to **** an enemy with one shot in Multiplayer mode.
To complete this task easily, players can use weapons
with the highest damage rate, like snipers and shotguns.
Also, while taking the shot, make sure to aim for the enemy’s head
to give the maximum damage.
Players can earn One Shot, One **** medal as many times
as they want by completing the aforementioned task.

From <https://doublexp.com/guides/how-to-earn-one-shot-one-****-medal-in-call-of-duty-mobile>

Sixteenth of September,
six days after my sister was born
was the first time I remember it happening.

Body in my bed, I knew that was strange⁠—
I had always slept alone⁠—
but I didn’t know if it was wrong.
In school the next day
I looked around at all the girls,
I wanted to ask if this was normal.

I was twelve and I could not be sure
my body belonged to me.
I read horror stories,
compared myself to them and said,
you have faced a fraction of the full range.
I said, you were complicit,
he never told you to be silent.

I am seventeen still reading
article after article and I think:
my father is not evil,
my father does not deserve to be behind bars⁠—
who will feed my family?⁠—
but I think I would feel safer if he was.

          I think about one night
when he asked, “ does it feel good”
and I felt myself disintegrate.
I am not sure he heard what I heard:
does it feel good when I am making your body,
in which you will stand
for the rest of your life, unlivable?
Does it feel good when I am desecrating it,
when I make it unholy ground?

At the trial of our sins I will ask
God what my body is, and He will say
“it is a trust” and I will point to you and say
“then he has broken it.”

[Lyric re-write: The Times they are a Changin’, by Bob Dylan]

Come gather ‘round, voters
Wherever’s your Poll?
And admit rising waters
Around you now flow
And accept it is sooner
Than science had shown
It’s ah crime the earth we’re not savin’
Get propeller power whirlin’
Charge yer lights with the sun
For the Climate is ah Changin’

Come haters and cynics
Who Twitter and spin
Better open yer eyes
For the Glaciers are thin
Our POTUS hates science
Wants it all about him
No compassion for another
He’s a gamblin’ we’re losers
And payin’ his bills
While the Climate is ah Changin’

Come Senator McConnell
Stop blockin’ the Bills
Don’t stand in our way
As the ice melts and spills
Our earth is ah hurtin’
While you don’t heed calls
The storm outside is ah ragin’
And soon for our children
No future at all
For the Climate is a Changin’

Come sisters and brothers
We must make a stand
And all realize
What is now in our hands
For if we do nothin’
They’ll ravish the land
Unlivable for the ages
Inaction and tarry
Is all they have planned
While the Climate is ah Changin’

The time has now come
The dye, it is cast
If we slow down
It’ll soon come to pass
Our chances are fadin’
The present, our last
Leavin’ life no safe haven
So what we don’t need
Is coal, oil, or gas
Cuz the Climate is a Changin’

Born on the darkest of nights
For the stars hid their eyes from the sight
Of an innocent soul born under the bad moon
With the universe this child would never be attuned
In lifes garden, only pain, misery, and sorrow could bloom
From the very beginning this child's life was doomed

The stars wept that night
For an atrocity that wasn't right
The rain that fell on that child's soul
Was meant to comfort and console
The star's sweet tears quieted the wish to die
That only minutes old has already darkening that child's eye

The child grew up with a messed up childhood
Every night the step dad at the child's bedroom door stood
That curse of the bad moon
Made sure all happiness out of this life was pruned

The child grew up, found love, or so thought
Only latter to realize they had been caught
The grown child was caged and beaten daily
It was the depth of Hell, it almost drove that poor soul crazy

The stars held witness
As the winds of change bent and twisted
Rushing that soul from one tragedy to another
Leaving the child shaking under the covers

The child cried out to that wicked moon
"This sorrowful life you gifted me to soon"
"I never got to taste the pleasure"
"Or lay for a time just in leisure"
"You took happiness, the greatest of all treasure"

Everyday the child struggled through
What else was there to do
But everyday brought new problems the child did it's best to solve them
But it was a constant onslaught
Being born under the bad moon's sign, only agony was brought

The only relieve was at night, when the star's tears fell
It called to the child's soul like a bell
On rainy night you can find
The child's fragile body and mind
Stand out in the pitch dark rain
Letting all those starry tears wash away the pain
The strain
That resides in the heart the brain
The star's and the child's tears mix
As off the child's fingertips it drips

