The Waster

In the tiniest pin point the spirit is measureless, rhythms; anthems ascend they are clouded in mystery
We live without assurances because we never challenge the natural laws that subdue us deprive us of
Our unfulfilled destiny and dreams we posses powers of indescribable beauty but never engage them
Always we defer to the common known yesterdays and the present. Would we soar over troubles at
Least we could be known as winged wonders that have broken earthbound bonds that can ever
Command if he never looks back in history sees possibilities for the future in those golden orbs you
Don’t have to be heads of state you have to be vibrant alive stay the course of human achievement. The
Texture of life and true riches can be mined in the hearts of others as you both refuse limitations it
Doesn’t rest on your means and status divine truths inexplicable wonder presses against the divine soul.
Open stuffy windows to long tightly closed because you refused to use spiritual sight. If you only stand
Still and refuse the extraordinary impetus that surges in and around your life then stagnation will be
Your lot you will stymie spiritual expression that can turn any circumstance from defeat to ultimate
Victory you hesitate you beckon your enemy to come take up residence your actions are read as you
Govern what is life but a chore anyway. No my life is a dream established founded by he who names
Stars knows them and galaxies but he chose the human experience as the place of his most profound
Interest and he involves himself in the internal workings of every being. His divine imprint is evidenced
By longings that are curious to others they question because they themselves have locked out all of the
Freeing expression that once nobly guided their lives now they look on projects that are filled with ease
All it brings is restless regret where did you turn so far and invite failure closed down all avenues that
brought thrills you thought safe trouble free life was the right course it is just the opposite. You were
Made for battles and struggles that feed your fire you have the mind of an achiever but you have
Coasted Into neutrality that numbs every high thought that would cast you across the sky as a flaming
Meteor your flame is to burn inspire move others to go for it. To miss someone is the noblest shinning
part of human experience to miss your own life’s true potential is tragic.

Idiot
stupid
stupid idiot
I'm just a ******* waster
such a ******* waster
greasy stoner girl
think you're special
think you're different
shut the **** up
you're not special
you're not different
you're ****

