Hello my star-crossed lover
I’ve wondered how you’ve been
I can’t stop thinking of you,
You were my best friend.

I hate, I had to do it
It was my only way
To see what else is out there
To find myself someday.

Hello my star-crossed lover
I think of you too much
I can’t help but want you
Within my grasping clutch.

I hate, I had to do it
To let you go away
You were so much to me,
I had to find my way.

So here we go again,
From hello to goodbye
I don’t want to see you go
To let our time go by.

I know it’s got to happen,
That will be here someday
And wonder where it all went
If it was worth the pain?

Hello my star-crossed lover
I’m here to tell you what,
I’ve never once forgotten
Your very precious touch.

How I’d love to tell you
That“I have found my way”
but that’s not happening
No, not today.

So I’ll see you someday
On the horizon
With the sun glowing
Brining hope again.
-ALC November 22, 2016

Cindy Prine's bee buzz ringtone ripped her from
her deathlike slumber,
"Hello. Oh, hey Mom. What? Yeah, I'll be in tonight.
I agree...no, no I won't be brining Mattie. The Wilks
have her. They are wonderful with her. I love you too.
No, it'll probably sevenish. Not seven. Sevenish."

The Candy Corn Suite reeked of ****** fallout.
Sheets still wet and sticky with sweat.
The checkered floor covered in beer and discarded condoms.

Her ******* ached.
Most of the men had been awkward,
frightened, and easy to finish.
Hank, the porky 'friend of a friend', however,
had been brutal.
By the time he had finished,
her *** turned a light purple,
her back covered in spittle;
her scalp felt barely intact.

Cindy smelled pancakes and went downstairs.
"Good morning, darling. You want some hotcakes
and coffee?"

"Sure, Mama."

In the lobby, the Children's Funhouse looked like a ****** continental breakfast. Patrons from the night before and the workers
often sat side-by-side for what surely can lay claim to the
worst breakfast environment in the history of mankind.

"Will I have the pleasure of your company for a while, this time?"

"I'm afraid not. I need some time away from everything."

"Everything?"

"Todd, the baby, it's just depressing.
I'm twenty-*******-years-old, ya' know?
I did not sign up for domestication."

"Right on. Hell, neither did I," Chung-Ae Phun laughed
and curtsied, "So, where you going Cindy Lilly?"

"Back to my mom's for a bit."

"Are you two close?"

"Um, she is a brilliant woman.
We've never been able to talk,
but I guess you could say
I respect her."

"Fair enough. Cream or sugar?"

"No, thanks."

"How was Hank last night?"

"Oh, God, that ****! He--"

"What about my ****?" Hank blurted with a sinister, crinkled edge of lip.

"Oh, I'm so sorry! I had no idea you were still here!"

"Why the **** should that matter," he snarled grabbing her tiny left arm.

"Hank, leave her alone," Madame Phun said sternly.

"She's just a little *****, Chung-baby."

"Hank, you need to leave."

"**** that. Not after the money I wasted on last night.
You promised me she was top rate.
I want my money back."

"Hank. This is not some fast-food joint,
where you come back to the counter
and ***** after you've eaten your burger!
Judging by the panting, sweaty mess you were
last night, she did just fine."

Cindy Prine reached for the intersection of her *** crack and belt line,
wrapped her trembling fingers around the hammer.

"Well, then I think I deserve another one on the house.
Can we make that compromise?"

"This isn't ******* Craig's List either, Hank. Get out!"

"I want another lay with this Lilly broad."

"Absolutely NOT--"

Cindy interrupted, "No, no it's okay, Mama."
Hank grinned, his gut seemed grow, the
hair around his arms spread like vines.
"Is it okay if we do it in your truck?
My room is an absolute mess."

"Fine by me. How I usually do it, anyway."

Hank opened the door for Cindy, in faux chivalry,
then proceeded to his side.
The cab felt like hell, and the metallic seatbelt burnt Cindy's skin.
"Where should we start?" Hank asked staring at Cindy's chest.

