Roots all are but in earth fixed
Blind,groping,for succor hungry
Aimless,embraced soiled,underground.
No longer hunger do I for mine now
History its to be rooted,death untimely,
Being rotten,eaten dryly weak,rejected
Let me be that airy tree fairy,breathing green
Spreading wings,feeding airs joyous,free,
Or a carcass dead,by mothers all deserted,
By nature connected, still life and beautiful!

It's been used on the street.
Used outside of the medical
profession.
Y'know, it's an altogether
new thing.

It can be even more important
than reading the bible.
Children as young as nine
are enlighted with ritual
consumption.
Student priests. Brainchildren.

A moshing chapel, a bouncing
church.
Holy orders have volunteered.
Five groups of four. Four groups of men.

With his eyes, he asked for
water, as deep as wells.
Brain unrooted, profound psyche.

What matters now? Dawns on me.
An experiment, an experiment.

What comes back? What expands?
Everyone that you meet.
The man, the man, the man.
Your duty is not over.

The surprise is:
the cross is the drug.

Sitar sounds and biting.
Chewing and *******.
Swiss lips and big trips.
Explosions and headlines.

Brighter colours, paisley skies.
Giggling teens and sighs.
Spare ribs unite, yellow sweets.

All to do with round.
Monochromatic world turns to
dreaming and doing it all.
Everything, I can do it.

But It's all too much.
So many ties and looking to
your eyes.
Love shines and trombone slides.
Social liberations, my friend.

Feminism, it's for the doers.
Taxes, real worlds, living on it.
Escape is far worse.
Easy actions and breaking
through windows.

Use it proactively not as
recreation.
Same effect as a man getting it.
He feels it going.
Terribly uncomfortable, alone.

Escape is suicide. Lies, lies,
Exagerration, laws, again lies.
Too many idiots, not enough cooks,
Too many chefs, not enough books.

News is what has given particular
concerns with the true risks.

Mr. Illicit tells us the risks.
Accidents and Supermen and flies.
Don't believe in the invisible
trains and cars.

Mental Breakdowns are wonderful
only when it's dependant
upon the setting. Too much again.

Vortex of fear, darker sides.
Rolling and sadness.
Initially the experience was
as advertised. Ancient fossils live.

A new green, a new blue
New sunlight. A new shape.
Terrifying proportions if you
camp in the wrong field.

Lethargic pigs sliced and green.
Cartoon kinda monsters.
Hahahahahahahha, we've GOT YOU!
Negative, feelings, never again.

Secrets of the mind, they chase.
It's the mis-use. It's the bad.
It's the guilt, it's the right way
Only without respect.

The larger group,
it ruins everything for
everyone responsible. Why?
Why cant't you just ******* make
drinks illegal?
Why not cancer sticks? Sickening.

Leave love alone.
Afraid that there is more to
our doors, that haven't been opened.
Out of control? You are out of control.

the unrooted soul
who knows only wind as home
and land as its cage

“I think that I shall never see”
a tree thin as phylogeny,

looks poor, no fruits nor leaves for tea,
Yet means so much as Darwins see.

rooted, unrooted, a weird tree,
well, Nature, too, selects weirdly.

No other tree much affects me,
keeps changing my taxonomy,

splitting-lumping, lumping-splitting,
because more data keep coming.

“Poems are made by fools like” you,
but cladograms, don’t make me blue.

it's like how can I start fresh
if I can't erase
hating everything I seem to create
stray to think different
but my soul is caged
hidden under floorboards
are the ideas I make

but I feel calm and at home
in the darkness
feeling cold and lethargic
but creating art
with my fingertips
alone with the hopes and the gods
I illustrate pain
in slow and graceful strokes

tirelessly knitting an infinity scarf
cooped up in a small room
with my mouth sewn shut
I lyrically piece together scraps of
the thoughts inside my head
to write an unauthorized version
of me instead

working steady without pause
till the ink dries up
words spilling out truths
of my purest disgust

I am the artist whose painting
to begin with was fake
I am the unrooted vine that grew
despite its wilted fate