Thus, then, did the Achaeans arm by their ships round you, O son
of Peleus, who were hungering for battle; while the Trojans over
against them armed upon the rise of the plain.
  Meanwhile Jove from the top of many-delled Olympus, bade Themis
gather the gods in council, whereon she went about and called them
to the house of Jove. There was not a river absent except Oceanus, nor
a single one of the nymphs that haunt fair groves, or springs of
rivers and meadows of green grass. When they reached the house of
cloud-compelling Jove, they took their seats in the arcades of
polished marble which Vulcan with his consummate skill had made for
father Jove.
  In such wise, therefore, did they gather in the house of Jove.
Neptune also, lord of the earthquake, obeyed the call of the
goddess, and came up out of the sea to join them. There, sitting in
the midst of them, he asked what Jove’s purpose might be. “Why,”
said he, “wielder of the lightning, have you called the gods in
council? Are you considering some matter that concerns the Trojans and
Achaeans—for the blaze of battle is on the point of being kindled
between them?”
  And Jove answered, “You know my purpose, shaker of earth, and
wherefore I have called you hither. I take thought for them even in
their destruction. For my own part I shall stay here seated on Mt.
Olympus and look on in peace, but do you others go about among Trojans
and Achaeans, and help either side as you may be severally disposed.
If Achilles fights the Trojans without hindrance they will make no
stand against him; they have ever trembled at the sight of him, and
now that he is roused to such fury about his comrade, he will override
fate itself and storm their city.”
  Thus spoke Jove and gave the word for war, whereon the gods took
their several sides and went into battle. Juno, Pallas Minerva,
earth-encircling Neptune, Mercury bringer of good luck and excellent
in all cunning—all these joined the host that came from the ships;
with them also came Vulcan in all his glory, limping, but yet with his
thin legs plying lustily under him. Mars of gleaming helmet joined the
Trojans, and with him Apollo of locks unshorn, and the archer
goddess Diana, Leto, Xanthus, and laughter-loving Venus.
  So long as the gods held themselves aloof from mortal warriors the
Achaeans were triumphant, for Achilles who had long refused to fight
was now with them. There was not a Trojan but his limbs failed him for
fear as he beheld the fleet son of Peleus all glorious in his
armour, and looking like Mars himself. When, however, the Olympians
came to take their part among men, forthwith uprose strong Strife,
rouser of hosts, and Minerva raised her loud voice, now standing by
the deep trench that ran outside the wall, and now shouting with all
her might upon the shore of the sounding sea. Mars also bellowed out
upon the other side, dark as some black thunder-cloud, and called on
the Trojans at the top of his voice, now from the acropolis, and now
speeding up the side of the river Simois till he came to the hill
Callicolone.
  Thus did the gods spur on both hosts to fight, and rouse fierce
contention also among themselves. The sire of gods and men thundered
from heaven above, while from beneath Neptune shook the vast earth,
and bade the high hills tremble. The spurs and crests of
many-fountained Ida quaked, as also the city of the Trojans and the
ships of the Achaeans. Hades, king of the realms below, was struck
with fear; he sprang panic-stricken from his throne and cried aloud in
terror lest Neptune, lord of the earthquake, should crack the ground
over his head, and lay bare his mouldy mansions to the sight of
mortals and immortals—mansions so ghastly grim that even the gods
shudder to think of them. Such was the uproar as the gods came
together in battle. Apollo with his arrows took his stand to face King
Neptune, while Minerva took hers against the god of war; the
archer-goddess Diana with her golden arrows, sister of far-darting
Apollo, stood to face Juno; Mercury the ***** bringer of good luck
faced Leto, while the mighty eddying river whom men can Scamander, but
gods Xanthus, matched himself against Vulcan.
  The gods, then, were thus ranged against one another. But the
heart of Achilles was set on meeting Hector son of Priam, for it was
with his blood that he longed above all things else to glut the
stubborn lord of battle. Meanwhile Apollo set Aeneas on to attack
the son of Peleus, and put courage into his heart, speaking with the
voice of Lycaon son of Priam. In his likeness therefore, he said to
Aeneas, “Aeneas, counsellor of the Trojans, where are now the brave
words with which you vaunted over your wine before the Trojan princes,
saying that you would fight Achilles son of Peleus in single combat?”
  And Aeneas answered, “Why do you thus bid me fight the proud son
of Peleus, when I am in no mind to do so? Were I to face him now, it
would not be for the first time. His spear has already put me to Right
from Ida, when he attacked our cattle and sacked Lyrnessus and
Pedasus; Jove indeed saved me in that he vouchsafed me strength to
fly, else had the fallen by the hands of Achilles and Minerva, who
went before him to protect him and urged him to fall upon the
Lelegae and Trojans. No man may fight Achilles, for one of the gods is
always with him as his guardian angel, and even were it not so, his
weapon flies ever straight, and fails not to pierce the flesh of him
who is against him; if heaven would let me fight him on even terms
he should not soon overcome me, though he boasts that he is made of
bronze.”
  Then said King Apollo, son to Jove, “Nay, hero, pray to the
ever-living gods, for men say that you were born of Jove’s daughter
Venus, whereas Achilles is son to a goddess of inferior rank. Venus is
child to Jove, while Thetis is but daughter to the old man of the sea.
Bring, therefore, your spear to bear upon him, and let him not scare
you with his taunts and menaces.”
  As he spoke he put courage into the heart of the shepherd of his
people, and he strode in full armour among the ranks of the foremost
fighters. Nor did the son of Anchises escape the notice of white-armed
Juno, as he went forth into the throng to meet Achilles. She called
the gods about her, and said, “Look to it, you two, Neptune and
Minerva, and consider how this shall be; Phoebus Apollo has been
sending Aeneas clad in full armour to fight Achilles. Shall we turn
him back at once, or shall one of us stand by Achilles and endow him
with strength so that his heart fail not, and he may learn that the
chiefs of the immortals are on his side, while the others who have all
along been defending the Trojans are but vain helpers? Let us all come
down from Olympus and join in the fight, that this day he may take
no hurt at the hands of the Trojans. Hereafter let him suffer whatever
fate may have spun out for him when he was begotten and his mother
bore him. If Achilles be not thus assured by the voice of a god, he
may come to fear presently when one of us meets him in battle, for the
gods are terrible if they are seen face to face.”
  Neptune lord of the earthquake answered her saying, “Juno,
restrain your fury; it is not well; I am not in favour of forcing
the other gods to fight us, for the advantage is too greatly on our
own side; let us take our places on some hill out of the beaten track,
and let mortals fight it out among themselves. If Mars or Phoebus
Apollo begin fighting, or keep Achilles in check so that he cannot
fight, we too, will at once raise the cry of battle, and in that
case they will soon leave the field and go back vanquished to
Olympus among the other gods.”
  With these words the dark-haired god led the way to the high
earth-barrow of Hercules, built round solid masonry, and made by the
Trojans and Pallas Minerva for him fly to when the sea-monster was
chasing him from the shore on to the plain. Here Neptune and those
that were with him took their seats, wrapped in a thick cloud of
darkness; but the other gods seated themselves on the brow of