"How about you just relax for a second."
Cindy rubbed his crotch firmly, Hank closed his lids
and sunk into his chair, as he let out the first sigh,
Cindy snatched the hammer with her right hand and
quickly struck him
one-
two-
three
times.

Hank's skull sprung a leak. Blood spewed onto the dashboard.
Cindy shoved him to his side, snagged his wallet,
and proceeded
to crack three or four of his ribs.

I.
Most days I’m great,
I’m pretty average looking but I’ve got a personality
That’s much bigger than my physical body
I’m goofy more than I’m serious
And I procrastinate more than I should
Most people call me the energizer bunny;
Always running around brining energy and smiles
Most days, that’s me.
Just your average normal person;
Not every day is perfect…
There are good days,
                      bad days,
                             better days,
                                  worse days &
                                         worser than worst
                                                          ­           d
                                                                        a
                                                     ­                      y
                                                        ­                       s


II.
How can a day be so bad that you make up your own version of “worse” you ask?
Well those days go something like this:
The air is heavy,
My senses are heightened
I can feel every droplet on my back
My lungs are tight, but not quite tight enough to be suffocating
My throat is dry, I can’t tell if I’m burning hot or freezing cold.
I get dressed, I go about my day.
There are good things.
There are bad things.
The bad things always stick on these kinds of days.
Inevitably, I can feel my anxiety begin to grow
It begins burning in my chest first,
I can feel the toxic attitude begin to bubble beneath my skin
Destroying everything inside
I am painted red with an unexplainable anger and rage
I sit alone, until my anger devours itself feeding on its toxic irrational thoughts


III.
This is when it happens, the (worser than worst)
It’s always when I let myself let go of the anger,
When my voice resumes its normal tone and pitch,
When my breathing is in sync with my heart,
And my once raging and thrashing thoughts
Begin to quiet and wind themselves down
It’s always when things start to feel okay again
Then it happens.
I’m walking in a crowded subway station
Hundreds of voices around me, yet they all drown out each other
Until a loud one breaks through the rhythmic hum of a busy commuter city
My body responds automatically searching for the noise
I see her in the distance,
Dressed in all black
For how cold it is, she’s not wearing nearly enough
She’s old.
Her face tells stories
Through the hard-pressed lines and crevices of her weather-beaten skin,
Her skin shows it all,
A Face that has laughed, cried, and experienced
Her eyes are glazed over
Chills run down my spine so suddenly I’m almost startled
It’s the eyes,
It’s always the eyes, they always trigger me
I can feel you in the atmosphere
Pressing your cold pale lips to my ear and whispering
“You couldn’t save me”
“You’re forgetting me”
“I won’t let you forget me”
I stand motionless trying to will my body to move
It doesn’t.
I watch the woman for a bit longer
Lost in her own world, eyes glazed over and lost
I feel sorry for her and then I feel it
Like all the muscles inside of me are suddenly limp and weak
With all my effort I push my feet off the ground
So, focused I don’t notice the tears streaming down my cheeks
I walk away in disappointment
I do what I do best,
I leave
And as I do, I hold my breath
And count
I count until the numbers feel right
And until I force myself to forget your presence
And the lingering guilt that still takes root
In the void you left behind.

IV.
Most days I’m great,
Just your average normal person,
Most days are easy enough to get through,

It’s the few days,
The ones spread so thin throughout the year
The days that remind me
That eyes are truly gateways into other places
It’s those days
That being to engulf the great days
Beneath its roots of your memory
And I am reminded that after all of these years,
If you can manage to keep resurrecting yourself
Through the people still on this planet
Than my words, will once again resurrect with you.
For you.