There must be a poison in your breathe
A spore that plants itself in my throat each time we talk
Enough to make a garden bloom- flowers that fill up my lungs and pop up through my eyes when I look at you

I urge to pluck the butterflies that crowd in my chest and set them free around your head, so maybe you'll understand the effect you have on me
I'll give you the bees that buzz through my mind when your hand brushes up against my own
And the tree trunks that settle in my legs when the distance between us once again grows

But this garden inside of me,
It overflows with a poison edge that stings through my body
Like tiny knives that grow on trees, digging in my skin, letting out a strangled cry with each time my eyes lock with yours

A flood washes away all the flowers in my eyes, and fall steadily down, hanging on my eyelashes until I am forced to recognize they've been unrooted
The butterflies drip down like hot wax, burning my throat and lungs until smoke begins to billow out of my mouth and strangle me
And the bees burrow into my brain, stinging as they go, filling my mind with barbed wire until it feels like my skull is not big enough to handle the mass suicide taking place in the furrows of my mind

I cry out in pain
I beg of you, why does it feel like the only thing left alive in me is my pain
But you're already gone
Leaving me to cut out the dead tree trunks that have settled in my legs

branches run like the veins
across my fair-skinned arm
much like a dead one
am I unrooted
fallen, life poured out of me
a bare conifer still breathing
life into something
someone

Apluad malcolms quiet stillness.  
Unrooted like fallen timber, and now
to be a soiled waste of passion.  
Mr.  Flood,
Sneaky Mr.  Flood,
Poured ***** in the urn.
One more drink for lifeless
thoughts.  If it be the way of death.
If it be the way of death.  
was it an ugly truth,  Yes,
And malcolm knew how ugly it was.
All the world like a bag of oranges.  
Carried  in high frutose fashion.
But,
Malcolm has no say to be involved in any
more chancless pursuites.  It was for the best in
his case anyways.

It’s once again, midnight
humming arrogantly with
a churning of the wheels.
It's a soft-spoken rapture
& brutal shedding of rust:
in the hour when ghosts in
their shadow-cloaks come out
to play,
all nice.  

This is what with which
you are stricken :
Silence & alien gestures
you’ve rehearsed


Sometimes, your blood  
won't evaporate as quickly as you'd wish
-when the swallowing gets laborious.
He looks so pretty and easy prey.
His words fell on you like bullets,
His hands fell onto you like oil to water.
Slaughter & Divide
All you've wanted to hear:
All he knows to say
Blame beta fathers , such farmers
with borders & no horizons-
they never went to the moon
And you are selling  prime real estate
somewhere in the Milky Way

Here you easy come easy go
in the pseudo-celestial shallows,
Yet you are still nothing more,
nothing less than your shotgun grandfathers
and their drinking women
with ******* aflame.
Black hole reverie or Persephone
Make the call.

However, this is such a regular revelation ,
you are always saying the past has yet to come
as you set the record to repeat and
let the meridian of time rot.

Then he looks at your thighs
and listens to your speaking,
and you wilt in the glitter
because it's scripted, wilt so
Effortlessly
So needlessly.
Shutter, revoke, indulge, repulse.

Tonight in your belly, lies the gravestone of insanity,
unrooted by some ill intended resurrection of goodwill and humanity.

You are always missing the mark
but so quick to pull the trigger.
Full of so much of what's easier done than said -

You lie down in ethanol meadows making dust-angels amongst the metal beehives,
as he's looking at you
like some sort of promethean redemptress,
asking you meekly for just a touch
and then you swallow your refusal,
cramping up in a paralyzed and vampiric ecstasy.
Who first taught you the word ephemeral again ?

He reaches
You retire.
You say I have no sugar
For myself
Let alone for my brother
But then again, you let it flow
from your bubbling mouth.
Flagellating yourself with the same cane.


Then you pray for absolution on a bended knee
for the form alone, mockery of a jellyfish woman
Indeed, the skeletoned live on another plane entirely.

And you beg for mercy
Beg for forgiveness
Lest they love you not for
The alien cancer petrifying in your gut.

