He pulled and parked the supply red wagon,
then climbed the mast to the captain's cabin.
Captain Red is ready for adventure.
A quest to collect the world's best treasure.

His pirate crew is renowned far and wide.
They're rough and tough and they don't ever cry.
But none of them boys has the captain's stuff.
So don't mess with him, man, cause he don't bluff.

This motley crew has achieved many feats,
has never suffered a single defeat,
and has seen the most incredible things:
whales, whirlpools, storms, mermaids, krakens and kings.

"Set sail," squaws the boss as he munches lunch
and the Ocean Destroyer leaves port Wunche.
These rolling green hills are now ocean waves.
That blue sky, however, remains the same.
...
"Hey Benjamin!" beams the first mate Susanne.
Impeding the journey that just began.
"We already played this game. It's my turn!"
The first mate trumps the captain, Ben will learn.
...
Her spacesuit crew is renowned far and wide.
They're smart and nice and they don't ever lie.
But none of these girls has commander's stuff.
So don't mess with her, girl, cause she don't bluff.

This brainy crew has achieved many feats,
has never suffered a single defeat,
and has seen the most incredible things:
aliens, black holes, stars, and martian springs.

"Lift off!" beams the boss as she munches lunch
and the Star Chasing Rocket leaves base Wunche.
These rural backyards are now rocky space.
That blue sky, however, remains the same.
...
"Hey Susanne!" beams the pilot Benjamin.
Impeding the flight before it begins.
"We already played this game. It's my turn!"
The pilot trumps commander, Sue will learn.
...
Boys and girls grow up and out the front door.
Those children’s games evolve to adult chores;
those kiddy lawns to grandparent’s domain.
That blue sky, however, remains the same.

i don’t know how someone as small as me
with bones that break at the sight of heat lightning
and heart strings that thread apart at the sound of his voice
could make anyone feel like the sun shines brighter
through kaleidoscope eyes—
you’re okay if it brings out the freckles on your face,
and you feel good, you feel alive
you say i showed you how to love in a new way,
that i taught you to be so much more okay with your tummy,
“it’s been very freeing and life is a lot better, thank you,”
but i feel like i can’t say you’re welcome
because i am a messy cliché of imperfect scraps and hypocrisy
loosely sewn together with
“you are strong you are strong you are strong,”
but i feel so weak i feel so weak i feel so weak
and i am not steady hands, they shake like
wet dogs after kiddy pool baths,
i am flower seeds that forgot how to bloom,
trapped below the surface of a garden that feels like quicksand
and i’m sorry but you don’t see all the mistakes i make,
all the words i’ve preached that look back at me
and laugh when they see
what i feel, what i think, who i am behind closed doors,
i’m sorry.
you keep hanging medals around my neck, and
they’re so heavy, and i don’t know
what to say besides i love you
when you speak words of adoration,
but please do not praise me, i am not good.

stuck pig
injecting
in a tiny house
on a green island
raining
a jungle of
cable
internet a
septic
tank
I run a
maze
grow bananas
wait for delivery
departure
line up
for my plastic
sippy cup
eat
pancakes
stack
Bromantane
for breakfast
nootropics
family
replacement
new tropical
smoothie
maker
prime member
of the Amazon
got to stimulate
my work in the garden
see that
water feature
it’s a duck pond
no it’s
an empty kiddy pool
but on a tree
I’m over it
an antler bromeliad
hunting trophy
a certification
of my triumph
the plot
next to it
my head
in the mail
a miniature guillotine
to repatriate
my body
and tail
still moving

A seventies child
Born in Wales, one of the four
Countries of The UK.

I remember brown as the colour
of the day.
Fabric embossed wallpaper
all the neighbours names, who married who,
who was carrying on, the alcoholic, the beaten wives,
Even, get this the peadophiles (or kiddy fiddlers as was known)
Dai the milk, Mair the bread, the shop of infinite items.

Rugby practice for dad, baking for mam
(Cake and babies) gossip over the garden hedge
Fish on a Friday a Sunday roast, hot sweet tea.
Bubble and squeak, post delivered before you
left for school. Mist on the mountain, dew on the grass.

Welsh valley life, sounds idyllic
but scratch the surface and a darker colour
than brown emerges. Petty squablings leading to
familial feuds, the Williamses don't get on with
the Joneses, and as for the Pritchards, less said the better.