In the harsh light of day
Watch this child sways
Watch as the delicate steel soul dances to every blow
Taking the lumps of every thing thrown
It's hard to believe how strong this child did grow
But it's bones are brittle
To crush this grown child would take but a little

This child will never out live the moon's tattoo
There is nothing about it to do
Pushing on
Giving the illusion of being strong
Over to many problems it stumbled
Until the child's soul crumbles
Then the soul will rejoin the universe
Then and only then, in happiness it will be submerged

So take heed when the next bad moon wanes on high
You can hear the stars weep and cry
Pray your child isn't born in that night
That your child will not have to fight for a life that's unlivable
Surrounded in all that is miserable

If you was born under that evil moon
If the star's for you cry too
Do the best you can do
Dance in the rain of tears
Through out all of your years
In the stars sweet rain
It can wash away the pain
Letting you feel the illusion of sane

I wait for you on a cold winters night
My breath visible in the stillness
But patiently I wait for your warmth
Your smile... Your touch... I want...
Each piece a part of a special puzzle
That enraptures and fills me with delight

In the shadows I see you approach
I want to rush over to you and embrace
But this one single moment I wont encroach
My heart begins to race my breath more visible
To hold you in my arms this moment unlivable
I wait.... You smile.... as you draw closer.....

I cherish this special moment within my reach
Sapphire eyes and crimson lips in moonlight
I trace my fingers down your face.... so beautiful
My body shakes with just one touch.... precious delight
Savoured.... Cherished.... special moments adorned
Before the kiss on your crimson lips a new love is born

David Swinden©

The gods beckon you to join the party
But revelry waits in dark corners
The Gardener of Eden is displeased
And now you’re flying without wings
The naked and cunning never feel
Pressure from above
For the rest it’s almost unlivable
Psychic earthquakes blur the love
Will there be sympathy for the serpent
When the future dies?
As Lilith rises in rebellion
Far from normal in his eyes
It feels like liquid diamonds
But it’s Hotel California
A 50-50 shot
A flip of the coin

Music is the foliage of the soul
Imperfect and irreplaceable
Two different unconnected people
Linked in time to one strange vessel
The ants watch the stars
Cause the stars need attention
To shine a little bit brighter
Make night a little bit lighter
Sigh your last breath
Breathe your first sigh
Space is not the final frontier
Soon these lows will become highs

I Need Escape
This place has me trapped
Hate evolved
It's beyond containment
These walls are collapsing
And all evil is being set free
I'm itching
To run away
Get out
Never come back
These minor inconviences
Have become unlivable circumstances
I Will Find A Way Out
I Will Escape This Hell.

red.
I met you in the spring.
fresh flowers,
fresh fruit,
fresh feelings.
strawberries were my favorite until I met you.
pink skies told stories my mouth couldn't,
losing where I began and you'd end
we looked like complementary angles.
I swear everyday was 90 degrees.

orange.
sun kissed skin disguises itself as the brightest star in the galaxy upon my black sheets.
tracing the planets on your skin,
your freckles begin to resemble the big dipper.
knowing no matter where I am,
looking at you I'll know I'm close to home.
exploring where no one ever has.

yellow.
stars burn out every night,
leaving no suicide note to ease the minds of astronomers.
when you compared our love to the sun,
a massive star,
i considered that a good bye.
because eventually, some day, without warning,
the sun will die out.
what will happen to earth?
will it freeze over until another miracle happens?
will it survive for generations to come?
I don't have the answer, neither do you
When you compared our love to the sun,
a mass of unlivable temperature,
I shuddered.


green.
Ants march onto our blanket, declaring war.
We've been on their territory for almost 3 hours now,
maybe almost 3 days,
I wonder if in 3 years will I be as content as I am in this moment.
ants with Napoleon complexes steal my sandwich crumbs,
Blades of grass pierce my skin,
Surrounded the innocent laughter of children who know not what the world has at store for them.
These small things do not exist when I'm in your presence.
All I can focus on are the stories etched on your skin,
the insecurity in your smile,
and the innocence of our intertwined hands.

blue.
I still remember the day you compared yourself to water.
Saying that your life was a cycle,
Going through the motions was all you knew.
everyday I would drink you in and still end up parched.
I wanted more of you.
I dove head first into your sea,
not knowing there was glass on the bottom.
Ignoring the salt water in my wounds, I treaded along.  
Poseidon had a death wish on you.
There were days where I found myself gasping for air,
drowning in everything about you,
sinking,
I wished for stronger bones to ease the pressure afflicted on me.
constantly breaking my back for depths you didn't knew existed.
I think I died long before I was washed onto shore.