Callicolone round you, O Phoebus, and Mars the waster of cities.
  Thus did the gods sit apart and form their plans, but neither side
was willing to begin battle with the other, and Jove from his seat
on high was in command over them all. Meanwhile the whole plain was
alive with men and horses, and blazing with the gleam of armour. The
earth rang again under the ***** of their feet as they rushed
towards each other, and two champions, by far the foremost of them
all, met between the hosts to fight—to wit, Aeneas son of Anchises,
and noble Achilles.
  Aeneas was first to stride forward in attack, his doughty helmet
tossing defiance as he came on. He held his strong shield before his
breast, and brandished his bronze spear. The son of Peleus from the
other side sprang forth to meet him, fike some fierce lion that the
whole country-side has met to hunt and ****—at first he bodes no ill,
but when some daring youth has struck him with a spear, he crouches
openmouthed, his jaws foam, he roars with fury, he lashes his tail
from side to side about his ribs and *****, and glares as he springs
straight before him, to find out whether he is to slay, or be slain
among the foremost of his foes—even with such fury did Achilles
burn to spring upon Aeneas.
  When they were now close up with one another Achilles was first to
speak. “Aeneas,” said he, “why do you stand thus out before the host
to fight me? Is it that you hope to reign over the Trojans in the seat
of Priam? Nay, though you **** me Priam will not hand his kingdom over
to you. He is a man of sound judgement, and he has sons of his own. Or
have the Trojans been allotting you a demesne of passing richness,
fair with orchard lawns and corn lands, if you should slay me? This
you shall hardly do. I have discomfited you once already. Have you
forgotten how when you were alone I chased you from your herds
helter-skelter down the slopes of Ida? You did not turn round to
look behind you; you took refuge in Lyrnessus, but I attacked the
city, and with the help of Minerva and father Jove I sacked it and
carried its women into captivity, though Jove and the other gods
rescued you. You think they will protect you now, but they will not do
so; therefore I say go back into the host, and do not face me, or
you will rue it. Even a fool may be wise after the event.”
  Then Aeneas answered, “Son of Peleus, think not that your words
can scare me as though I were a child. I too, if I will, can brag
and talk unseemly. We know one another’s race and parentage as matters
of common fame, though neither have you ever seen my parents nor I
yours. Men say that you are son to noble Peleus, and that your
mother is Thetis, fair-haired daughter of the sea. I have noble
Anchises for my father, and Venus for my mother; the parents of one or
other of us shall this day mourn a son, for it will be more than silly
talk that shall part us when the fight is over. Learn, then, my
lineage if you will—and it is known to many.
  “In the beginning Dardanus was the son of Jove, and founded
Dardania, for Ilius was not yet stablished on the plain for men to
dwell in, and her people still abode on the spurs of many-fountained
Ida. Dardanus had a son, king Erichthonius, who was wealthiest of
all men living; he had three thousand mares that fed by the
water-meadows, they and their foals with them. Boreas was enamoured of
them as they were feeding, and covered them in the semblance of a
dark-maned stallion. Twelve filly foals did they conceive and bear
him, and these, as they sped over the rich plain, would go bounding on
over the ripe ears of corn and not break them; or again when they
would disport themselves on the broad back of Ocean they could
gallop on the crest of a breaker. Erichthonius begat Tros, king of the
Trojans, and Tros had three noble sons, Ilus, Assaracus, and
Ganymede who was comeliest of mortal men; wherefore the gods carried
him off to be Jove’s cupbearer, for his beauty’s sake, that he might
dwell among the immortals. Ilus begat Laomedon, and Laomedon begat
Tithonus, Priam, Lampus, Clytius, and Hiketaon of the stock of Mars.
But Assaracus was father to Capys, and Capys to Anchises, who was my
father, while Hector is son to Priam.
  “Such do I declare my blood and lineage, but as for valour, Jove
gives it or takes it as he will, for he is lord of all. And now let
there be no more of this prating in mid-battle as though we were
children. We could fling taunts without end at one another; a
hundred-oared galley would not hold them. The tongue can run all
whithers and talk all wise; it can go here and there, and as a man
says, so shall he be gainsaid. What is the use of our bandying hard
like women who when they fall foul of one another go out and wrangle
in the streets, one half true and the other lies, as rage inspires
them? No words of yours shall turn me now that I am fain to fight-
therefore let us make trial of one another with our spears.”
  As he spoke he drove his spear at the great and terrible shield of
Achilles, which rang out as the point struck it. The son of Peleus
held the shield before him with his strong hand, and he was afraid,
for he deemed that Aeneas’s spear would go through it quite easily,
not reflecting that the god’s glorious gifts were little likely to
yield before the blows of mortal men; and indeed Aeneas’s spear did
not pierce the shield, for the layer of gold, gift of the god,
stayed the point. It went through two layers, but the god had made the
shield in five, two of bronze, the two innermost ones of tin, and
one of gold; it was in this that the spear was stayed.
  Achilles in his turn threw, and struck the round shield of Aeneas at
the very edge, where the bronze was thinnest; the spear of Pelian
ash went clean through, and the shield rang under the blow; Aeneas was
afraid, and crouched backwards, holding the shield away from him;
the spear, however, flew over his back, and stuck quivering in the
ground, after having gone through both circles of the sheltering
shield. Aeneas though he had avoided the spear, stood still, blinded
with fear and grief because the weapon had gone so near him; then
Achilles sprang furiously upon him, with a cry as of death and with
his keen blade drawn, and Aeneas seized a great stone, so huge that
two men, as men now are, would be unable to lift it, but Aeneas
wielded it quite easily.
  Aeneas would then have struck Achilles as he was springing towards
him, either on the helmet, or on the shield that covered him, and
Achilles would have closed with him and despatched him with his sword,
had not Neptune lord of the earthquake been quick to mark, and said
forthwith to the immortals, “Alas, I am sorry for great Aeneas, who
will now go down to the house of Hades, vanquished by the son of
Peleus. Fool that he was to give ear to the counsel of Apollo.
Apollo will never save him from destruction. Why should this man
suffer when he is guiltless, to no purpose, and in another’s
quarrel? Has he not at all times offered acceptable sacrifice to the
gods that dwell in heaven? Let us then ****** him from death’s jaws,
lest the son of Saturn be angry should Achilles slay him. It is fated,
moreover, that he should escape, and that the race of Dardanus, whom
Jove loved above all the sons born to him of mortal women, shall not
perish utterly without seed or sign. For now indeed has Jove hated the
blood of Priam, while Aeneas shall reign over the Trojans, he and
his children’s children that shall be born hereafter.”
  Then answered Juno, “Earth-shaker, look to this matter yourself, and
consider concerning Aeneas, whether you will save him, or suffer
him, brave though he be, to fall by the hand of Achilles son of
Peleus. For of a truth we two, I and Pallas Minerva, have sworn full
many a time before all the immortals, that never would we shield
Trojans from destruction, not even when all Troy is burning in the
flames that the Achaeans shall kindle.”
  When earth-encircling Neptune heard this he went into the battle
amid the clash of spears, and came to the place where Ac