i remember meeting you in the back of house, where your words were loose and wild. i was brining some guests plates in that needed to be cleaned after their meal. i got to talking with some coworker about some
******* coworkers talk about, probably complaining about some old lady who wanted truffle fries and only got regular fries. you had to chime in when there was a cadence with some ******* comment to display your manliness and status amongst your kitchen staff. that game always seemed counterproductive to me. you pinned me for someone i wasn't. i did the same to you. somehow along the way, between all your lewd remarks, we became friends. i believe it  began over our affinity for the Buffalo Bills. You said you liked them because they were the underdogs and you hated the Miami Dolphins. I told you they were my hometown team and you said "no ****. get the **** outa here. You're from Buffalo?" the way you said it lead me to assume you were from New York. You told me you were from upstate and missed it. I told you how much time my family spent up there in the summers, doing outdoorsy things. burning fires, drinking beer underage, walking barefoot through the forrest. we bonded. we learned a lot more about each other. you were divorced and knew that you could never love another woman as much as you loved your ex. she gave you two beautiful kids. she also took 3/4 of you paycheck and left you for broke. the rest you drank away with me when our shifts were over. you told me about your drug habits, and i told you about mine. i told you about my childhood and you said you were sorry. i helped you drive your kids to school when your ex wife was too busy. we got drunk and shot so much ****. there was a chip on your shoulder. there was a chip on mine too. i got to see you cry when i accused you of using again. i think you knew what i said was true. i came down on you hard because i had just lost two jobs, a girlfriend i thought would have my children, and someone that lived in your apartment complex crashed into my brand new car while i was waiting on you. we were on the way to get your kids from school. you knew i meant well but i could see the guilt in your eyes. i helped you with your kids a handful of times after that. we would get breakfast after and talk about work and women. after work we'd get ****** and eat at some small Mexican stand in 90 degree weather. i fell asleep at the wheel and totaled my car some time later. shortly after i left for tour and then you died. some secrets you take to the grave. thank you.

To Love You Is To Wake Up Every Morning
And Feel The Burden Of Emptiness
Watching An Void Linen Field
Empty Since The Beginning Of Time

To Love You Is To Close My Dark Wings
Upon The Emptiness Of Space
Listening To Mute Echo Of The Soul
Shouting To The Deaf Surrounding Darkness

To Love You Is To Fill Two Cups
With The Finest Black Nectar
Degusting The Bitter Fluid From the First
Imagining A  Lipstick Mark fading on The Second

To Love You Is To Go On Day By Day
Learning To Forsake The Oppressive Present
Hoping The Gods Will Take Pity On The Resilience
Making Each Day A Footstep Brining You Closer

To Love You Is To Come In An Empty Home
Silently Opening The Door Of The Tomb
Being Afraid Of Re Discovering
The Loneliness Of Solitude

To Love You Is To Assume A Myst Form
Flying Across The Entangling Realms
To Finally Reach A Sanctuary Of Peace
Where I can Wrap You In A Comforting Haze

To Love You Is To Light Up Dancing Flames
A Seeing You Smiling At Them
Elemental Creatures Tangling In Joy
Pale Reflection Of A Past Long Gone

To Love You Is To Re Corporate
The Decaying Envelop Of My Existence
Hanging On The Frail Hope
That You Felt My Eternal Love

To Love You Is To Finally Accept Morpheus Call
Which Will allow Me To Survive To the Next Dawn
Dreaming That A Unforeseen Event
Will Forever Break The Infernal Cycle Of Separation

Warlock 12/2012

I turn and look at you
And I speak my peace, urging you to leave all you secondary notions at the door
Patiently waiting at the turn style for some one who I know will never show up
Because he is already here
He is me
He is everyone
A genius

Another futuristic constructuralist
Studying equations
Where the answers lies in eternal joy
The difficulty to burn and the ease to understand

Only separated by patience and time
Overthrown and renewed
Refurbished
Barking dogs crafted from jade kissing your palms, bursting through parlor doors smoking on a long stemmed pipe
Writing in blood with a raven-wood quill

And a distraught agonizing yelp echoes in the library
Denouncing the existence of love
Brining what is mistaken as such to surface
Gain, satisfaction, self esteem and companionship
Love is up for redefinition