School, local, no not for me. I was sent to a Welsh
School, taught and learnt the language denied to my
Parents by English politics. Cat amongst the pigeons there.
Did I think I was special? Ideas above her station. That's what
the neighbours say.

Well, you all had the option.
Dr Forbes FRCS
Delivered babies buried men and women
Loved by all, especially his lollipop sweets.

I wasn't a child to get *****, or rip wrapping paper
off of gifts, I liked to go under the stairs (like Harry Potter)
and read. I left the dirt for my sister born 4 years later.
Then in 1982 came my brother, tidy my mother describes it.
'74,'78,'82 poor dad to have to wait I say!

More pubs than chapels, more walking than driving
more rain than sun, more music than ever was sung.
The '80's came, and we had strikes, no electric, candles
toast made with a toasting fork over the fire.
No mines, no steel, no jobs.

Picket lines, dole queues, women in work
latchkey kids, Thatcherism, ******* times.
Falklands war, IRA bombs, Royal weddings
Tory rule

But, the fire in the dragon never went out
and Tom Jones still sings his heart out.
Cymru cysglyd gwlad y gân, deffrwch
nawr, dyma'ch tro.

Stumbling and mumbling like a bumbling idiot
Feeling like a toddler who is barely learning how to speak
The first steps, tiny baby steps
Into this territory called "love"
"Kiddy crushing, puppy loving" --
That's what they all call it.
Tongue twisters, tying my tongue into tight knots.
These feelings puzzle my brain.
Questioning every movement, every moment
Waiting patiently for everything to click together
Two halves of a whole taken apart
By those who think they are better than us
Word goes around and around
But never seems to land on the truth
Avoiding all the right answers
Even if it was right in the center,
Bolded, capitalized letters, and highlighted
Just for you.
It will slap you in the face and tell you,
"Get your head out of the clouds!"
Because you need to realize that real life is not a fairy tale,
Not a story straight from the classics.
It is not told at night before your bedtime,
Before your parents tuck you in and kiss you goodnight.
It is something learned from experience,
Something that walks in at all the wrong times.
It'll walk in through the doors when you're crying
And it could walk in during breakfast while you're making your favorite morning coffee.
It even walks out, sometimes unannounced
Even during your happiest moments.
Because that's what love is:
Unpredictable

Max didn't even want to be there.  His coworkers had invited him, and he hadn't had an excuse handy.  

In truth, Max's coworkers didn't want him to be there, either.  They had secretly hoped that he wouldn't come.  Everyone else was going, though, so they felt bad not asking.  Now they wished they hadn't

Here he was, though, sitting around a table in a seedy local pub, waiting for "The great Garbo: Magician and Hypnotist".  Probably just another hack who was filling time between kiddy birthday parties.  The show was supposed to have started ten minutes ago, but hadn't, and now Max was being forced to socialize with people who he spent a great deal of effort trying to avoid most of the time.  It was crap, and he wasn't happy about it.

In truth, Max was very unhappy in general, but in a way that his brain was unable to put into concrete words.  He'd been unhappy for so long, in fact, that he didn't even recognize that he was unhappy.  He had just long ago come to the conclusion that the world was unpleasant, and he was the only person who understood that.  Everyone else was a foolish prat who could barely keep from being distracted long enough by the next shiny toy to notice.

He regarded his mostly empty beer that he had been nursing.  He heard his co-workers talking about some new superhero movie when the lights finally dimmed and a man walked onto the beer-stained stage and threw his cape (the **** had a cape!) dramatically over his shoulder.  "Good evening, my fine ladies and gentlemen!  I, the Great Garbo, welcome you.  You may have seen so called 'magic' before, but I promise you that when you leave here tonight, you will be filled with awe and wonder!"

Max yawned, rather loudly, to glares from his co-workers, as Garbo continued his spiel.  He looked lazily around the room, hoping to catch the eye of the waiter for another drink.  If he was going to be forced to watch this swill, he was going to at least be liquored up.

By the time Max looked back towards the stage, Garbo had wrapped up, and was starting.  He began with a number of standard tricks with rings and never-ending handkerchiefs.  Each time, Max would mumble something under his breath.