I live on borrowed time
I waste it
I wait around for the end
I don't seek it
Why me?
Why am I alive?
I'm a scummy slimy stupid scuzzy ******
waster

The assembly now broke up and the people went their ways each to his
own ship. There they made ready their supper, and then bethought
them of the blessed boon of sleep; but Achilles still wept for
thinking of his dear comrade, and sleep, before whom all things bow,
could take no hold upon him. This way and that did he turn as he
yearned after the might and manfulness of Patroclus; he thought of all
they had done together, and all they had gone through both on the
field of battle and on the waves of the weary sea. As he dwelt on
these things he wept bitterly and lay now on his side, now on his
back, and now face downwards, till at last he rose and went out as one
distraught to wander upon the seashore. Then, when he saw dawn
breaking over beach and sea, he yoked his horses to his chariot, and
bound the body of Hector behind it that he might drag it about. Thrice
did he drag it round the tomb of the son of Menoetius, and then went
back into his tent, leaving the body on the ground full length and
with its face downwards. But Apollo would not suffer it to be
disfigured, for he pitied the man, dead though he now was; therefore
he shielded him with his golden aegis continually, that he might
take no hurt while Achilles was dragging him.
  Thus shamefully did Achilles in his fury dishonour Hector; but the
blessed gods looked down in pity from heaven, and urged Mercury,
slayer of Argus, to steal the body. All were of this mind save only
Juno, Neptune, and Jove’s grey-eyed daughter, who persisted in the
hate which they had ever borne towards Ilius with Priam and his
people; for they forgave not the wrong done them by Alexandrus in
disdaining the goddesses who came to him when he was in his
sheepyards, and preferring her who had offered him a wanton to his
ruin.
  When, therefore, the morning of the twelfth day had now come,
Phoebus Apollo spoke among the immortals saying, “You gods ought to be
ashamed of yourselves; you are cruel and hard-hearted. Did not
Hector burn you thigh-bones of heifers and of unblemished goats? And
now dare you not rescue even his dead body, for his wife to look upon,
with his mother and child, his father Priam, and his people, who would
forthwith commit him to the flames, and give him his due funeral
rites? So, then, you would all be on the side of mad Achilles, who
knows neither right nor ruth? He is like some savage lion that in
the pride of his great strength and daring springs upon men’s flocks
and gorges on them. Even so has Achilles flung aside all pity, and all
that conscience which at once so greatly banes yet greatly boons him
that will heed it. man may lose one far dearer than Achilles has lost-
a son, it may be, or a brother born from his own mother’s womb; yet
when he has mourned him and wept over him he will let him bide, for it
takes much sorrow to **** a man; whereas Achilles, now that he has
slain noble Hector, drags him behind his chariot round the tomb of his
comrade. It were better of him, and for him, that he should not do so,
for brave though he be we gods may take it ill that he should vent his
fury upon dead clay.”
  Juno spoke up in a rage. “This were well,” she cried, “O lord of the
silver bow, if you would give like honour to Hector and to Achilles;
but Hector was mortal and suckled at a woman’s breast, whereas
Achilles is the offspring of a goddess whom I myself reared and
brought up. I married her to Peleus, who is above measure dear to
the immortals; you gods came all of you to her wedding; you feasted
along with them yourself and brought your lyre—false, and fond of low
company, that you have ever been.”
  Then said Jove, “Juno, be not so bitter. Their honour shall not be
equal, but of all that dwell in Ilius, Hector was dearest to the gods,
as also to myself, for his offerings never failed me. Never was my
altar stinted of its dues, nor of the drink-offerings and savour of
sacrifice which we claim of right. I shall therefore permit the body
of mighty Hector to be stolen; and yet this may hardly be without
Achilles coming to know it, for his mother keeps night and day
beside him. Let some one of you, therefore, send Thetis to me, and I
will impart my counsel to her, namely that Achilles is to accept a
ransom from Priam, and give up the body.”
  On this Iris fleet as the wind went forth to carry his message. Down
she plunged into the dark sea midway between Samos and rocky Imbrus;
the waters hissed as they closed over her, and she sank into the
bottom as the lead at the end of an ox-horn, that is sped to carry
death to fishes. She found Thetis sitting in a great cave with the
other sea-goddesses gathered round her; there she sat in the midst
of them weeping for her noble son who was to fall far from his own
land, on the rich plains of Troy. Iris went up to her and said,
“Rise Thetis; Jove, whose counsels fail not, bids you come to him.”
And Thetis answered, “Why does the mighty god so bid me? I am in great
grief, and shrink from going in and out among the immortals. Still,
I will go, and the word that he may speak shall not be spoken in
vain.”
  The goddess took her dark veil, than which there can be no robe more
sombre, and went forth with fleet Iris leading the way before her. The
waves of the sea opened them a path, and when they reached the shore
they flew up into the heavens, where they found the all-seeing son
of Saturn with the blessed gods that live for ever assembled near him.
Minerva gave up her seat to her, and she sat down by the side of
father Jove. Juno then placed a fair golden cup in her hand, and spoke
to her in words of comfort, whereon Thetis drank and gave her back the
cup; and the sire of gods and men was the first to speak.
  “So, goddess,” said he, “for all your sorrow, and the grief that I
well know reigns ever in your heart, you have come hither to
Olympus, and I will tell you why I have sent for you. This nine days
past the immortals have been quarrelling about Achilles waster of
cities and the body of Hector. The gods would have Mercury slayer of
Argus steal the body, but in furtherance of our peace and amity
henceforward, I will concede such honour to your son as I will now
tell you. Go, then, to the host and lay these commands upon him; say
that the gods are angry with him, and that I am myself more angry than
them all, in that he keeps Hector at the ships and will not give him
up. He may thus fear me and let the body go. At the same time I will
send Iris to great Priam to bid him go to the ships of the Achaeans,
and ransom his son, taking with him such gifts for Achilles as may
give him satisfaction.
  Silver-footed Thetis did as the god had told her, and forthwith down
she darted from the topmost summits of Olympus. She went to her
son’s tents where she found him grieving bitterly, while his trusty
comrades round him were busy preparing their morning meal, for which
they had killed a great woolly sheep. His mother sat down beside him
and caressed him with her hand saying, “My son, how long will you keep
on thus grieving and making moan? You are gnawing at your own heart,
and think neither of food nor of woman’s embraces; and yet these too
were well, for you have no long time to live, and death with the
strong hand of fate are already close beside you. Now, therefore, heed
what I say, for I come as a messenger from Jove; he says that the gods
are angry with you, and himself more angry than them all, in that
you keep Hector at the ships and will not give him up. Therefore let
him go, and accept a ransom for his body.”
  And Achilles answered, “So be it. If Olympian Jove of his own motion
thus commands me, let him that brings the ransom bear the body away.”
  Thus did mother and son talk together at the ships in long discourse
with one another. Meanwhile the son of Saturn sent Iris to the
strong city of Ilius. “Go,” said he, “fleet Iris, from the mansions of
Olympus, and tell King Priam in Ilius, that he is to go to the ships
of the Achaeans and free the body of his dear son. He is to take
such gifts with him as shall give satisfaction to Achilles, and he
is to go alone, with no other Trojan, save only some honoured
servant who may drive his mules and waggon, and bring back the body of
him whom noble Achilles has slain. Let him have no thought nor fear of
death in his heart, for we will send the slayer of Argus to escort
him, and bring him within the tent of Achilles. Achilles will not ****
him nor let another do so, for he will take heed to his ways and sin
not, and he will entreat a suppliant with all honourable courtesy.”
  On this Iris, fleet as the wind, sped forth to deliver her
message. She went to Priam’s house, and found weeping and
lamentation therein. His sons were seated round their father in the
outer courtyard, and their raiment was wet with tears: the old man sat
in the midst of them with his mantle wrapped close about his body, and
his head and neck all covered with the filth which he had clutched
as he lay grovelling in the mire. His daughters and his sons’ wives
went wailing about the house, as they thought of the many and brave
men who lay dead, slain by the Argives. The messenger of Jove stood by
Priam and spoke softly to him, but fear fell upon him as she did so.
“Take heart,” she said, “Priam offspring of Dardanus, take heart and
fear not. I bring no evil tidings, but am minded well towards you. I
come as a messenger from Jove, who though he be not near, takes
thought for you and pities you. The lord of Olympus bids you go and
ransom noble Hector, and take with you such gifts as shall give
satisfaction to Achilles. You are to go alone, with no Trojan, save
only some honoured servant who may drive your mules and waggon, and
bring back to the city the body of him whom noble Achilles has
slain. You are to have no thought, nor fear of death, for Jove will
send the slayer of Argus to escort you. When he has brought you within
Achilles’ tent, Achilles will not **** you nor let another do so,
for he will take heed to his ways and sin not, and he will entreat a
suppliant with all honourable courtesy.”
  Iris went her way when she had thus spoken, and Priam told his
sons to get a mule-waggon ready, and to make the body of the waggon
fast upon the top of its bed. Then he went down into his fragrant
store-room, high-vaulted, and made of cedar-wood, where his many
treasures were kept, and he called Hecuba his wife. “Wife,” said he,
“a messenger has come to me from Olympus, and has told me to go to the
ships of the Achaeans to ransom my dear son, taking with me such gifts
as shall give satisfaction to Achilles. What think you of this matter?
for my own part I am greatly moved to pass through the of the Achaeans
and go to their ships.”
  His wife cried aloud as she heard him, and said, “Alas, what has
become of that judgement for which you have been ever famous both
among strangers and your own people? How can you venture alone to
the ships of the Achaeans, and look into the face of him who has slain
so many of your brave sons? You must have iron courage, for if the
cruel savage sees you and lays hold on you, he will know neither
respect nor pity. Let us then weep Hector from afar here in our own
house, for when I gave him birth the threads of overruling fate were
spun for him that dogs should eat his flesh far from his parents, in
the house of that terrible man on whose liver I would fain fasten
and devour it. Thus would I avenge my son, who showed no cowardice
when Achilles slew him, and thought neither of Right nor of avoiding
battle as he stood in defence of Trojan men and Trojan women.”
  Then Priam said, “I would go, do not therefore stay me nor be as a
bird of ill omen in my house, for you will not move me. Had it been
some mortal man who had sent me some prophet or priest who divines
from sacrifice—I should have deemed him false and have given him no
heed; but now I have heard the goddess and seen her face to face,
therefore I will go and her saying shall not be in vain. If it be my
fate to die at the ships of the Achaeans even so would I have it;
let Achilles slay me, if I may but first have taken my son in my
arms and mourned him to my heart’s comforting.”
  So saying he lifted the lids of his chests, and took out twelve
goodly vestments. He took also twelve cloaks of single fold, twelve
rugs, twelve fair mantles, and an equal number of shirts. He weighed
out ten talents of gold, and brought moreover two burnished tripods,
four cauldrons, and a very beautiful cup which the Thracians had given
him when he had gone to them on an embassy; it was very precious,
but he grudged not even this, so eager was he to ransom the body of
his son. Then he chased all the Trojans from the court and rebuked
them with words of anger. “Out,” he cried, “shame and disgrace to me
that you are. Have you no grief in your own homes that you are come to
plague me here? Is it a small thing, think you, that the son of Saturn
has sent this sorrow upon me, to lose the bravest of my sons? Nay, you
shall prove it in person, for now he is gone the Achaeans will have
easier work in killing you. As for me, let me go down within the house
of Hades, ere mine eyes behold the sacking and wasting of the city.”
  He drove the men away with his staff, and they went forth as the old
man sped them. Then he called to his sons, upbraiding Helenus,
Paris, noble Agathon, Pammon, Antiphonus, Polites of the loud
battle-cry, Deiphobus, Hippothous, and Dius. These nine did the old
man call near him. “Come to me at once,” he cried, “worthless sons who
do me shame; would that you had all been killed at the ships rather
than Hector. Miserable man that I am, I have had the bravest sons in
all Troy—noble Nestor, Troilus the dauntless charioteer, and Hector
who was a god among men, so that one would have thought he was son
to an immortal—yet there is not one of them left. Mars has slain them
and those of whom I am ashamed are alone left me. Liars, and light
of foot, heroes of the dance, robbers of lambs and kids from your
own people, why do you not get a waggon ready for me at once, and
put all these things upon it that I may set out on my way?”
  Thus did he speak, and they feared the rebuke of their father.
They brought out a strong mule-waggon, newly made, and set the body of
the waggon fast on its bed. They took the mule-yoke from the peg on
which it hung, a yoke of boxwood with a **** on the top of it and
rings for the reins to go through. Then they brought a yoke-band
eleven cubits long, to bind the yoke to the pole; they bound it on
at the far end of the pole, and put the ring over the upright pin
making it fast with three turns of the band on either side the ****,
and bending the thong of the yoke beneath it. This done, they
brought from the store-chamber the rich ransom that was to purchase
the body of Hector, and they set it all orderly on the waggon; then
they yoked the strong harness-mules which the Mysians had on a time
given as a goodly present to Priam; but for Priam himself they yoked
horses which the old king had bred, and kept for own use.
  Thus heedfully did Priam and his servant see to the yolking of their
cars at the palace. Then Hecuba came to them all sorrowful, with a
golden goblet of wine in her right hand, that they might make a
drink-offering before they set out. She stood in front of the horses
and said, “Take this, make a drink-offering to father Jove, and
since you are minded to go to the ships in spite of me, pray that
you may come safely back from the hands of your enemies. Pray to the
son of Saturn lord of the whirlwind, who sits on Ida and looks down
over all Troy, pray him to send his swift messenger on your right
hand, the bird of omen which is strongest and most dear to him of
all birds, that you may see it with your own eyes and trust it as
you go forth to the ships of the Danaans. If all-seeing Jove will
not send you this messenger, however set upon it you may be, I would
not have you go to the ships of the Argives.”
  And Priam answered, “Wife, I will do as you desire me; it is well to
lift hands in prayer to Jove, if so be he may have mercy upon me.”
  With this the old man bade the serving-woman