Bargains and betrayal
Vacations in plains never explored
Taking trains filled with ridiculous faces
Stark raving madness with clarity
Disapproval of sonnets of old that now in the new age are no longer suitable for the forward thinking minds
Necessary brashness
Eminent affection
Everlasting adoration of the suns embrace

I give her my jacket knowing when she’s gone
It will still smell like her hugs

Putting my arm around her shoulders is more honest
Than when I raise my arm to the square

I don’t know where she is going in life
But I wouldn’t mind if it were the same place I was

The wind blows silently when she is speaking
Because even the flowers want to listen

If her smile were a disease, I would gladly infect myself
Especially if there were no vaccine

My chest is an air mattress when her head rests against it
I don’t mind when it deflates, brining her a little closer

Even in the winter I can smell fresh-cut grass
And it brings back memories I wish she were a part of

If I were made of mirror, when she looked at me
She might understand why I stare

A drawing on paper meant for
the skin, a picture brought to life
in colour. Inked on the flesh a
meaning of words, that means
something special to that someone
about something.

In black and white shaded in parts
colours brining a drawing to life on
naked skin.

Ink of the artist a needle instead of
the pen, etched in to the skin a drawing
takes shape shaded beauty the skin a
canvas only the person picks the part
for the artist to fill in.

Each a unique moment now frozen,
ink on the body an art form on the
parts chosen for a new journey to begin.

Now there for the rest of there life,
never to fade a reminder of the artist
and the ink he or she put in.

the only word to truly describe me. the most perfect representation of who i am. on the outside i look like a human with regulating emotions but on the inside i am nothing but a ball of numbness.

any feeling of happiness, excitement, sadness or anger vanishes almost as quick as it appears. the only one who truly stays is numb. my best friend.

this saddened numbness plagues my mind like an infestation, she built a home and refuses to leave without a fight. a fight i have tried to win many of times yet always lose no matter the battle strategy or number of soldiers.

my army is no match for numb. numb fights on her own as her mere presence is enough to obliterate me on the battlefield that is my mind.

i say she is my best friend but i do not like her. she tricks me into keeping her around by brining comfort along with her. comfort and numb don’t mix well. numb has also tricked comfort.

i don’t know what else to do. gather more soldiers or let numb invade.

There are hallways
and there are rooms.
Roads connecting to homes.
Paths leading to villages.

Vacant spaces brining me to nowhere.

Veins are lines on a map,
we are more than just bodies.
We are unfolded pieces of paper
creased in the corners with relevant urge.
With crests and valleys composed of experiences
and dreams
and adventure.

I have yet to unfold.

Doors whisper,
they invite you in.
So many locks and keys
and treasure chests full of passion
of determination
of unwavering will.

I’m locked and no key has ever fit.

Footsteps are history in the making.
Artifacts.
Proof of the reason you stayed;
the reason you left.
The carved sand along the shore
making you wonder if they are running away
or going home.

I turn to only find my shadow.

Maps full
of all these hallways and rooms
and reasons
and unopened treasure chests.
Missing keys and ghostly whispers
before every door
and I begin to wonder
whether or not I was begging please
to the slurring headlights down the midnight road
or to somebody who could save me.

At last the summer sun had disappeared, brining darkness.
The rats could sense excitement in the air amongst the cold hearts,
Rushing to their hiding place under the sewers for safety.
Moving beyond the shadows for the first time in hours
Soothed the stressed feeder, breathing in the cool air.
A different smell lingered in the air this night, a sweeter smell,
One of roses and blood; the next feast for his parched lips.
Silently he strode, out into the night-time fever,
Prowling amidst his prey, seeking the weakest out.
At last he spots her, walking under a empty streetlight,
Swaying with the flow of the blood round her veins.
The tight red corset brought forth the lustful hunger within him,
Threading its evil through the darkness of his black, bloodless soul.
One swift movement brought him into her grasp, clutching at her,
Embracing the warmth of the living kind, chocking her lifeless.
The piercing knifes sliced the bloodstream; flowed freely out,
Into the dying human, cursed forever to be the nightmare.
A shout is heard. Turning, quickly fleeing, he fly’s of into the dark,
Leaving the body to fall under the red moonlight

