ITS EITHER :

i am a self centered *****
or they are too good at pitch

i am going crazy in this sinking ship
or they are seemingly decent lunatics

i am unable to convey whatever i say
or they lack comprehension , message delay.

ITS EITHER SOLO TIPTOE OR PUBLIC TALK SHOW
CAN'T BE BOTH, IS IT THOUGH?

PERHAPS,
IT COULD BE EITHER OR BOTH
PREVIOUS IS SOMETHING  I  LOATHE
BUT LATTER NEGATE POSSIBLE OUTGROWTH.

so i glued myself dreading the worst
with unwilling nerve to scratch the crust
this mystery could be blessing or curse.

this constant feeling of  inevitable doom
consumes me but they know, i assume.

so here i am
In this pickled fiasco staying afloat.
with toneless stern face they gloat.

they talk tall and taller
i feel small and smaller.

Why is it so hard
To say
Im not okay
I beg everyday for someone to ask if im okay
Becuase im not
I can spill my thoughts out of my gaping mouth
And it would feel so nice
But
When im asked if im okay
I say
“Yes. im just a little tired”
And i am
Tired of a locked door.

We drove together
Your hand in mine
Until we came upon
An abrupt stop sign

You left forever
And without you here
I felt so empty
My life was tears

I brushed them away
I started to look
You couldn’t be found
On any path I took

It’s all dead ends
So I cry over and over again.

Every single one is different
I doubt it
So many of them
Highly improbable
Snowflakes lie.

My dream is
A house i’ll never see again
As a person i’ll never be again
And with someone who won’t talk to me again

A Gang of Guns was walking down the street
Looking for trouble, Someone to defeat.
The Guns saw a man who looked very loaded.  
One Gun shot him in the head. He was goaded.

"Please don't shoot me Gun. " the man had pleaded.
"I have a wife and kids. I am needed!"
"Dude" said the Gun when he found no money.
"You are a real loser. Ain't it funny?"

Got to get the Guns off the street.
Too many people dying, blown off their feet.

Note.  
2016— 781 killed
2017— 664 killed
2018 —555 killed.  CPD
2019 -- 498 killed
2020 -- 772 killed
2021 -- 797 killed
2022 -- 695 killed
2023 --

Those who pull the triggers.
Need an appointment with the diggers.

So you like to listen with ears that gander..
To the miraculous sound dance upon the veranda
Through a ferocious pound of advanced verbal stamina
Banging out precocious power like political propaganda
Whilst Sanding down atrocious Towers of satirical working man hours
Miles of hanging around with flowers that gave us powers and led us to pipeline dreams
We thought we was Mario and Luigi it seems...
Cross pollination from a hybrid nation
Brought up on Nintendos and playstations
To then sort out endo and thc equations
Buttercups and Daisy chains utter such hazy frames for stutter much wavy brains that pucker up for glazey games...
A beautiful mistress coming with cuticle dizziness can be fruitful in optical misgiving ness
Goddess awareness was always the fairest nest
yet the one I always invest in is high hats and snares
Always there to ingest a rhymes saps and wears
More playful than a caress of sly ******* stares...
Apples and peaches of bums with succulent pears
Meet battle sound features on drums of reluctant fears
Whilst Cattle bound Creatures hum decedent sneers
And Snapple drowned preachers hear irrelevant prayers

Bionic biopics from ironic orifices
Leave subsonic tonics drawn for moronic sonnets...iconic comics form sardonic harmonics for all the polyphonics with bees in their bonnets
As the Flutterbuys scuttle buy you and I as I utter why do the good girls always make me cry
Yet the bad girls get me high
As they wind and grind
with nature's sweet sunset vibes
it's always a pleasure I treasure to take this fair weather  ride
Whereas the good girls just make me sigh and I wonder why I cry when they say goodbye
maybe good isn't something for the likes of you and I
these are the wonders of why try in an age of Wi-Fi
So we'll stick to our fly by drive by guise of rampage rides through each other's insides..

So come and gather at the miraculous sound dance on the veranda
Go run and gather up haphazardous fondants for a poetic stanza
The sun can hammer us with glamorous fragments for a consciousness Bonanza


A break in the pores is a take from the draws  as something is coming to you from a cause
A screed and a scrape off the times the mind's been in need of a gauze
From the marks she adores from her kitty cat claws
From crimes that hear a applause for the kind of sports only a blind horse could  report
So Don't be mortified or horrified for being glorified through a poet's eyes
it means you've fortified the tortured side of a fantasist sky
which is now where you lie as it's hard to deny you've been immortalized….
  Ooh yes see..that is your prize