This is exhibit A. witness testify to a false maker
of false hopes a dreamers dream disappearing on the lids of
a waking being. So is the theme spoken in rainbow
brilliance the soul is trapped in a toys body break me discard me
no use for this
this is exhibit B. a lifeless rendition of a restless warrior begging
to be freed from his crime in watching his own hands  children
and a pregnant woman willing to sell her soul for redemption.
Break him, discard him but never let him forget
Time elapses travel to the future, Raggedy Andy and the soul
a machine cold and calculating everyone wants one for Christmas
unwrap the gift and sell it tomorrow
wont get much out of it. Devoid of extraneous packaging
it's lost it's worth and the scars are blessed tracing them with my tongue
a willing conspirator in your lie that you live day to day. Praying to whatever
that tomorrow you won't wake up and the pain will stop. Should have never
beqeuthed my soul then because now I'll never let you go
The welcomed touch of another to soothe the decay build a house of
legos galore a horror left untold but whispered in empty space someday
it will reach the ears all will be out of place the blessing of scars and the blessing
of tides. Wash the dreams into reality
yet with your eyes squeezed shut you cannot see the smiles
I flash you from across the room. Another cold winter with plastic walls,
the floor rough beneath my paper thin feet. I am getting older and your passion
still falls to ripping me open and seeing what color I am today. Your
dream is my hell. A reality we all want but some never have a blessing
of the tides for you but not the patchwork of needle veins left on my
heart
A ragdoll sows well after unthreading unraveled secrets that are being
spoken a hidden meaning in things known so well and held
so dear the addict is addicted the silver polish of another exit
and a feared exit (exist)
picking away at the surface he is relieved to see his own
reflection on fates tinderbox. Matches with his name on them and other
wealth's of knowledge he cannot comprehend. I take in his
apathy and replace him whole.
Existence is superficial floating ecstacy through a ravers midnight
meltdown the drugs that soothed soon are smoothed out of the system
a gentle touch the softest if skin paper thin paper thin
licking the edges and listening fast, a deep puff, euphorium. Wanting to
play tonight the caterpillar sees, puffing his own blue smoke fast.
bloodshot eyes hide the daylight from your stolen afternoon. The headboard begs
for some grease, let's at today, my love, let's break me again
The twins of wonderland and the cat disappearing a story
forever after faintly breathing from the lips of the souls
sought wondering
sharing a shotgun with a confidant the after taste sour and strained. Not
enough we all see into your twisted head. Plucking on my heart strings
too rough. Wanting to see me bleed. Not this time the queen of hearts will
soon beat you with a flamingo and send you flapping
through the hourglass a king of king and clams
A nursery rhyme for all children to sleep a child's toy finally
dies leaving behind soiled

1,187 words

Moths expertly chewing at the clutter
Relieving the straight edges, intimately
Invading the closet chambers; scholarly
Imperfections hidden in the swathes of
Clothed hangers, straight backed, angled
Shoulders submitting, unthreading,
Holed up, no one listening to their slow
Demise. The perfect purchases unenergised
On a gradual decline into defacement

Getting used to their new look, wise eyes
Held ears on alert to attack.  Held with
Surgical gloves so their imperfections
Would not harm anyone, whereby difference
Remained safely hidden or thrown to the
Wolves, heading for the bin labelled 'Scrap'

Scratting around for some hope of recycled
Remission, getting nowhere. Ferociously
Promoting themselves to be perfect in
Their own way.  Don't ignore my progression
Sew me together, **** it!! into invisibility
And I will work again for you,
Moths securly balled away......

It was a damp kiss
of an image.
Dispassionately you drop
an old coin into my hands.

Faithless in your poem.
I adored the Venus in twilight.
Carnation. A rose pink color,
appears in your eyes.

Rising from the marshy
slush, greater flamingos
keep watch underneath, at the
army of urns.

The sameness now dithers.
You want to weave the moon
in your breast, unpreparing
to open the heart.

sewing time together,
we scribe our narrative,
your lace stitches leather,
like a seamstress.

failures don't forget me,
i'm their stone to engrave,
designed imperfections
and a chiseled face.

close enough to notice,
constellations are yarn,
unthreading in the distance,
these days seam apart.