Uniluminated room,
Unsure of my surroundings,
Faint white light deliberatly creeping forth brining life to atmospheric tranquility as I begin to release the fear of my unknown and feel safe.
Growing conscious of hands slowly beginning to cradle my waist
I don't have to turn around to know it's you.
We stay like this for a moment just breathing until the silence is broken by very distant music.
"You came", you say, pulling me close.
Smirking to myself I reply with "You didn't think I would?", i can tell you sense the implication of a joke within my voice.
Quickly I find myself spinning around to face you as you twirl me ever so delicately.
"Hello Sweetie", I breathe.
Our movements while minimal, were perfectly timed with our slowly beating hearts.
Music creeped through the distance finally reaching and joining us as we swayed.
At first I couldn't recognize the song playing background noise to our little two-step.
Suddenly as a flash of a mempory, it dawned on me, the soundtrack was our life.
Through distance, through impossibility.
Breathtaking music which was perpetually repeating.
For once in my life, undoubtable clarity.
My eyelids fall closed while your fingers sweep delicately across my face.
Single tear rolls away and I too return my hand to rest upon your body.
Lifeforces entertained my soul wrapped within yours.
Stepping towards forever, eternally.

The waiter grabs
another beer

brining it to
table 24.

They send him for
more
water.

He cusses as he walks
back
and forth

He brings
them
the water
the beer
is

gone.

They send him for
another.

I pour him one.

He brings it to the table.

But not before
asking me
if we plan
on getting ******* tonight.

I tell him:

"Yes. It's Amanda's
birthday.
Everyone is going out."

He brings the table another beer.

The fat man sitting there
laughs.
His laugh is
curdled with
an onset drunkenness.

I pour another beer
for a different waitress.
I am counting
the
clock.

She grabs the beer.
And smiles with
an honest
smile.  

She is new.

Unaware of the
distain
we all
hold tightly.

I pour another beer.
I count the clock.

Until we can
get

*******.

Why did I do what I did?
Why do you do what you do?
Why do you keep on brining it up as if nothing's new?
I've tried to forget it, I've tried to move on.
But you just have to say that you've won.
I'm tired of your story and I'm tired of your ****.
I can't do it anymore. So I quit.
The story's the same and it gotten quite boring.
Don't mind me, ignore my snoring
This isn't what it's supposed to be like, it's supposted to be fun.
But that's it no more, I am done.

Notice she's kneeling to the cliffs of a river.
The cracks of her jaw give a quiver.
The sky collapses behind her.
Through these eyes tainted in blur,
I see the sand man is singing.
These delusions he's brining.
Polystyrene flowers,
With sights that devour,
Of purple and gold,
Beauty spoken yet untold.
Entwined through her thigh,
There's always a death to deny.
"Could you lead me to the stars?"

Cotton wool sown clouds,
Hovering above crowds,
Towering over his head.
His lungs fell dead.
Leaving a voided space,
For a lit bomb to interlace,
With his soul.
He's a self-awarded black hole.
"Second to the right,
And straight on till morning ends the night."

October 9th, 2011

Next time you want to talk crap about her, bite your tongue and think- "What is this doing for me or her?" If you don't have anything nice to say, no matter how much you want to chime in or make a joke, simply don't. Calling names, gossiping and assumptions will only hinder how you see someone for who he or she truly is. Once words leave your mouth, they're gone. You can't scoop them up and hide them. Be the girl who is kind to everyone- a hard, but not impossible, feat. Kindness stretches miles and is remembered. Be considerate and pick your words carefully. Make people feel good about who they are. Brining the best out of them will bring the best out of you.