Look at the failure, stood over there,
The world his oyster, yet his hands are bare.
Indecisive till the end but confident on the out,
Should've dropped the pride, ended the doubt.

Look at the waster, dwinding away,
Long grown hair, ***** face on display.
Could've been somebody important,
Helped the world out, what a shame he decided to fall stout.

Look at the, deadbeat, crouching, still,
Isn't he brill,
Lifewaster.
Hello, Mirror.

I, Kinmgo Kaput, Lord of the Three Grand Lands
that Sink Every Time there is a Flood;
I, Lord of the Queen of The All Basins that Deliver
Rich Harvests and Rice and Lentils and that rules
the Nether Rooms in the Mansions;
I, Pharaoh and Lord of All Kingdoms
that ever existed before my Time on this Wretched Earth;
I, Lord of the Rich Lands and Lord of Wood and Metal
and Lord of a Thousand Such Designations;
I, King, Emperor, Pharaoh, Son of Heaven
and Descended of Stars;
I do solemnly swear and declare
you a Nincompoop for reading this, wasting your time idly
looking at lines not worth the space they inhabit;
You, waster of time reading lines of second-rate verse
rather than feeding the poor
or offering your hours at the House of the Wretched;
You, waster of time reading poems and verse
not worth the alphabet the language inhabits –
You, I declare a Nincompoop
and may you waste your hours in the Underworld
translating the lives of Ants into clay tablets of verse
that disappear after each line you carve;
and may you, nincompoop who wastes such time reading such empty verse,
may you so waste eternity

And thus have I spoken and thus is it recorded on this wall,
the Solemn Words (no laughing or sneering there!)
Of Kinmgo Kaput, Lord of the Three Basins
That have been left Unwashed
by the Queen who lords over Home

What failures
oh the failures of leaving home at seventeen
of living and thriving as a minority foreigner
of working and studying to post-grad levels
of maturing wonderfully and being up and decent
of loving and marrying and creating a good home
of no crime, no debts, not a drunk, not a player
of no stained reputation, no borrowing or theft
of being easy-going, nice and friendly, an all-rounder
what failures
the failure of being successful and capable in grace
the failure of doing so well a white neighbor burgled
the failure of saying that's not right, you're rotten thieves
the failure of standing up to bullying thieving mobs
the failure of being gangstalked and destroyed
the failure of being an educated professional black
the failure of being a solid, courageous, wholesome man
the failure of knowing you can't do wrong and get by
Ladies and Gentlemen
these are my failures
Its all there in black and white
its the failure of being a minority
In the british democracy of the Socialists
for it is greed to work hard and be successful
its a failure for blacks to aspire and do well when your white
neighbor is a drunken, welfare dependent waster and thief
And Blacks beware, for if you dare tell them to go change
you will be stalked, hounded, smeared, defamed, humiliated
harassed, bullied, slandered, sabotaged, and basically driven to
suicide or a breakdown
They manufacture Failures to reflect their own failures
They call it Trading Places and dish it out to 'Uppity' Blacks

i used to drink your *******
until i realized
i got the same effect
by chugging whiskey

On lecture’s desk I slowly fall asleep
And gently push my troubles out to sea,
Then head to where my dreams will earn their keep –
An island with a population me.
A sunny, shoaly Caribbean beach
With Caribbean sands and carefree waves.
A place where there’s no need to learn or teach.
Imagination drowns the deep sea caves
In this glorious inspiration land,
Absorbing up the goodness all in one,
The rest remains abandoned in the sand
As both bake slowly, softly in the sun.
But now the time has come for me to wake –
On lecture’s end my friend gives me a shake.

Who am I?
you'll never know
my skin can be as white as snow
or my face can cause a fright
with a soul as dark as night
perhaps I am a maiden fair
with a wild heart of a mare
And the most amusing part is
I can be a dude, named Chris!
The point is, you'll never see my face
On this strange and wondrous place

A leitmotif of your average smug ****, is a proverb here and there.
Spouting them off like the receptor has no care.
Their evidential naivety is blatant and almost impossible to bear.
As an audience member you can do nothing but hide your malevolence and stare.
******* in maxims that are apparently laced with benevolence and care.

You know the kind of oxygen waster I’m referring to.
The type of person that watches BBC 4 and likes tofu.
The kind that does the Financial Times So-*******-Do-Ku.