Stop, please stop that thud, that thud,
I hear your thirst like sand for blood--
O I will bring you water, water,
only beat your breast no longer!
Because I see your prayer becoming
consumptive by its own drumming,
a labyrinth that bears no unthreading.
God, I saw a black bruise spreading
deep within that dreadful cadence--
and his prayer was patience, patience.
“Tell me, please, what I can do
to break you from that death tattoo,”
but all he did was beat and nod
I lost him to an Awful God.

He worked quite precariously
Plucking, unthreading, tearing
Until the sheer glimmer dimmed

The needle bobbed with rhythm
As he'd untwine multitudinous threads
And mercilessly string them along

Patterns so intricate yet so flawed
The carnal ambivalence stitched
In the lush red silk

Yet tailor beware
As your patterns removed the seams
Of a work so beautiful
That you left remorselessly
In tatters.

She hated lewd offers
but thought, as she fled rationality

"Taboo and Transgression reflect two contradictory urges"

there is a deficiency
a feeling as if
dormice gnawed on her tender heart
unthreading her very being

"The taboo would forbid
the transgression but the fascination compels it"

in the old school
fearless foul mouthed men
with granite shoulders and hero's chests
knew how to take a woman

"Please Master"
Please master can I touch your cheek
please master can I kneel at your feet

yet she would lose herself
caring for nothing but
the spilling
of her clitoral jeweled incandescence
into kingdom come

mystery woman
with a **** in hand
plays the piccolo
in a hot swing band

out of the question
was dissolute lust
its quivering equivocations
of undoing and redoing
in a torment of feeling,
as if blood thirsty
disavowing, yet starved for love
like a cry of the void

her throat  
a spiral armed galaxy
her heart and ****
hounded moons*

the feminist

She hated lewd offers
but thought, as she fled rationality
there is a deficiency 
a feeling as if
dormice gnawed on her tender heart
unthreading her very being

in the old school
fearless foul mouthed men
with big shoulders and hero's chests
new how to take a woman
so she would lose herself
caring for nothing but
spilling her
clitoral incandescence
into kingdom come

out of the question
was dissolute lust
its quivering equivocations
of undoing and redoing
in a torment of feeling,
as if blood thirsty
disavowing, yet starved for love
like a cry of the void

the feminist

Tonight,
the river is
not water
but song,
its body unraveled silk,
golden-threaded murmurs,
spilling, spiraling,
drowning the hush
of the land in hymn,
in motion,
in breath.

Every ripple
a hand stretched toward dawn,
every hush
a heartbeat echoing through the soil,
unfastening morning
like a clasp at the throat of time.

Her body
Like a unwritten scripture,
Beauty beyond comparison
shifting verses,
shifting
a road carved by the hands
of the unseen,
soft fire licking the bellies
of unturned stones,
reed-thin prayers drift on high
rising to sky.

Each echoed note
A musical masterpiece
of her body a light sound-spun  through incantation,
whispering secrets to the root-veined hush,
where silence folds into bloom,
In a secret garden
known to none .

The wind
smears its fingerprints across the sky,
stains the horizon with blue spun from memory,
bows its head in reverence
to the aching dawn.

The wheat hums.
The river sighs.

Somewhere,
a blade of grass bends and sings.

Somewhere,
the breath of lovers writes
its own psalm in the dust-kissed hush
of a bridge where names,
hands, mouths, moments,
are carved into forever.

And oh, the clouds
burning alabaster, forgotten ghosts
exhale light,
let golden thread unspool in restless rivulets,
let carefully crafted prisms scatter
across the trembling skin of the world.

Making lines across the earth.

Every unturned stone
a story.

Every tree
a violin swaying and bowing to the wind.

Every feather and wing
unfolding like an unread letter,
written in the ink of all things unsaid.