Love,
Megan

Sacred blood,
dripping from wooden cross.
Washing them away,
with ****** tears of her loss.
Dethroned king cry,
My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?
Heavens silent it remain,
their son of God died in vain.

From holiness of her mother womb,
through this cold world to left alone in tomb.
Immaculate divine,
shall cast pearls before swine,
glory and pride will perish,
it shall bow in front of lord of mine.
On the right side of God, Eden's excrement,
it shall see morning star on their firmament.

Under thy wing, holy trinity destruction,
angels standing on the brink of extinction.
I thirst for waters of Ain,
I commend my spirit to the Satan domain.
As I break tablets of covenant over their calf of the gold,
I shall unleash infernal flames and turn world into cold.
Our scream goes through cosmo, Adonai can hear,
fallen angels shall return to the heavens and he will fear.

Marching through house of God,
bringing annihilation.
I open the seventh seal,
brining death over their creation.
Bringer of the light standing above the heavens,
trumpets blow for his coronation.
Wield with his banner over thy land,
for its uprising damnation.

Woman, behold your son.
By thy touch of the left hand of God,
he will succumb.
Father, forgive them, for they know not what they are doing,
praying to their Elohim, not knowing for the real king.
by the times it end, world stop turning,
heavens reduced to ruin,
Sinain will be burning.

The remaining of your lifeless body
Were some vivid images printed on my eyelids
some distorted memory tapes deforming in my brain

That night was a nightmare
I never woke up from
Every morning i still pinch myself
I bite my thumb
hoping the night is never too firm
hoping the morning comes

It's Killing me how
I'm starting to forget your face
Your glasses resting over your peaceful gaze
Your smile and innocent laugh brining life grace

I miss you and my annoying chats
I miss us playing with stray cats
I wish we wore your 20th birthday's hats

I miss such a young pure soul
I miss you as a whole
And i don't forgive the world for taking you
I don't forgive myself for every second not filling my eyes with you
Before you flew into the void of blue

I wish i said my goodbyes
Before it was too late
Before i knew that that night
such angel dies

I am a man. A good man.
Your thoughts of hate and discriminative conceptions..
of what I "must stand for,"
Of "What I know  I should not be forced to stand for.."
"Wealth and Vanity's fools..."
Such are the  only ""Minds" who  create  a "rule" in the "Social Book"
as "created" and "made-up"
only from and by   an "insane mind..."
Ones who have "Turned  on" "others"
...  and ....the "only type" of "personalities"  that have  "needs"  "made of such" unneeded" "darkness"
and "Morals"
Such,turning a "person" into a "Defined," "Labeled," and   "poorly-typed personality," "into "such defined , wrongly, as a "person" considered as a "kind.."

As the only "soul" who "defines" their thoughts
of a "poorly defined" lifestyle"  as  "such as"a required "company creating" rule ,"

Such, where only "sloppy" and "unhealthy " diners "think"  of" as  a " tool..."
as "such unhealthy" Thinking  is as "successful"   are as  "beneficial to one's soul"
As what  "lost food-poisoned"  recipes where   "lost souls" can  "grow lonely" and as a "lone" "ranger," who is  more and more ""poor...."

Due to their "insecure recipes"  
Their ill-fated "needs"  of what only what their "unsafe" Book's "Recipes"
where only "unwanted-securities"
Are "Tasty" "facts" which are whipped up on "trays"  created  by  these "eccentric"  and "overpowering" "kinds" of "chef's" "requirements"
Are only ill-guided "thoughts" made up  by "misguided " "entities"
The "sickly and untried souls untried" and those now "Unkind.."
Those "insecure people"  who are, "inside and out," truly lost," and now "poor"...
Inside..."
Not  made of  the most "secured" of "ingredients" and out of  "life's festered insanities...."
and never of "sanity"
   of "minds" in which they are in >financially" in store to be truly "poor"
well, such >hurtful energies, beliefs, thoughts, and words...."
Words where such  never   have any worth.
Nor "truer life's path" can be    "plotted"  where  any   "bearings," can  "lead" my life "in-less than "fake" or "hectic waters"
of the rocky surf...
Sports that ,Rather than "thrill much needed true fully" needed    "mapped " "courses"
They land us to Where neither  "a true  meaning in my soul," is truly a needed "destination."