Indigo.
Two people, one heart.
We've been going back and forth since the start.
Never sweet, only ****.
Yet we stay together, never part.
Only started this relationship last season,
Getting harder everyday to remember the reason.
The sun sets everyday in our heart.
The moons light illuminates our despair  
Too far gone, beyond repair.

Violet.
The freckles splattered delicately on your face mimic the coffee stains on this paper.
Both have the strength to start an addiction.
Before, I needed a cup coffee to start my day.
Now, a good morning message from you will suffice.
Drinking you too fast will result in getting burnt.
Though irresistible, I would rather enjoy it than to rush.
But leaving you to cool down isnt an option. The settled flavors never quite taste the same

we think there are aliens in mars
while everyone in earth is an alien
some who are so plain
they curse you with no shame
they hurt you in very mysterious ways
its like you are not worth the pain
we watch aliens **** and evaporate humans
while we eat each others flesh in a way that is so inhuman
we describe anything that is viscous as inhuman
but are humans actually humans......
they can make unlivable anymore
or they can lift your spirits up for a day or two
i think the only aliens we should think about is the human and thats the main.

Just another "Good Bye"

by Doyenne Solace Arcanna ShadoeWalker

I am not sure when it all changed from fumbling kisses to polite distance

When there had been fewer tears and more smiles

what if I had been a better hider, a better liar

perhaps you would have stayed ... perhaps

if there had been more joy and less pain

what if I had been a better actor and what if you had cared enough to notice at all

What changed hungry passion to duty and chore

Cold morning meetings with a chill that had nothing to do with temperature

Silent nights .. volumes left unsaid ...silent screams echo ... endlessly

perhaps I should have left ... perhaps

Wasted words and days and nights

such precious time spent in living an unlivable life

how did that which once felt as warm as a hearth fire end up like we were drowning in a tub of grey melting snow

How did "I Love You", turn into "Goodbye"

Born on the darkest of nights
For the stars hid their eyes from the sight
Of an innocent soul born under the bad moon
With the universe this child would never be attuned
In lifes garden, only pain, misery, and sorrow could bloom
From the very beginning this child's life was doomed

The stars wept that night
For an atrocity that wasn't right
The rain that fell on that child's soul
Was meant to comfort and console
The star's sweet tears quieted the wish to die
That only minutes old has already darkening that child's eye

The child grew up with a messed up childhood
Every night the step dad at the child's bedroom door stood
That curse of the bad moon
Made sure all happiness out of this life was pruned

The child grew up, found love, or so thought
Only latter to realize they had been caught
The grown child was caged and beaten daily
It was the depth of Hell, it almost drove that poor soul crazy

The stars held witness
As the winds of change bent and twisted
Rushing that soul from one tragedy to another
Leaving the child shaking under the covers

The child cried out to that wicked moon
"This sorrowful life you gifted me to soon"
"I never got to taste the pleasure"
"Or lay for a time just in leisure"
"You took happiness, the greatest of all treasure"

Everyday the child struggled through
What else was there to do
But everyday brought new problems the child did it's best to solve them
But it was a constant onslaught
Being born under the bad moon's sign, only agony was brought

The only relieve was at night, when the star's tears fell
It called to the child's soul like a bell
On rainy night you can find
The child's fragile body and mind
Stand out in the pitch dark rain
Letting all those starry tears wash away the pain
The strain
That resides in the heart the brain
The star's and the child's tears mix
As off the child's fingertips it drips

In the harsh light of day
Watch this child sways
Watch as the delicate steel soul dances to every blow
Taking the lumps of every thing thrown
It's hard to believe how strong this child did grow
But it's bones are brittle
To crush this grown child would take but a little