He beckons you over
You fold and bend down,
One should only ever be primitive
In this menagerie of sunsets and sunrises
He jumps your bones
But you're already nothing but dust

These thoughts flutter in my mind
Like butterflies through a field of daisies
On a hot summer afternoon in July
They warm my spirit like whiskey
But just the same they burn like fire
Tossing me around like clothes in a drier
So many words rest upon these lips
Yet not one can dance within the breeze
Choked by the fears that come so easily
I've found myself running as fast as I can
Away from the potential pain that could follow
As my heart lies heavy upon my chest
Something has blossomed inside of me
But I've left it to die like a rose in the desert
Nothing has moved me without you here
I've become stagnant, a tree in a storm
Unrooted by the gusts that carry thousands
Of pounds that are the same weight
On my shoulders through this life that I paved
I sink like an anchor into my own ocean
And graze like the calf still learning to grow
With all of this I can only find that I'm broken
Like a mirror cursing every step we take
Yet I hope that in turmoil I'll find my sun
The light that guides me to the joy that is Love

1.
(Short quote)
I have legs,I wanna fly..
I don't have wings..,
But I wanna try..
I can leave everything..
But not my dreams..!


2.
(Cover)
Sometimes things can change,
But you don't  try..
Sometimes you weep alone..
Cause you are wry,
Sometimes your ego..
And self respect becomes greater than you..
Sometimes you take it as wrong..
Sometimes you just need to try..
Every situation and circumstances..
Can be overcomed..
And i will be overwhelmed..
If you say me a "Hi"..

Sometimes,you let me cry..
Cry and only cry..
For my miseries and mistakes..
Baby do you think..
I only need to die..?

Maybe You will be happy,
May that happen too..

But Till I am alive..,
I wanted to saw your charms and beauty.
The beauty which was ever mine..,

Even you didn't admit,I knew all that..
I don't know what happened and how.!

A STORMY WIND CAME AND BLEW THE ALL..! But still,sometimes when I am on the ****,everything slows down..and when I am sinking,I see a spark..far away. I don't if it's  hope. But,I know..Even if it is..you'll never Recognise it.
(It's caption) :-
Say that you love me..,
Say that you miss me..,
Say what you feel..
Say you'll **** me..
For my habits,and my mistakes..
Say that you'll slap me hard,
When you meet me..
Say that I look ugly..
Say that you'll be mine..
Say whatever it is,
It will be fine.

Say at least anything,
And I will be okay.

If you won't how will I know.
I have listened a lot by your eyes,
But you said I was wrong.
How can I be wrong again.

3.
I still remember how you had disrupted my silence..
I remember,how you had torn the papers of my copy,when we had a quarrel,
I remember,how I had cut my hand,
I remember,how you had plucked a flower.
Still remember,you used to unrooted the grass,to throw on me.
When we sat together,in the ground.
Ouch,still remember how you had bite my fingers..
When you were eating out of my hand.
I remember,how you broke the phone,
And how you smashed the bottles,

I still remember,how you had broken the flower ***,
And was still laughing.

I remember,how you fell by dad's bike,
And had broken the pass lights,
And i lied to him.,I had lost control.

I remember,how you cracked the IIT,
I remember,how you was on infinity.
I remember,how I had become less for U.
I remember,how you had come home..
And said me to treat as a friend.

I remember,how you had said to "forget you",
And termed my love as "****" .
I remember,how calmly you broke it,
And how harshly it made the sound.
I remember,how I had been numb.
Hadn't eaten by weeks,
How pointlessly i passed the streets.

4.
I miss you in the darkness,
I miss you in the  light.

I miss you being missen,
When i was high.

I miss you on the question-
"Why i am shy"..?
What's  wrong with me,
If i also loved you.

I miss your laughters and,
Well,laughing really hard. .

How hard you have been .?

Spent an eternity living a lie
Trapped down the feeling
Buried it deep inside
And there it grew, this trouble truth
Watered by the pain
Nurtured by the abuse

Thought one day
It might just die
With one last blow
Maybe one last cry
Never unrooted, this trouble seed
Until the deed conceived

There's a voice inside me that says I am home.
Like a watermelon or a sunflower.
Something natural and large.