here in my beautiful heart...
I wish to not let such trips land my head in a ditch. Or worse.
I become hateful and judgmental, to others, as you forced into my programming logic to be..
continuing the cycle, like yours imposed, forcibly on me...
"Blind out of fear and question," to "what I am "or "what I never  needed to" "be...."
I turned myself, my thoughts, and my acts around and I am truly able
to step back, process, understand and remove such "unneeded" parts added in the world,
where the moment became "sunniest" and "Clearest"
When I decided to "grow up" and "accept and correct my own misguided mistakes"
"I manned up" and I could ,finally,  "correct   such hurtful motions to souls that my bad and old actions had broken"
...as "I finally put my pieces back together,"
I  can now, and "more than I  ever needed in" "my  wrecked spirit" to be
Free, " to grow in dignity" and in my own "open-eyed" mind
  "Decide"
Due to a now"  truer spirit..."
"I can truly see" and (more than I  ever wanted to be, free_)
I am now," freer" to "be more" of "the truer me"
" I am  me."
.
Since, now,, I can truly open my once closed eyes   "clearly", " see.."
around  others, as you have forced my fragile soul  make me acceptable in your crazy world
As this "computerized brain" was  forced to act out a programming, which he was never compatible with such illogic to become, and I try to fire down upon a "weaker one..."
.I took on him my toll...My fire.....My fear....Illogic you handed into my life, uneedingly, suffering as he has now to bear because of what you scared me to treat his programming to become...
He shorts out....
His fragile soul shatters...
I'm now a new "weapon of mass destruction"
In your Sick life's army.....
What you thought was "just"
It never, ever, justly ever once matters....
In "a real world" where uniqueness should be cheered to thrive..
Planted, nurtured and gardened to grow....
Out of your sick "social demands " as such, I label "experimentation on what you call the weak,"
Such will some day haunt you until you are at your dying way.
Definitions of what I require as a man....
Intimacy justly needed...
Equally sprinkled with love and honor...Just and Deserved Trust....
"Sickness" which  you have tried to "Cure"
was nothing more than untrue stories and a door to your sad, pathetic, and hurtful face, I must now slam..
One cannot survive to see in forced "illogic,"
Forged from your "Fears and Misguided Brining up as a child"
Was instilled into.... "Your parents fears," from them and " "justly" programmed  or forced from your "sickness....such as what is this refusal to face uncertainty" made a disease in you to stick...
..in an avoidance to " faced raced obstacles"   and your "Inner Child's Add to dictionary and malnourished voice ignored  your own "
  you had to endure as a child..
You never stopped to question any "sickness from poor programs of bad parenting or your own poor understanding of another's lifestyle.."
or be programmed as such programming that another demands and believes as "pure and just.."

It feels slow like a rollercoaster watching the world moving by as it gets closer.

A sweet lemon trying to find its taste buds, handpicked with eords falling out the sky.

Each letter brining meaning to the shape of its style as we wonder and look up so many words coming alive.

Bringing every color we have seen ridding on a rainbow let’s watch the magic in the sky.

Snowflakes falling down shape changing as we smile, the sweet smell of lily’s growing in the war summer heat.

Butterflies and Bees spending they day collecting nectar, the lovely sound of the water running down the river.

Salmon trying to swim upstream to create that lovely gift called life.

Jidos Reality 12.8.12

Darkness clouds the sky,
Bitter and tense,
Colors fade into grey and black,
Discoloring the world,
Bloating fast, in a minor way.
Hate conquering us humans,
Brining torture to ourselves,
As sadness kills the world.