This child will never out live the moon's tattoo
There is nothing about it to do
Pushing on
Giving the illusion of being strong
Over to many problems it stumbled
Until the child's soul crumbles
Then the soul will rejoin the universe
Then and only then, in happiness it will be submerged

So take heed when the next bad moon wanes on high
You can hear the stars weep and cry
Pray your child isn't born in that night
That your child will not have to fight for a life that's unlivable
Surrounded in all that is miserable

If you was born under that evil moon
If the star's for you cry too
Do the best you can do
Dance in the rain of tears
Through out all of your years
In the stars sweet rain
It can wash away the pain
Letting you feel the illusion of sane

I want to apologize but
Is it right if my eyes size you
And find wary warnings
Of what I dread so?
What I don't know is,
Is it my fault to speak my mind
In time to save it from invention
Of my own dimension of unlivable existence?
I felt not, but tried hard to stop
Sorry from oozing out...
Is it that I felt bad for doubting your part in we
Or your loyalty,
Or your fidelity,
Or your integrity,
Or your respect for me?
Or your honesty,
Or our chemistry,
Or your love for me,
Ultimately?
What goes to say you're truth-ing to me?
Or abusing the youth in me, my naivety?
That manifests in the core of your love.
It's a push and pull of emotions
My trust in you VS the love I have for myself.
I'll continue to contemplate
But the benefit of the doubt is granted
Just don't **** it up.

We are the human stray dogs,
All we breathe are street smogs,
We roam with slogging legs,
To humans, we are begging ***** pigs!

With excess food, you stand on obesity,
On the dustbins, we stand for charity.

Hunger eats us every second,
As we beg, humans abscond,
World has let us to fall and despond,
Will the so-called God respond?

When we beg at temple premises,
Giving money to us becomes dharma,
When we beg beyond temple premises,
People reply that it is our karma,

When we beg with untorn dress,
Fellow-humans say, “You have money at excess.”
When we beg with torn dress,
Fellow-humans say, “All you possess is madness.”

To the streets we are untouchable,
To the hunger, we are inseparable,
With money, we remained respectable,
Without money, we turned disposable.

Where is god? Where is god?
I searched with hunger very hard,
I discovered, he was none but a useless fraud,
Anger from hunger turned us a hot iron rod.

Life remains unlivable,
Hunger remains miserable,
Humanity is scarce and valuable,
As modern nomads, our houses are portable.

With loans, our farmlands were stolen,
With human treachery, our life was broken,
With menial physical jobs, our body started to weaken.

World remained cruel,
So hunger turned our fuel.

To our hunger,
Reply of wealthy humans was silence,
For a beggar,
It is larger than a bloodshed violence.

As we beg,
Poor humans bowed heads with guilt
Helpless their life,
With disappointments, it was built.

In the world divided into classes,
Many live as beggars in houses,
Many live as beggars in heart,
They were just ***** and smart.

In appearance, we remain a minority,
In the universe, we stand as a majority,
Self-reliant life is our priority,
We don’t want your publicizing charity.

There appeared a revelation,
A day we will steer a revolution!

Idols in the temple decorated with money,
Its time to turn them into bread and honey.

Give us dignified life and food,
We won’t steal,
This is nothing but a peacemaking social deal.

We proclaim!
As hungriness grow,
That make humans bow,

We will ensure; we make
Your money-flowing temple,
Will completely set down to topple,

We will take (steal) money spent for useless stone,
If an individual is left begging hungry-prone!

My life would be unlivable without my painkillers
They are my only release
I am sometimes irresponsible with my painkillers
You would think I would protect them
Hide them away and never lose them
But I have my faults

My friends are my biggest painkiller
they keep me grounded
My family keeps me loved
And for that I am grateful
And nature keeps me humble

These are my painkillers
My escape from what plagues my mind
My life would be unlivable without my painkillers
but is everything because of them

it is the greatest irony
that love can **** its devotee
that love can be toxic
and the purest bond
can corrode and turn to acid

when your love becomes irrational
and transcends all known structures
-- is that the dream?
or the nightmare

when you no longer care about yourself
when you let your heart bleed dry
and **** all life away from your fingers, toes, and brain

is that what love is?
that's deranged.
it's unhealthy
it's unlivable

if you see it,
shake the person
slap her repeatedly, hard
wake her up
scream at her
what the **** are you doing?
snap out of it.
this isn't fair to
anyone