Here,
even time drips honey
through the curve of the earth,
even the stars
are just myths waiting to be remembered,
even the sea
ancient, unsleeping mother
knows the melody of our unspoken longing.

The river opens
not like a wound
but like a mouth learning the first syllable of joy,
like a child pressed against the chest of the universe,
like hands unthreading the knots of night,
like your name,
unspoken yet known
in the hush of the wind.

And in this moment
where light devours shadow,
where the earth hums in the language of gold,
where the sun unstitches the silence of forgotten fields

we are not lost.

We are
becoming.

Something  
      greater,  

           that will find itself  
                within  
                     itself.

Total Slavery

You can leave—at least it seems,
So is slavery just dreams?
But escape? Now that's a trick—
The world’s a prison, walls too thick.



---------------------



The Abyss of Satanism

Standards matter—goods must last!
Schooling? Now that’s just a laugh.
Dumbed-down minds, no guiding form—
Fuel to feed the abyss’s storm.



---------------------



Running in defiance of ***

No troubles haunt your private life
If you avoid its heated thrill.
More space for thought, much less of strife,
And peace that bends to steady will.

Hormones can rest—let miles inspire,
For running’s faithful through the years.
It won’t betray like burnt-out fire,
Unless excess brings pains and tears.

Fights cut much deeper than the track,
And claims can wound more than a fall.
No shame from treachery attacks—
Just herbal tea instead of all.



---------------------



Cadres decide everything

Schools of Pol *** and informers' brigade,
Goebbels' own studio, lessons in hate.
Doctors like Mengele—monsters are made,
Crafted to keep us all under the weight.

Geniuses? No, that’s too much of a task—
Raising new Hitlers is harder to do.
But turning a **** into one with a mask?
Just start him in law enforcement crew.

****** once shouted of nation’s great need,
Branded a villain when all came to light.
Now the same monsters are learning his creed—
“Health” and “progress” their banners in sight.

“Health” won the war on CowID they spread,
“Progress” has lit up a battlefield’s flame.
Fools nod along as they're easily led,
Fighting and "healing" in ignorant shame.

Now there are legions—too many to save,
Hope for this world is fading to none.
It crumbles to filth, a fast-rushing wave,
And Satan stands as the last worshiped one.



---------------------



The Carrot of "Knowledge"

The fool sees knowledge as a prize—
Pass all your tests, and soon you’ll be
A learned *** in foolish skies,
Content in hollow company.

But dare to add a bit of nerve,
And you will lead the blind along—
So long as you know how to serve
The "duce" keeping your herd strong.

That truths are bent, that lies run deep—
Such things don’t bother donkeys' minds.
They only crave what they can keep—
The promise of their petty finds.



---------------------



Masks and Fools

The foe appears as a kindly uncle,
Yet in deeds, he's ruthless, cruel.
But for ages, fools adore the masks,
The simpletons and jester’s tasks—
"Real men," they say, "the golden rule."



---------------------



Sacred Grounds

The cross shines brightly all around,
Gold gleams with beauty, pure delight!
But to the soul of a bound man,
It pulls with force, though not so right...

For the Free Spirit, it’s dark and grim,
A life of toil and weariness within.
To them, any place is blessed and true,
Where Enlightenment comes without the view.



---------------------



"He who doesn’t work, shall not eat"
In those words, slavery’s no disguise.
But that's old news. The new "test" we greet—
CowID’s the trial for the broken lies.



---------------------



In ignorance, there’s peace of mind—
Like cows in stables, calm and still.
Enlightenment is not a bind—
It’s alchemy. The fate, the will.



---------------------



To Die for the Global Asylum

"Live, be dead, be truly dead. Do all you wish— it will be well."
Bunan.

The splinter of this shabby life
Lodges deep within your mind.
Pull it out— let it burst forth,
Shame and misery intertwined!

As though you were dead,
But not a heap of waste—
The Spirit’s borders erased,
And with it, war is chased.

The war’s fought by the twisted ones,
Who made you their slave.
And all the troubles you face,
Are artificial, misbehaved.