Look I’m just saying that clichés annoy me.
I’m not asking you to love me, give me a reach around or employ me.
In fact you don’t even have to enjoy me as I tell you of things that matter not.

Suture yourself hypothetically to a geographically different mind. That mind being mine, oh that maverick-esque mischievous mind of mine, looking at this from my perspective.
In my transcendental endeavours to rid the clichéd ridden world of the afore mentioned adjective.

In the opposite of anachronistic times, we might successfully, surreptitiously rid the world of moral coated rhymes.
We can do this; all it takes is a few. One of which needs to be you.
Break out from being solipsistic, even the blind, the meek, the autistic, those that besmirch the edge of coffee cups with their lipstick.
Yes, I mean you. Here is what to do…

The next time someone spouts off a cliché, punish them, make them listen to an album by “Hearsay.”
If someone says “An Apple a day keeps the doctor away.” Then simply say, Steve Jobs had thousands and the here’s the definite answer, that consumerism inducer still died of cancer.
If a woman says “When I say jump. You say how high!” Don’t even cogitate to pardon her.
If the grass is always greener on the other side – shoot your ******* gardener.  

Sometimes I think I am wasting life.
For I am too content sitting on the couch
and watching shows that make me happy.

My father regales me with tales of his childhood,
how he had to place his feet in a bucket of ice water,
just to stay awake.

My mother does not tell tales of her childhood,
but predictions after mine.
And with a voice as firm and a bond of twins,
she says ‘you will remember’.

And it scares me.
For I do not hear ‘remember’,
but regret.
And suddenly,
my past-times become my prison.

My head starts filling with questions,
every little thing psychoanalysed,
because I do want any regrets.

The show with the hero who always saves the day.
The police woman who always does what is right.
The music that always pulls me off the edge.

Gone.
Gone.
Gone.

I shall be a doctor, not a dreamer.
An accountant, not an actor.
A diplomat, not a dancer.

Part of the left wing majority.

Not a life wasting art major.

Cruel Blackness




I want to do the unpopular possibly the scary I want to face the darkness but keep from getting
Lost that is the trick a guide lost is worthless my heart is heavy and it bears the condition of

Despair but not a cheap act or idea that would suit a magic show but to dispel darkness bring
Light out of nothing let it gradually form its unquestionable life sustaining power in the secret

Place prisons that are uncanny and profound easy to enter inextricable impossible to escape
Defeat fate's death chilling breath feeds on your soul until the outer man is no more here is where

Doubt is size less who can measure or plumb its depth the shroud tolls with silent bells if there
Be walls who can tell most would give into panic the sure music of pleasure to the heart of

Darkness within the darkest robe phobia’s all manner of emotional chains are stored quietly as a
Many legged spider they approach the tolling of somber is known it works masterful deigns

That reach thoughts that turn only with ease in a demon’s mind the feign is unreal but as the
Heart is desperately wicked who shall Know it enslaves it own without number you need the

One and only component that knows no fear its price and availability and its origin a mystery it
Is not in League with and on Terms with The tremulous waster that shakes and breaks

Foundations that seemingly have no beginning or end that runs crookedly to the unknown and
Its name is Disaster but it has a master it lives in void fueled world of incomprehension but a

Child can harness its attributes innocent’s forms It out of the nothingness we need it grows
Precipitously formable you start by denouncing your own mind the end of self and you have few

Weighted steps to the door there is no terror as terrifying as dependence on an outcome that you
Have no control over to come and blunder past warning signs that are insoluble is to annihilate

Such a foolish intruder thus the darkness in the first place when your heart is filled with darkness
How do you suppose to find light or life you have chosen death and not even God can wrest it

From your hand only by coming as an Innocent child believing and by having faith all darkness
Vanishes light is contrastive giving congruence to worlds of different languages that without

Faith all is meaningless there is no Intellectual connection possible and the dead remain dead
Because only the spirit can know spiritual things love stands in the offing forever out of reach of

Those who will not put self to death that only lives for earthy while the spirit heavenly the dead
Will be removed to darkness without remedy the living spirit will flash across infinity and will

Truly be the only ones that can pass through that terrifying door and instantly be at home in
Heaven

What upset you?
That He chose Her over You?

                          No.

What upset you      is
That He will never have to chose between Her and You
Because
You
  are
   so
    Ugly
     Stupid
      Repulsive
       Annoying
        Pointless
         Worthless
          Unwanted
           Unnecessary
            Space waster
             Good for nothing
               Disgrace of humanity
That no one would every chose you
Especially not when given an option
  as amazing as Her
        
        And no one half as brilliant as
     He is would ever look at you
        twice


Him being nice to you means nothing - he is a kind person
You being there for Him means nothing - you were the only one online
Her being with Him means everything - he really likes her


So what upset you?
The fact that you're not worth so much as knowing your name,
   let alone choosing over someone
   else.

Deck of Cards.

The deck of cards tumbled,
The wind cruelly snatched them from the gamblers hand,
Twisted his hand,
In an evil twist of fate,
Stolen from the gambling man,
Ripped the Waster off,
All he ever had,
All worldly possessions gone,
His wife has given up,
For he loves the queen of hearts instead,
She teased him,
Stole all his goods and chattels,
In total disrespect,
He has nothing left,
Stole all his money all extracted with satin strings,
Satisfied casino owners greed,
It’s a racket,
Greed is fed,
While he feeds his money out,
He’s always lusting more,
Casino owner’s provocation bleeding those he caught in his deceitful web of promises,
Down at the ***** tonk bar,
Money does not go very far,
Tragic victim goes off to the bank to score another score,
For another jinxed fix,
Lady luck never loves him back,
Can’t look him in the eye,
A soul of sorrow,
Caught in a land of underground lies,
Insulting his name,
Crushing his honour,
As he kisses his money goodbye,
Yet again!
Copyright Olivia Kent 2013

I am a boiling rage inferno. So angry I had to go back over TEN TIMES to make this look 'right'. So angry my face turned red like Tinker Bell's and when someone touched me they burned themselves. I can't let the ******* anger out, I CAN'T LET IT SHOW. They will say calm down, and that's unnecessary. They'll never know how angry I am, was, and always will be. It lives inside me, ruining relations and saying things I wouldn't say. I hate it, and it makes me hate me. I wish I would ******* die. I don't want to hurt the ones I love but, that anger inside makes me lash out with harsh words, and a loud voice. So I hurt myself to punish myself. I hate my ******* self, I wish I could turn in on myself until what is impossible happens: I disappear. I want to crush these bones, and scar my skin. Please hit me with your car, and tear me limb from limb. When I beg do me no mercy, and leave me to your dogs. And when I started writing this I thought it would come out as a rage filled rant. Let me tell you something you already know, it came out as a self loathing run on sentence. But like I care, do you know me? No, and do I know you? No, and I really don't care to. **** me, *******. Especially me, because I'm not worth anything. I'm a ******* waster of space. ******* **** me please.  

