It feels like tar on my tongue,
My mouth is dry and my throat burns-
Horrifying twists as my stomach churns.
Those words still come easy,
But my voicebox is chained and has to force them out.
Why do I let them out?
Those simple words will stay with me,
Floating about and polluting all I see
The memory of them rest easy,
Reminding me how bad I am.
I used to enjoy it,
Felt them to be necessary,
Natural,
Powerful,
And expressive.
But now their taste is bitter,
They are sickening and distasteful.
They offend me.
They whip at my ears and stab at my heart.
They are degrading.
I’ll sound like a hypocrite
I’ll sound entirely fake.
They are only words
But oh how they are foul.
I enjoy the taste of tar,
As it makes me unhappy to speak them.
I enjoy how it peels my skin,
As I do not want to be near them.
I adore how it destroys me,
Because it is that
Which builds me up.

said Big Mouth one day to Sharp Nose:
You know what?
You should stop poking your nose
into everyone’s business!
and said Sharp Tongue to Big Mouth:
Look, who’s talking!

Oh, you two are a perfect pair!
said Busy Ears to Big Mouth and Sharp Nose…

And who listens to all the gossip?
said Bright Eyes, without batting an Eyelid

And Moon Face laughed at **** Face
and Blue Eyes winked at Donkey Ears
and ******* said to Double Chin:
You’re getting old!
and Pretty Face said:
I hate talking about age!

and Nose said: Life stinks!
and Mouth said:Life *****!
and Tongue said: Life’s stale!
and Teeth said:
No, life’s like curry meat –
you want to sink your teeth into it!
and said Air Head:
never have so few
in one small region
contributed so much
to the Universal Body of Philosophy!

And Hot Head burst out:
If you guys don’t shut up
I’ll get Razor Teeth to bite Red Tongue
and Brain will be pierced with pain
and Eyes will tear and Nose will run -
and so shut up, everyone!

Then – sssshh! - there was poker face silence…

Rows of red, and blue and green,
Confectionary ordered pointlesly,
Only to fall, one by one,

Or all the large to the left,
and the small stacked up.

Coins in stacks of one pound,
Unless it's pennies, Then in stacks of ten.

Books piled, large at the bottom, towering up,
Pens lie in rows,
Invisible borders prevent touching,

Keys too untidy, remove from ring, arrange in circles,
Food cut into bites, counted and ordered,

Fridge ordered by food group,
Or colour,
Depending on the day,

Lighters in rows, standing tall,
Zippos together,
Clippers and disposables,
Flints in a pile,
Wicks in the little paper sleeve.

Fuse wire in the little round tin,
The one she gave me,
The one that opens with a POP.

Would you say my words express possible realities
Resulting in different mentalities ?

Or

Are they just written/verbal fallacies
Resulting in abnormalities of letters and words hoping to avoid any literary casualties?

How about both

Sadly, here you can only read it,
So you don't hear it, you just see it, but it's something I'd love for your ears to meet with


Nothing really can compete
With vocal manipulation of speech or how certain pronunciations can proceed

Living through a zub-zero temperature year is what it took for me to be able to reel in my minds cable and see clear
Avoiding a fatal crash I quickly grabbed the wheel to steer
Away from hitting a metaphorical deer

It's not a black cloud that hovers above me
It's god and the devil playing rugby
Every time I try to watch they just stare back and mean mug me

Two opposing forces going head to head?
More like a sorcerer and a sorceress sharing a bed

How many times can a bee sting if it's already stung?
None, it has a single stinger that's the only one
After that, the songs been sung and that bees life is done...

An answer to a question avoiding any deception just so you can understand the expression and find your own reflection

-J.A.M

Oh, my beloved, have you thought of this:
How in the years to come unscrupulous Time,
More cruel than Death, will tear you from my kiss,
And make you old, and leave me in my prime?
How you and I, who scale together yet
A little while the sweet, immortal height
No pilgrim may remember or forget,
As sure as the world turns, some granite night
Shall lie awake and know the gracious flame
Gone out forever on the mutual stone;
And call to mind that on the day you came
I was a child, and you a hero grown?—
And the night pass, and the strange morning break
Upon our anguish for each other’s sake!

it is the color of a misty morning,
when the world is silent and
the dawn has yet to blot the last stars out of the sky.
it is the feeling of frost on your windowsill
but warmth in your bed.
you shut your eyes,
determined to keep the imminent sun at bay.

it is the color of dreams chased away
but consciousness yet to be attained.
of time standing still,
of a breath waiting to be exhaled.

this color is
calmness
contentment
quiet.
the shade of a prayer before bed and
a sigh upon waking;

the shade of peace.

adversely,
it is also the color of the clutches of loneliness,
of the weight of sadness.
it is the color of somebody's world crumbling apart
but with nobody to bear witness to their silent pain.

this color is one of falling, of screaming, of drowning--
but with nowhere to land
and no one to hear
and nothing to hold.

this color often associates with death.

it is the color of lips and veins
when the heart stops beating;
the color or cold and
the color of tears.

but always remember
that it is above all the color of beginning.
of the sea
and sky
and eternity.

it is an infinite color.

it is not the color of goodbye.