Expand your mind, so simply—
That’s the way to go.
Otherwise, you'll perish a fool,
Propping up the Asylum's flow.



---------------------



Crooked Comparisons

A fascist, like a leaf,
Falls into the Autumn's sway.
But the CREATURE, like a worm,
Gnaws at all that’s in the way.

The fascist, a CREATURE,
Grows upon the tree of doom.
The king is formal,
His enemies in the womb.

Winter comes,
The CREATURES will survive.
But the fool,
Once more, won’t stay alive.



---------------------



Chipollino is the Only Man

Chipollino’s the only man
Among the veggies, standing tall.
The cucumbers will find a plan
To heed the rulers of them all.



---------------------



The Ram’s Hell

Fears and lies on every screen,
Yet the rams still heed the scene.
They can't break free, they can't awake—
The Ram's Hell goes on, for their sake.



---------------------



Enslavement by "Ideas"

The fascist’s talk is sharp,
The humane, so meek and mild.
Like a blank sheet,
The people beguiled.

Not enough for all—
Give them "the idea,"
To bend the fools,
And rule them forever, in fear.



---------------------



The Pendulum of a Creative Soul and the Struggle of the Mediocre

Struggle's not a pendulum,
But a slide down low—
A monument to foolishness,
A triumph of madness’ glow.

The pendulum swings—
Light, Knowledge— Dark.
The creative never falters,
Or madness leaves its mark.

The pendulum swings to Dark—
Close your mind, retreat.
But when it swings to Light—
Create, and life’s complete!



---------------------



Metamorphoses

Kalashnikovs­—pencils bright,
Drawing wars into the night.
But the soul's true revelation,
To hell with it—world's damnation.



---------------------



Dreams in Dreams and in "Awake"

"Life and dreams are pages of the same book."
— Arthur Schopenhauer


You keep turning through the pages
Full of nightmares, lies, and pain.
Wake up "conscious"—fool for ages,
Just to fall asleep again.

Yogis train to dream while knowing,
Yet it's hard—the gods still sleep.
That is why this world keeps glowing
Like a festering, filthy heap.

Be a god! Don't fear the ending,
Burn the rot down to the ground!
Stop decay—no more pretending,
Let the flames consume the mound.

Sunlight helps—it sees the reason,
Burns the bottom year by year.
Each new season, with more treason,
Sinks still deeper in the smear.

Spirit’s realm will rise thereafter—
There, a god must take his throne.
Dice in hand, you'll play with laughter,
Crafting worlds to call your own.



---------------------



Easier With Time

Hour by hour, it feels less dire
Swimming hard against the tide—
For the Soul. Yet some require
Struggles measured, pain applied.



---------------------



The Petition System

Vote and cheer—no real choice.
Blind and deaf, the people stay.
Idiots, rejoice! Rejoice!
Now it’s you who rule the day.

Pick a puppet—just a token,
Spun by one corrupt brigade.
Madmen march to chants unspoken,
Drummed by lies their masters made.

"Pay your debts"—the cry is spreading,
"Citizen" must heed the call.
War or "sickness", self-unthreading,
Dying’s duty most of all.

Media beasts control the masses,
Guide them like a mindless horde.
Fools are glad to serve as glasses
For the talking head they’re poured.

Yet they claim it's "good"—how clever!
Only few can see the game.
Darkness rules the world forever,
Bound by Evil’s endless chain.



---------------------



"Imperial Spirit" of a Rotten Colony

In the marshlands, fools are rushing,
Craving war without a clue.
Ruled by ****, their world keeps crushing,
Sinking deep into the blue.

"Imperial faith" is choking,
Binding all with iron chains.
Few rebel, defy the yoke, and
Face the wrath of mindless brains.

No bright future—none in sight,
Stupor drags them far below.
Brave ones fall without a fight,
Death has come to steal the show.

Judgment's near—the **** must perish,
Clean your house, rebuild anew.
Only peace is worth to cherish,
Else you’ll march to ******’s doom.

Cargo-führers play their roles,
Clumsy puppets, petty trolls.



--- Total 20 poems. ---