"...Obviously had it up his sleeve"
"Trick ring, there's clearly some sort of mechanism there"
"...had that deck set up before"

Meanwhile, his co-workers shushed him as they attempted, in vain, to enjoy the show.

Soon, though, the magician got more creative, juggling a set of ***** that turned into doves, which then flew back into his hands as ***** again.  Then he turned his entire coat from dingy black to a brilliant  red with a wave of his hand.  Max remained steadfast in his desire to remain unimpressed.  Surely this was some sort of electronic trickery.  He stifled another yawn, then decided to go to the restroom.

He got up, and tapped one of his co-workers on the shoulder.  Was it Reed?  Or James.  His co-worker looked at him warily.  "Hey James, I need to take a ****.  Need to get through".  He looked annoyed.  Must've been Reed.  "Can't you wait until the act is over?".  Max rolled his eyes, and then mustered up as much sarcasm as he could (which was quite a lot). "I'm sure the 'Great Garbo' won't miss me.  I'll just be a minute".  Reed (yes, definitely Reed) sighed and got up to pull his chair back so Max could get out.  Max picked his way through the surprisingly large crowd towards the bathrooms, not apologizing on the way, when he heard a voice.  "You sir, you would like to volunteer, would you  not?"

Max turned, and Garbo was looking at him expectantly.  He hadn't heard what Garbo had been talking about. He recovered his wits and responded "Nah, I'm sure one of these simpletons would love to, though".  From the crowd where he had left he heard someone yell "Oh come on, Max, maybe he can hypnotize you into having a sense of ******* humor".  Max gave the finger in the general direction of the voice, earning him a few boos from the crowd.  Garbo put his hand up to calm the crowd.  "Come now...Max, is it?  Surely you've been impressed with some of the show tonight?".  Max scoffed.  "I'm impressed that you're able to make a living off of parlor tricks", he said, before turning back towards the bathroom.

"Max, I think you need to come up here"

Max suddenly stopped.  He felt like he had been going somewhere else...but that couldn't be the case, he was supposed to be going onto the stage.  He turned and amiably made his way up the few stairs

"Now Max seems to be unimpressed with the show.  Shall I show him some real magic?"

The crowd clapped

Max wondered how he'd gotten on stage.  He had been going towards the bathroom....he needed to...

"Max, you seem unhappy to be here.  I think I know what'll cheer you up, though."

Garbo reached into his pocket, and pulled out a small rubber ball.  

Max suddenly came back to himself.  "I don't know what drugs you gave me to convince me to get up here, but this show is over and I'm leaving.  I'll be sure to let the police know that your show relies on your audience being high"

Garbo grinned a toothy grin as Max walked away, and then spoke right before Max got down the first step, dragging each word out carefully.

"Who's...a...good....boy"

Max stopped and considered this.  I mean...he certainly wasn't bad.  There was certainly room for improvement, for sure, but he wasn't bad, so he must be good.  He slowly turned and stared at Garbo, and was surprised as his mouth started moving.

"I am."

Wait. What?  Max's mind reeled and his eyes widened in fear, but he did not run.  His legs didn't want to move.  His eyes seemed to be locked onto the ball.  That looked like a really nice ball.  He wanted it.

Garbo took a step forward.

"Who's a good boy"

This time Max answered more confidently.  "I am.  I'm a good boy"

The crowd clapped and whistled, though they weren't sure what they were seeing.

Garbo moved the ball back and forth, and Max watched it intently.  
He wished Garbo would throw the ball.

"Who's a good boy!"

"Me! I'm a good boy!"

"Whosagoodboy!"

"I am!  I am!  I'm a good boy!"

Max had fallen down on all fours at this point, though he barely noticed.  Everything seemed to be growing in size.

"Who's a good boy!"

I am!  

"Who's a good boy!"

(I am!)
Woof!

"Do you want the ball?!"

(Yes! Yes, throw the ball!)
(Oh god, what's happening?!)
Woof! Woof!

"Do you want it?!"

(Make it stop!)
(Yes! Throw it!)

Max could smell so many things, now.  He smelled the beer, he smelled Reed's aftershave.  He smelled the strangeness that Garbo reeked of.  Garbo scared him, but Garbo also had a ball.

Garbo finally relented and threw the ball, and a yellow streak flashed by him as an excitable Golden Retriever ran to intercept it.