Born on the darkest of nights
For the stars hid their eyes from the sight
Of an innocent soul born under the bad moon
With the universe this child would never be attuned
In lifes garden, only pain, misery, and sorrow could bloom
From the very beginning this child's life was doomed

The stars wept that night
For an atrocity that wasn't right
The rain that fell on that child's soul
Was meant to comfort and console
The star's sweet tears quieted the wish to die
That only minutes old has already darkening that child's eye

The child grew with a messed up childhood
Every night the step dad at the child's bedroom door stood
That curse of the bad moon
Made sure all happiness out of this life was pruned

The child grew up, found love, or so thought
Only later to realize she had been caught
The grown child was caged and beaten daily
It was the depth of Hell, it almost drove that poor soul crazy

The stars held witness
As the winds of change bent and twisted
Rushing that soul from one tragedy to another
Leaving the child shaking under the covers

The child cried out to that wicked moon
"This sorrowful life you gifted me to soon"
"I never got to taste the pleasure"
"Or lie for a time just in leisure"
"You took happiness, the greatest of all treasure"

Everyday the child struggled through
What else was there to do
But everyday brought new problems the child did it's best to solve them
But it was a constant onslaught
Being born under the bad moon's sign, only agony was brought

The only relieve was at night, when the star's tears fell
It called to the child's soul like a bell
On rainy nights you can find
The child's fragile body and mind
Stand out in the pitch dark rain
Letting all those starry tears wash away the pain
The strain
That resides in the heart, the brain
The star's and the child's tears mix
As off the child's fingertips it drips

In the harsh light of day
Watch this child sways
Watch as the delicate steel soul dances to every blow
Taking the lumps of every thing thrown
It's hard to believe how strong this child did grow
But it's bones are brittle
To crush this grown child would take but a little

This child will never out live the moon's tattoo
There is nothing about it to do
Pushing on
Giving the illusion of being strong
Over to many problems it stumbled
Until the child's soul crumbles
Then the soul will rejoin the universe
Then and only then, in happiness it will be submerged

So take heed when the next bad moon wanes on high
You can hear the stars weep and cry
Pray your child isn't born in that night
That your child will not have to fight for a life that's unlivable
Surrounded in all that is miserable

If you was born under that evil moon
If the star's for you cry too
Do the best you can do
Dance in the rain of tears
Through out all of your years
In the stars sweet rain
It can wash away the pain
Letting you feel the illusion of sane

©Pauline Russell

Two years ago I was in Connecticut in a used book shop. I found very small rare books published as a series of poetry. Red leather- bound, yellowing pages. They crack, those pages, and while this makes me sad if they didn't they wouldn't matter as much. I purchase a few. One of them, "Sonnets from the Portuguese", Elizabeth Barrett Browning. It seemed like the the sort of thing I would buy.

I came back home and I met you and I instantly figured that when you too would leave I would give them to you. I did the worst to you on some day. The other day, you said something to me and I burned for a very long time inside. I might have said something rude in response, but instead I smiled at you. I laughed. You must have burned inside every time I did. I do not care. You might have thought. I laugh at you. You might have thought. I was like that because I thought that They crack, those pages, and while this makes me sad if they didn't they wouldn't matter as much.  

I did not give you the book. Two years later, I have a class and I'm writing an essay about the first poem from it. I have been in bed for three days and the sinking feeling returns, I watch videos about how everything in America will crumble. The audience in the videos laugh. My sounds echo and return to me from my room's walls. Where is the sun and the air that might have been as the home I last saw you in. Not yours though. It was thoroughly unlivable for you though sometimes you think Where is the sun and the air that might have been as the home you last saw me in. It is yours though.

On the moments I do step into the essay-- or rather, I step into the poem for the essay-- I hear her speak. And I would read about her husband. He wrote too. They loved for many years. When they lived, her words were far more loved than his. We send each other emails sometimes. You sometimes call me when you're drunk. You burn. My voice. When I call you through my laptop screen I stare at you. I burn. Your hair. What sun, what air. She says

"Guess now who holds thee?"—"Death", I said. But there,
The silver answer rang ... "Not Death, but Love."