There is also a voice that says I know nothing at all.
Not the smell of the sky
or the crunch of the dirt.
Instead, I am empty,
like a filter for air.
As though all passages have been opened;
No airway blocked.
As though the vents are fully opened
and I would let you walk through
if you wanted to.
But even so,
I do not know
what that would look like.

Your hair is pulled up in ringlets around your head
and I think I see you clearly
But then again,
Are you just an open vent as well?
And if so, what does that make the two of us?
What are we when the smells don't make sense anymore,
When the flower becomes unrooted from the ground?
What are we then?
What are we now?
Sometimes I think I know.
I feel like we are so many things
and yet all of it undefined.
I've never felt like there were so many possibilities existing at the same time.
And yet no label for any single one of them.

Your breathe reminds me to come back to the present
and I realize that the watermelon
is coming from the candle on the windowsill
the flower is a painting above your bed
and I am just a figure within it all.
A human with a heart and a mind
both open the way that a vent can be
both receptive the way that our senses can be
both bodies existing in a plane in which there is no reality clear enough for who we are.

I just wish there was one thing i was entirely sure of.
But then again,
Maybe there is.

The one thing I truly know for certain,
is that I miss us

when we

are gone.

Beauty, in my eye, yet I do not hold you.
Every curve, every contour, every thing.
A desire in me, exceeding need for breath.
******* my soul with her very existence.
That I could clothe myself in her wake.
Immerse this broken into her healing.
Fate propels us to futile fusions, desolate.
Unrooted in fertile lands, I am nothing.
Lifted by your beautiful, I am everything.

All about a term, it spoke of something very scientific and laboratory, and also something unrooted; romanticism, with sensitive tentacles.
I can already carry touching and beautiful phrases, praise, and embellish a living being.

The adjacent voice ...: Fool you will continue to the point of knowing yourself more foolish under your coefficient, and you will slowly know the lack of reach of your emotions ...!

Ludwig ...: I'm a good man, who doesn't put away bad things ... of course that's how it works. But I want to talk and talk, and I only know that the aeroform, the earthly and cave, the watery, perhaps diluvian, advising me by Deucalion, will make it possible for the answers to be answered to the void, to the mortal body and void at the same time; that only in his bony system does knowledge make us palpitate. Clumsy and dumb he was after everything got dark in that deluge of days. In this way, he was able to dominate himself by summoning his rebirth.

The Dream of Morals

“Night owl, with your hands in pockets you have to lean on the tubular celestial mountains. you will walk with your insanity covered in your zoomorphic legions. Antoinette, whole beauty will walk near your domain, catching your memory and her admirable gestures will dilute your ignorance. But get up, even if it is groping and in the midst of perdition, look for your Archangel, she goes to pinch his feathery navigation in the infinity of the Universe.

Oh, restless night how you want to see yourself on the path of the finite front and not in the infinite of the proximal Apocalypse. When the comfort of the field delays us, do not sit in front of me on the grass. Unnourished starvation, Bread, and Water that does not carry healing minerals. You have to suffer greater suffering than the great elements, wailing water from the Red Sea in its feverish situation. Behold, there is no prolific thermic, only igneous tongues of a monumental melting ***; that has to support you in the aeroform and will make you mourn your last hardships, on the rough and brick-like Earth. The great everything, what loves it, what leads it to cover itself with sharp impious pleasures, has to re-enter into nothingness, and you go to them adorning the new architecture of your Ecological City. Do not refuse to forget the past, since the present without it does not green the transit of your new home.

Grass and flowers, polar ship, loaded with hopes, will shelter your disharmonized meekness. Platonic and judicious to spell ...., On the front sidewalk, you will find your sanity! " At the end of Moral's dream, her wrinkled flesh emigrated, which after so much staying in the Lake was abandoned, looking for a new body to inhabit.

Before the imminent approach of the End, a form of Angel approaches ... :( This was seconded by Roberto Garroch).

"You will fall prostrate to me ... do not keep the secrets where we have taken you, since on Patmos John fell before me ..., you in the vicinity of Patmos will flee from your filigree and energetic being to the Messolonghi Cemetery ..."