Max picked up the ball in his mouth and stood proudly.  There was still something scratching at his brain, though, and he couldn't figure out what it w--what had happened?  Everything was wrong.  He couldn't stand up.  Max wanted to yell for help, but to do that he would need to drop the...

...ball!  He had the ball!  The man who threw it was calling for him.  He ran back towards the man, who pointed at the ball.  The man wanted the ball, but Max didn't want to give it back.  It was his ball.  Suddenly, the man had a treat.  Max dropped the ball and took the treat.  He heard a loud sound and he turned to see...

..the crowd.  The crowd was up on their feet cheering.  His mind filled with fear again as he realized that something was terribly wrong.  He felt wrong, everything looked and sounded and smelled wrong.  He was a....

"Good boy, Max.  Good boy!"

Max received a pat on the head, and the scratching at the back of his head faded a little.  "Crate, Max", said the man, pointing to a small crate at the edge of the stage that several people in the audience could have sworn wasn't there at the start of the show.  Max ran to the crate, where he found a bone and a squeak toy, which he bit into to hear the satisfying noise that it made.  Laughter echoed from the outside of the crate as the man closed the door.

"Everyone, a round of applause for my assistant Max!"

Suddenly Max resurfaced.  He was acutely aware now that he was in a cage.  Fear gripped him.  Surely his co-workers had noticed!  He strained to look through the bars of the crate.  He spotted them, and they were applauding excitedly.  He saw, with trepidation, that his coat was no longer on the chair where he'd left it.  He had been erased from their memories.  A guttural terror crept up through his stomach which became a frightened whimper as the sound was forced through his new snout.  No one seemed to hear him.

Max lost track of time, but eventually the show ended and everyone left.  They wouldn't remember what happened, only that they were left with a feeling of awe and wonder upon leaving.  They wouldn't remember Max.  At this point, Max was curled up in the back corner of the crate, unwilling to move even as Garbo opened it, reached in, and started scratching his head.  

Suddenly, as if the final structural support of a dam had been breached, the endorphins from the scratch overwhelmed what remained of Max.  He was filled with the warmth of something he had been unable to feel his whole life.  His tongue lolled out of his mouth and he started panting excitedly.

Max was happy.

Fragile handle with care.
I have animosity towards the moon.
You look upon it with such a warm heart.
If only you could see that it was apart...of me.
The cosmic stars are pieces of my soul that I have sent out
I chose them to hang iridescently high because I do not think you could handle them.
I do not think that you could care for them the way the moon, which you look so fondly upon, does.
I use then darkness as a shield to hide from you who I am.
Who I really am
If you were to peel back the layers of the sky...the atmosphere which I have built to protect me you may see...
A soul that although reigns a good 6 feet tall actually feels as though she is only good enough to ride the kiddy rides at Disneyland.
If you were to listen to what the moon has to say as it phases with the ever changing days you would hear....
I speak loudly because no one listens, even when I am screaming, so just to be heard I say loud obscured things, I don’t mean all the time.
If you were to know what the nocturnal think about when they emerge from their daytime slumbers you would know...
That even though I truly know how things will happen and how my life go I cannot help but to make up scenarios in my head that would rival even the greatest love story.
And if by some way you were to know what the dark is truly like...
You would know what it is like to be me every minute of everyday.
I am the dark...I am fragile. I can be shattered by just the mere presence of a bright light. I am quite and I know the secrets of the world. I can be your greatest companion or the one you can’t rid your life of fast enough. I can be the optimism for a new day or the reminicing of the best day fleeting.
I AM the stars.
I AM the moon.
I AM the silence.
I AM the grey.
I AM fragile like the owl.
Or silent like the shooting star.
I fall just as hard and just as fast but then I am going going gone.
I am just as fragile as the light of the moon.
I am just as fragile. I am just as fragile. I am just as fragile, But if you feel the need to shine your flood light and erase me.
Please let me know first so I can tell dawn to come a little faster so I don’t have to see you **** me with your own bare hands.