Really though. All I want is a hug. And I don't want to die, I just feel like I should. I feel like I deserve to for what I've done. And I'm done, with everything, and everyone. I wouldn't mind dying, and I wouldn't mind living. I'm fine with either one. But I'm tired of dealing with all of this. And I wish I could erase everything that I didn't like and start over again. But I know that's not the way it is, and it's certainly not a good way for things to be. So I'm glad that it's not. But if only it could be like that for me.

When the walls are closing in on you
and you start to feel more than just a little blue
because you just don't know how you're going to feed them
on the crumpled limited notes in your hand
Or just how you're going to explain to them
That school might just be a time waster
because the economy is going to ***** them over anyways
and have them begging for piece jobs in the blistering sun,
Cry Mama.

Let out a high pitched wail at midnight
and let it be heard all the way from the capital
so they may be woken up from their silk- pampered sleep
Let your voice be a substitute for their conscience
let it keep them up at night.
Let your screams turn their milk sour
Let your cries make their heads ache
Let your weeping fill their tea with tears.
Like Macbeth, they murdered your sleep
So mama, let them know no sleep.

Let your sorrow be heard in your weeping
and your anger be heard in your screams.
Let your wails fly like a dove with a message
to tell them of a future they destroyed
a generation they disappointed
a land they disinherited
a nation they angered
and a mother whose heart they shattered.

the lyrics intimate, me inside recognized,
and I find it hard to believe,
not to recall my chest actual
aching from a lost love, a busted
heart,that my family physician told
me not a thing  to be done, and time
the only known cure and that was
only twenty five years,
a just short “long time ago”

but there is no such a thing as time
when the wounded heart is pierced fierce, there is no round the bend visible to tell
you, love will come again; and you’re so
cautious,  won’t trust, to open, but irony it’s
the only way to find it one mo’ time, to
give yourself up in whole, not just parts,
and you “discover” writing poetry helps,
and a new life long habit is forming that is a kind of meds that you disburse to oneself

later be
this song below, Bonnie Raitt
makes you ache with her rendition
keeping no secret she’s been there truly

used to look to ascribe fault, but learned,
t’was a time waster, more accurate, each
of us had our own fault lines, dormant,
till not, and when the lines touched and connect, it was an earthquake off the scale,
and the tremors just keep on coming

but the chest ache was so intense, close
my eyes, and relive it,  and makes me
feel kinder, more human, less angry? more forgiving cause there is no mark of Cain
on someone’s forehead to indicate that
one is suffering the aftermath, the aftershocks, of this loss, so be patient
when encountering a human who sighs
out loud often, as often as as
every breath

listen to the song, it will untie your chords,
maybe making some memories resurface,
for better as it is part of writing
only love poetry

I don't take risks, I can't
I only have enough, for today
I know what losing costs,
Coins rolling away, no moss
a gathering, this or any way.

I walk at the fringe and look in
I see in the reflection, of the mirror,
my weakness, my resolve has stress-
fractures, my life a poorly played chess
match, if only, my head were clearer.

I need fresh air, let me out, of this box
so much refuse to trip on with shoes,
feet not mine that I hide with black socks,
the only hazard is me, you best take stock
and remember don't regret what you choose.

Pass me a glass
with a splash
of red, dry plum
fruit with peppered
notes, my nose so
tainted, I would
not be a taster
but a waster of
delights, ...
well maybe not,
of all delights.

Oh you might say that all who waited
Somehow, someday, find their treasures been waiting
But I know of a girl who had a tragic in-between of a story
She thought was her end of the line but behold
Another story was set before her surprised.

She found him in her innocence
Between what supposed in the way of her - a woman and a girl -
He looked at her first, she got his heart after
But years for their ‘us’ was far ahead so they kept a promise
To wait for him was hers; to wait for her, he tried.

Their vows were broken out of a simple ‘yes’ he found
In someone else’s lips said what he thought was love
Left alone was she, and the years far ahead gone astray
Like fragile bottles only to be broken to tiny pieces
Nothing else was left but memories singing the winds have carried.

Alone she walked through life she thought was cruel
‘Why do I always have to let go those that I loved’?
She had recounted every single one of those
She had to let go, she was left with moving on
Until there was this light, enough that darkness had to say goodbye.

Light was sparkling through someone else’s eyes
Alas! It was the eyes of true love, she hoped
Hoping was the only thing she knew, well except
Of letting go, moving on, and walking away for a thousand times
But this she found was something else, something worth the wait.

Never wasting time, they winded up in each other’s arms
Like a moth captivated by the candle lit in the darkest room
Their story was like dancing to and fro, of being afraid and trying to risk
They tried to risk, but time again for them was far ahead,
They had to bid farewell of what supposed to be true love.

She dared continue walking, away from pain towards hope again
She was now more onto loving her own, life would be beautiful
If only she would like herself more than before
Contentment was key, waiting was another
But fate had something else in mind for her.

There was this man who thought life was more beautiful
In living through pain and near-death experiences
If only he could waste his very own than how he does every time
Wretched, ruined, even thrill-seeker, or just a time waster
But truth is, he is just a boy inside trying to un-made his pain.

She met a crossroad where he was lying so lonely
She was a little too hopeless,
He was trying to be a little bit hopeful
They shared a smile that was soon followed a thousands more
It was like stars shining brightly, the night sky was full.

But dear I never would know how their story would end,
The story has not ended as I am still the girl who
Has been exchanging smiles with him in our little crossroad found
Star-crossed lovers we may never be,
But at least to knit our lives at this little time was enough for me.

I think I might have broken someones heart, and I don't think I care, but she keeps calling, and it sounds like she's falling apart.

Then when I don't answer I'm left long with winded messages filled with apologies, and the pathetic pattering of her brains attempt to produce and procure the words she thinks will make me see her true worth.

Yes I know you think I hate you, you've said it a thousand times. And im aware you think you're broken, and honestly I agree. You need some help, you've gotta do it for yourself, because I can't ever love you back if you expect me to live in the hole where you fell.

the english don't know how to drink *****...
sorry...
  they don't...
  by the way?
  the english artifact of saying sorry?
it doesn't actually mean an apology...
the apology always comes too late...
but english nightclubs?
the english? they don't know how to
serve *****...
   ***** is never served on ice...
       i'm losing followers? am i?
good...
               i like my self-imposed
censorship...
    i like weeding out the soft pockets...
of people with weak
stomachs...
   for all the celebration of Darwinism?
peer into my eyes...
          if you really want to serve *****?
***** isn't whiskey isn't
red wine, served at room temp. being
allowed airing...
    mind you... funny fact...
   six cloves of garlic dumped into
a bottle of red wine, matured for 2 weeks...
3 x 25ml of the wine...
apparently curbs your appetite...
don't ask me whether that's inclusive
of a placebo effect...
               but when you're drinking
*****, proper?
   you don't add ice...
and keep it at room temp.,
          you freeze it...
   to below -10°C...
            ***** isn't whiskey!
   i know what warm **** tastes like,
i once fused red wine,
and, having ****** into the holy grail,
and subsequently drank the concoction...
    come to think of it...
******* the Vatican colored flag of
extraction into a sacrament?
  you need ***** to be served below
the freezing point of water,
given that, 0°C is a baron of quality
differentiating water from *****...
           alcohol evaporates at around
70+°C...
                        p.s. interlude:
i was never fond of the imperial rubric
of Fahrenheit and ounces, pounds,
miles, inches...
  and all that quirky "genius" of
measurements...
            mathematically?
i'm aligned with French...
         but you don't serve *****
at room temp. with ice cubes
and a mixer...
            given that ***** has a lower
boiling point,
you serve it under the "niqab" of
waster becoming ice...
so you serve it...
   as something, equivalent of
gomme syrup...
   you drink ***** that appears
syrupy...
                   like any single malt
puritan when it comes to whiskey?
there are ***** puritans out there...
you don't drink ***** lukewarm,
or slightly chilled...
you drink it at a temp. of
a gomme syrup...