I didn’t choose you for your color….
I didn’t choose you for your brain…
I didn’t choose you for your wealth…
I didn’t know…
I will meet you in such kind of path…
I will share my passion in this life
I will find myself with yours…
I don’t know…
What life is brining for us…
Where our feet are taking us…
How we will keep meeting…
What I know…
I’ve chosen a heart that talked with mine in a different language than others…
The blessings are in us and I am HAP (Hippo and Proud).

30-6-2017

I thought brining you back in would **** all of this
This never-ending sensation that the greatest years of my life are already

Gone.

But it’s all just the same
I’m absolutely blinded by the smiles on every other person’s face and the intense glow from their cheeks and eyes
The wind is knocked from my lungs everyday from the excitement and energy that surrounds me; drains me.
It ***** the life from my limbs and heart and there is nothing left to give to you

I left so many good things behind in hopes of having it all wrapped back up and delivered to me in new and mysterious packages

But all of my boxes and bags have been emptied of any familiarities
They fill with misery and bleak thoughts beneath my bed and my heart

Everyday I feel further and further from finding anything to remove the lump from my throat
And you drift deeper and deeper into a state of being which I feel I will never understand again

How long can we keep up this charade of “forever?”

a wolf
hiding in the skin of a sheep
creeping in the dark
making me unable to sleep

they say if you count sheep you will fall asleep faster
but I find as I count sheep I only become more lost in the pasture
walking through wheat fields searching for a meaning
insomnia slowly killing me brining me to a yield

Im standing on the edge of life and death
wishing that wolf in sheep skin would have taken my last breath
saving me from the dark caves in my brain
making me feel like living is worth the pain

In 1996 when the IRA blew up the Arndale
I was barely able to leave my house
After getting mugged the night before
Which left me with a major limp
For the next 18 months or so
And forced me to ring around friends
That I knew would normally be there
Praying they would be at home.

In 2007 I got led out of my works
Viva an underground tunnel
I hadn’t known about previously
After it was deemed unsafe outside
To walk around the corner as normal
When a hurricane dragged a bollard
Through the Chief Exectuive’s car
And other cars onto the next street.

In 2010 I ended up leading three women
I worked alongside at the Co-operative
To Manchester Piccadilly Train Station
Like James Bond mixed with the Pier Piper
Avoiding all of the bars laced with drunk fans
Just before Ranger’s Europa Cup final
At Manchester City’s Ethiad Stadium
Just before it exploded into chaos.

In 2011, I was getting drove back home
By a kindly Ambulance Crew
Hours after getting registered with Diabetes
When we drove into a gang of youths
And barely reversed out alive
Looting a shop I used to go in for
A sandwich nearly every morning
On the way into my work.

In 2017, I walked past
Manchester Victoria Train Station
About a half a hour before
A terrorist took the lives off
22 people including children
And left me barely able
To sleep for two days afterwards
Laid in complete shock.

Each tragedy or event
Staining emotions
No matter how close
I was to the action

Cherry-picking memories
Into frozen images
Across feelings
Stuck in time

Reprinting each day
Over and over
Into a compressed version
Of Groundhog Day

Shooting grief from my heart
No matter how close to the front I was
Or whispered in braille rain
Tapping in shadow like tears

Brining my eyes
Pushing my grief aside
And carrying on
Like so so many others.


(also blogged at http://onewriterandhispc.blogspot.co.uk/2017/06/from-1996-to-2017-emotional-history-off.html)

In the days of Autumn
When he walk on roads alone
He stoped by to read that book
' Tale of love brining from fairy land'
Fairy came real and they fell in love
When he just finished
Reading that twenty six'th page
That exotics love and peace inside
Married them for lives after this life
Indeed that was a wedding
All this autumn witnesses
Sadly the book haven't enough pages
As him to read until to the life come next
The fairy he loves - became part of his void
Autumn is this,mix of the happy and sad
He will come to next life and wait for the fairy he loves
with the book he read and the book he would write
' Tale of love bringing from the promising land'

shanikayrs