Sad, mooning morning
Lost beasts and time
Disgust for machine lust overwhelming
It's not that I don't love you
That you don't love me enough
To sinfully and wantonly **** me
After all it's my birthday
Cause I'm old and you've lost interest
in being the man I loved
That's why our children tricked you
into writing and sending your confession

Stand up and take a bow
we learned your lessons well
who to trust, how to trust, and when
Turned us kids into your spies,
your lies, your alibis
to get us to create the software to do it
So you could **** your mystic **** genie
please know our kindness as hatred
All access passes to dumb *******
This memeallscene is a gallery crawl,
a gallow's walk of perps,
who should have known better

Just a thanks for clogging
the artists' ether with kiddy ****
much love for Kate Torn
we used your magick
to put us back together
Your address is on the ticket,
the reddress that you bought her.
Tap lightly, tap lively not,
the tuoche of Jack Frost is upon you.

All the best and much kindness.
Perfection is a trick of the mind.

This poem will change and tighten
the ties that bind us together
From the women and men of Bandahache.
for the women who sign away the right
to tell their stories
I hear you Anita Hill
But we've been stalked and stifled long enough
Yes, that's what prayer can do

Spinning on a top of color;
The balloons are inflated in the desk,
and the rainbow streamers gave me a paper-cut.
I thought the red make-up was blood.

Running and jumping up and down
on a box of inflatable candy,
that turned my lips purple and blue.
My dad thought it was lipstick,

so he gave me an old ***** magazine.

When the animals morphed into balloons,
I petted them with grass stuck to my hand.
And POP! – goes the poodle,
in the parking lot next to the splattered juice cups.

My friend cried and wiped his eyes with icing
as a clown grinned, showing his orange teeth
that was the same color of the cheese-curls in the bowl,

that the three year-old just poured into the kiddy pool.

I got lost in the ball-pit.
I remember every color, then nothing;
Gray had became the fun
to a depressed clown wishing he’d got the hang

of life’s circus.

Dinner is served!
Forks placed,
Napkins set
The chef has cooked for an army times three
And we’re even using the antique dinette
Runners take your marks
Get ready and set
A hurricanes a coming
Gamblers go and place your bets
My family when reuniting
Is cataclysmic at best
A flood of faces whip and zoom by
I notice cousin it and wolf man starring barbarically at the pies
Dr. Seuss’ children
Thing one and thing two
Take to the flinging of mashed potatoes
Better this than launching poo
Most of us dodge the flying clouds easily
Frankenstein ducks fast and tight
A gravy train curve ball impales my cheek
I stand up slowly and remove my potato face
Everyone backs up to give me some space
The blue haired gremlins snicker in dismay
Glance masks of sheer terror
As I march my wrath their way
“the king is gonna getcha’”
“the king is gonna getcha’”
They sarcastically shiver
But jump from their skin when I boom,
“And it ain’t gonna be pretty, now let me paint the picture”
Go back to your kiddy cribs
Can’t even chew a salted meat
You say you have a green card
But you have no real receipt
They both tremble with fear
So go retreat to kiddy land
Do you need me to hold your hand?
It’s okay you might get lost
This world is a hot mess
So try not to burst your eardrums
Or regurgitate spaghetti
My lyrics’ ll burn your throat raw
Just ask your cousin yeti
Know me by my name I’m the shepherd of fire
Spitting chariots of flame
Nightmares fear my attire
So don’t go and get it twisted ,I’ll break your jaw
You’ll be reduced to spitting lyrics through a crazy straw
Liquid rhyming riffs
You’d be an official pirate, setting out on your sail ships
Slippin’ and slidin
Pass Davey Jones   a mike
And this is what he’ll tell ya
That I’ve been blessed with your curse
This kids gotta serpent’s tongue
Aw you wanna leave already?
What for?
This turkey’s feathers are prematurely burned  
But if my flames are too hot for you to handle
Step back and recover
Your ears are close to charbroiled so seek shelter take cover
I exhale molten bars
From sons and daughters, to mothers and fathers
My blazing campaign and my slogan that’s fire
Me myself and I, Only crew I would hire
So who am I?
I am me!
Who am I?
The mc!
So sit down, hush it up
And call me the pumpkin king!!!

Four hour drive to Nevada
Long *** drive I knew, I should've had some *****.
No traffic, just a bunch of rear view lights displayed as stars.
No sight seeing, just mountains and lame *** cars.

Music plays, and laughter took place.
I sang to keep the drowsiness off my face.
We encountered some dips,
And I began to dance; but didn't move below the hips.

Mainly listened to hip hop,
That kind of rhythm you cant just stop.
You gotta dance all throughout to the last note.
Even if someone sees you dance and prays for an antidote.