liquid -20°C...
         thick...
                with all the alcohol poisoning
bacterium dead...
                appearing
     excessively sugary,
but not really...

           night clubs that serve
***** not stashed in refrigerators
like butcher's meat?
            don't drink the *****
in those places...
   if it doesn't have the smoothness
of a gomme syrup?
sliding down your throat
like a mollusk on amphetamines?

the epitome:
*****... and orange juice?!
you ******* me or opening
a ******* parachute while
stranded to the the ******* ground?

You know there's always that one person - who no matter how hard you try,
Not to, can so easily bring tears to your eye.
That same person who normally dries your tears and helps confront your fears, now how it hurts to know their arrow sears
Right through your heart
Though you're  faulty from the very start.
Conscience isn't the one to blame,
Digging up the past, and building the shame.
But questioning thin ice, knowing the answer,
Intimidating whilst fully aware...like the effect of a cancer.
Rage and fury building up inside,
Exploding, stating with nothing to hide.
The incentive, the issue, the vibe given off,
Having my breath caught in throat with a splutter and cough.
The mere poison - attacking my brain, who knew simple words could cause so much pain?
However, they can't  be retrieved from where they've been lain.
The message, so clearly set in stone,
Made me instantly press delete on the phone.
So I'm a liar, user, waster
It's gone way too far from a taster.
And now I've been hated, resented and cast aside,
You're no longer there for me in which to confide,
Now you have chosen Your side....just because I might've lied.

23:41   11/4/13

There is nobody there for you, and now, there never will be. I don’t have a goodbye for you. I tried to find one, I searched really hard, but shifting through the **** made me sick. I’m well again now. I don’t have anything for you. Once I had everything. All my words were wonders and they leapt out of the sun, smiling, but you shot them down with a blood-encrusted gun. They flopped around mewling, trying to hide behind injured wings, as you sought them out and stepped on them, laughing. Dream-cruncher, word-waster, selling your sad, sick song. You specialize in nasty tastes, brutal boy, and you won’t care. Narcissist. Ego King. I don’t think you have ever loved. You would love this poem.

When I met you, I was unaware of what I was getting myself into.
You had always been just a point on a map,
eyes I have seen in the past.
Now, you are so much more.

You are chain-smoking menthols at midnight.
You are gripping of fingers and name calling.
You are lists of movies to watch and songs to listen to.
You are stolen sweaters and beanies,
beach trips to see your parents,
shots of ***** and Halloween Sweetarts.

As my breath rose in my chest,
you held me close and told me you weren’t going anywhere.
I can only hope you meant it because when I look at you,
I feel a whole new panic attack rising and it is
not because I am scared but
because all I want to do is kiss you
and remember what it is like to be alive.

My shower feels empty
without you pressing me up against the tiles.
I can’t kneel with the water dripping down my face
without thinking of the chance I got to look up at you
with droplets gathering on my eyelashes.
My bed is an insincere hug from a stranger
when you aren’t holding me to your chest and
tangling your legs in the sheets.

We are sitting next to each other
in a room full of people we call our friends
and you see all of them.
and even though our bodies are pressed together
you don’t see me.
I can only think you are trying to forget my features
in  hopes that I won’t be stuck in your mind.

And now you say we need to slow down
like these past two weeks of
gasping breaths and shaking hands resting on sweaty faces
never meant a thing to you.
Like sharing cigarettes and secrets
past midnight on my balcony
was just something you did with all the others.

Slowing down feels more like an excuse
for not being able to understand
where this began and how it will end.
I don’t care to know.
I only want to do this until it kills me
because your eyes save my life
every single time
so I know I will live forever.

I keep hoping you’ll walk through those doors
and hold onto me the way you did when I mattered more
than just a time waster and one worded text messages.
Than calling off dates and pretending like there isn’t something between us.

Tell all your friends
that you don’t look at me as if I grabbed the moon
and handed her to you.
That you didn’t feel something much bigger than both of us
when I leaned against you
and smiled as if nothing could hurt me.

Maybe, I am just another Icarus,
flying too close to the sun but
I’ll let it destroy my wings
if that means I can get a chance to feel
the warmth on my skin
for just a second more.

I am just a name, a number in the files, another hopeless dreamer, a ****** guitarist, a time waster, procrastinator, another beating heart, a music lover, punk rocker, another corrupted by rock. I am just another face fighting through the crowd, a confused teen, a homebound fighter, another gear in a broken clock.
                     I am a lover and a hater.
Who am I?
                     Who am I to judge?
Who am I to say what's right and what's wrong? Who am I to love? Who am I to hate? Who am I to live without actually living? Who am I to define what's music and what's not?

Who am I to believe,
who I am is truly who I am?

                I am not just
             a name or
         a number in
      that box of files.

I am me and you are you...

I am a music ****** so I finish with...

"Death inspires me, like a dog inspires a rabbit"
~ Tyler Joseph |-/

Fall in love with the way
air encases you in this embrace
of "I'll keep you alive".
Fall in love with the way
nicotine stains your tongue
Fall in love with the way
alcohol makes you numb.
Fallin love with the way
that you have to risk
everything to be happy.
Because if you aren't
on the verge of death, you
don't fall in love.
If You aren't on the
verge of death, you
don't feel alive.
If you don't see
"the light" you feel
like you're blind.

Fall in love with
heart break.
Fall in love with
your rumbling stomach
fallin love with
thunder clouds.
Fall in love with
danger and heart
attacks, fall in love
with pain.

Fall in love with the
way you waster your
sanity for the sake
of living.
Fall in love with
the wind.
Fall in love
with the grass.
Fall in love with
the sun,
and the snow.
Fall in love with
a terrible artist
fall in love with
a terrible person
and fall in love
with the way
their love burns.
Fall in love with
the way everything
is awkward
and nothing makes
sense.
Fall in love with
stupidity fall in
love with intelligence.
Fall in love with
the things you
hate.
Fall in love with
really stupid sappy
poems that writes
block has written.
Fall in
love with this poem.