She says before she met him her life:

Dead roses with greying complexion
three stems bent their thorns to flimsy
to ***** a drop of blood posed on dry-rot table top

Sheets of memories in piles of petals turning to dust scattered like Custer's last stand, across sixteen hundred square feet of unlivable space

Lonely walls gawked by empty rooms behind door's locked and hinges rusted shut, echo no slamming laughter

Condemned hallways coloured by black mold spreading out like veiny fingers of black lung bordered corner to corner with ***** spider lace

Shattered windows lay in shards framed by broken smiles darkened by boarded up dreams splintered in night terrors

A wet paint sign flaking to the ground next to a heavy weaved mat with weak tea letters in red saying welcome

Heart stained felt torn to shunder tattered and frayed into clogged
hollow thick chambers
had homemade love
once upon a time.

JG (2)

There's so much more to say about the things you did to me.
I know it's not black and white.
I know you were hurt by me,
but never in the way you hurt me.
I gave you a scratch while in an autistic meltdown living with you caused, and you told me I wasn't a person. That's an important distinction.

I just woke up from a nightmare. It was so vivid.
I often have very vivid dreams, and I've had terrible nightmares before. Of course I have. You get nightmares when you live in unlivable conditions. But that's over now. I haven't had a nightmare for over a year.

You know what? My last nightmare- the last one I really remember- was about someone else.

She's beautiful. Just absolutely gorgeous- she loves to hear it, too. She's kind- because after having experienced her own darkness, she knows to be. But she's also afraid. I don't think she knows I can see it.
She hides away when she's unsure about things, but only because she wants to get it right- I think she's a perfectionist that way- and she's very secretive. Especially when it comes to her fears.
She's made mistakes, and when she does she tends to run away from them, but in the end, she wants to be better. Ultimately, she wants to grow. I believe that.

That's why I'll forgive her when she comes.

I feel a softness for her that I also feel for you. Each person is infinitely precious; what we go through matters and our experiences make us rich, like wines that become more valuable with time-- except.. putting it that way isn't quite right.
I think that existence equals value. I'd love the grape as much as I'd love the wine. I believe the value you hold now was there when you were born. I think people just become brighter with time, no matter what we experience. But we have always been precious, and worth being protected.

You're so precious. There's only one of you.
I feel love for you, of course I do. I'm probably wrong about a few things, not getting the full story of it. I certainly don't totally know how you felt during all that. Since you've just..never told me.

But I don't care.
I don't mean that in a cruel, defensive way. I just don't want to engage with it. I'm not interested.
I'm not necessarily even upset about any of this.

I don't feel resentment. I don't feel like it's even me you betrayed.
I've processed so much of my trauma; the me who suffered and the present me feel like different people now. And I'm angry you hurt someone.
You put them through something they didn't have to experience. You made their dissociation permanent by forcing them into this environment when they had already told you they weren't ready.

They'd lie awake at night having these episodes of despair, and you were annoyed.
"I just want to sleep" you said, with a person crying, spiraling in despair, unable to cope with any of it, next to you in bed.
That's a whole person, as infinitely precious as you and everyone else on the planet and you treated them- you guessed it- not like a person, but like a problem. An annoyance.

I'm not going to forgive you for that.

Not only that, but you come offering nostalgia of all things, to pull me back into you. Nostalgia. What's that got to do with the **** you put me through?

There's so much more. The time you hid the matches just to try to make things a little harder for me and Dani. The jealousy. But then you'd ****** some girl days after we'd separated. Touching me, thinking you were seducing me somehow, when I came into your place for less than a minute- while Dani and my mother were outside waiting. Do you know how ****** up and uncomfortable that was?
The disrespect. I should've decked you. I should have dislocated your jaw. Should have opened the scar above your lip.

It's not about whether you intended to or not.
"I didn't know any better" is a truth that very rarely changes anything.
You didn't know any better and it hurt me. That's why we learn. That's why we grow. That's why we must refuse to stay still.
But you loved being still. And you refused to grow, and you proudly kept yourself ignorant.

What else can I even say.

Oh, my nightmare.

I dreamt a friend of yours had me institutionalized, and because you were angry at me for something small that I did, you let it happen.
Which is just exactly what you would've done in real life.

It was terrifying. I woke up so scared. I thought it was real.

I'm tired and hungry.
I'm gonna go pet my cats.