The worlds a mess I tell ya, It’s going down the drain.
Everything is crazy, everyone’s insane.
Women told their bodies aren’t theirs to make a choice.
And messed up politicians who won’t listen to our voice.
The planets close to dying there’s plastic in the seas.
Cruelty and hatred brings me to my knees.
Fools with guns and hate crimes, walking hand in hand.
Decent folk are petrified all across the land.
Now I don’t have the answers, I’ve only got my prayer.
That there are many more of us, those of us who care.

I told her not to meddle with things
that you're not relevant anymore (when it's not yours anymore).

There she is, free and fully alive
and getting under my skin. I heard the same story from a different scenario, from a different girl— I guess it just revolves around, like a folklore, that casts an eerie shadow in the forest, that creeps in the cabins, that makes your skin crawl during a conversation in front of a fireplace.

Love was pure, until it gets you mad
she makes me furious, she's the whole carnival of a grotesque memory, an embodiment of regret and persiflage comparison, a harlot dances under the moonlight luring for a tryst, who wanted to build a so called 'home' when her body is on fire, burning in the pits of hell.
She's crawling, she comes back, and I know where to find her, even if she hides like a burglar, she makes a perfect storm and she knows what's to come.

I told her not to meddle with things that are mine, like her last remains left rotten in the cabins where the stories kept hidden, buried and every piece will remain unknown.

The blood that is dripping from my
Hands
My own
the blood that is dripping signifies
The pain that I went through
The pain In life
The dangers of love and loss
The fact that we shed our own blood
Stick our neck out for people who really  don’t give a **** about us
Like I said the blood dripping from my hands
My own
From my own stupidity
Of doing the stupid **** I pulled over
The years
When will I learn.

Optimo, they say in Pahree,
of course, you knew,

fine is just fine for the unworldly.

For such as inhabit my spirit realm,
nothing but the best of days remain.

Madness, as a pastime,
suffices as artificial, made artwise,
too beautiful for any common sense…

ah, yet, on such a day, we may
agree we find time expands,
at a glance from those
makers
of perfect sense
from pastence, old lines
yes, optimo, fine lines
the best, in fact
oh,
some time ago, when all were mad as I.

---------------
While watching Hepburn
as the Mad Woman of Chaillot,
because, voila, I sought a forgotten line, from when,
as a boy of seventeen, I played Yul Brenner's role,
while then, my best friend,
some while dead, now,
had the role Danny Kaye plays
in the movie, I never watched
until today.

But, why,
of course, your curiosity is piqued, perhaps

the perfect point,
what we reexperience
is richer than just fine, it must be truly optimo
to meet criteria of old age mere satisfaction,

whereby we call all our ghosts
to laugh once more, exactly as before.

Of course with somewhat greater effect.
Assuming you know what I mean,
those Jungian types are quite alive… the greedy,

the payers of tribute
to Trump and his ilk selling
Israel fine American genocide tech.

this feeling of
upset,
frustrated,
sad,
misunderstood,
mad --
just makes me want
to rip my hair out of my head
and punch something.

knowing i full well
do not have the strength
to do
either.

i would break my knuckles
punching something,
and hurt my hands trying to
pull all my hair out.

im too weak.
that's what this was all about anyway,
im mad because im weak,
im sad because im too quiet,
im frustrated because no one hears me!
no one truly understands
my brain
and that will never change
no matter what i do.

no one but me is in here.

i feel things loudly,
and it feels like
im being swallowed
by multiple intense
feelings
all at
once.

and it's just too much,
for one girl.
one brain.
one heart.
one voice.

it makes me want to yank my hair out
and punch something
until my knuckles are red and ******.

So your sitting there talking on the phone
but in your statement your standing all alone

You can’t play the game of a one time mistake
you’ve done it before, so we know it’s all fake

A defense against an attack never made
you were the one who started the charade

To pin the blame on those that you hurt
put all those around on heightened alert

A stalker, a hater, a bully and the like
the names you called, putting a friendship on strike

But it never seems to be that you think it through
cuz every single one only applied to you