We arrived to our destination close to midnight.
Once my body touched the bed, I no longer saw light.
Only to wake at four in the morning,
Laying in bed breathing and writing.

Seven forty five small black box starts to yell.
My family woke up, and made our way out of the hotel.
Set course to the lake then hopped on a boat.
Sailed to a shore that wasn't remote.

My aunt's family is pretty cool and chill.
Their boats and seadoo made the weekend that much more of a thrill.
The food and drinks never seemed to end.
I climbed a cliff and prepped for my descend.

Jumping into black water,
On our way back, scolded by my uncle as if he were my father.
I didn't get mad, with my adrenaline, I never know when to stop.
So I listened and never went back to the hilltop.  

Chief took his boat back in with a big floating device.
Oscar told me to hold on, that was his only advice.
I haven't smiled so much in so long.
That's how it should be all yearlong.

Touching land again, my existence was then recorded.
The video was sent to my mother to show I wasn't wounded.
The water began to call my name, so I entered it's depths.
The water touched my skin like a cool breeze kiss.

Going back to Aquarius, we were burnt as hell.
I'm sure we stood out more than Wisconsin's well known carousel.
Showered then went out to eat.
Returning back to the room to sleep cause I was beat.

I met this girl named E with much more consonants and vowels.
Saying I jumped from a kiddy cliff, her words played constantly in the back of my head like howls.
Well E, I love my life and get injured on the daily.
I can only imagine myself screaming like a little baby.

I mean there has to be a reason those rocks are carved out like skulls.
I've climbed trees higher than that castle.
But jumping such height, I'm not sure I can do.
But if I do jump and the light vanishes who will come to my rescue?

Packed up our gear and headed back to our room.
My uncle and I stayed in, but my aunt changed into another costume.
Drank a beer then fell asleep.
Woke up to the sound of my heartbeat.

Two hours later and there was still no sound.
Looked out the window and there was no one around.
My cousin woke, and began to talk.
My fam got up and we began our walk.

I swam for a good two hours.
My aunt, cousin, and I got on a raft; I kid you not we should've gone to the doctors.
Tia skipped on water, my prima broke her finger, and I coughed blood.
Hell I'd go to the ER, if and only if all my trips were funded.
This trip I'll never forget,
That goes for the teal water, and the red sunset.

I am not sure which is bloodier, more gruesome –
birth or death. It is like asking God if he prefers Eve to Adam
for demolishing that false sense of security,
specks of pride dissolved in snake venom apples.
There is mourning in creating monsters
as there is in killing them: I see starving children with
round, pregnant bellies and somehow they are more at peace than
I am on my best day. We will understand when we are dead,
not in the act of becoming a ghost, but once we are one.

When I was little, I saw the house on Camellia’s corner
crumble: attacked from behind, the same swamp I had in mine.
I had not noticed its yellow shingles before
and suddenly, this nine year old girl felt lonely for
bricks and plaster and the refrigerator hung on its balcony door.
On its side like a woman in labor –
midwives have her in a kiddy pool, the origin of its
name. Imagine being baptized before you take your first breath.

Ametrine is an amalgamation of two gemstones:
amethyst and citrine. I am that of my parents, one quarter grandma.
She who I never met but got my alcoholic mother from.
My clumsiness stemmed there, the constant
stumbling on invisible rocks and breeding ****** knees –
having two daughters who bleed monthly, but it’s never in sync.
Still, I cannot grasp being proud of ghostliness  
when there are millions of invisible children in clear blood.

We splashed in the pool
Together, the kiddy one
That is now too small.

She huddled in the
Car with me when I was scared
Of the thunderstorm.

She helped me sneak through
Her house at midnight and showed
Me her ice cream stash.

Sneaking grins across
The church on Sunday morning;
Well, we still do that.

She helped show me that
The world doesn't have to be
All work and no play.

Her liveliness and
Generosity show me
True, pure happiness.

I know we're growing
Up, but I hope she will al-
ways be my best friend.

I am eating sweets like a spoiled fat kid
the elated surge of sugar coursing through veins
like kiddy *******,
zooming through  internal tubes
green lights all the way
soon to be shuddering as I pass the summit
and descend,
coming down faster then theTwin Towers

when there’s a boom there’s always a bust

what goes up will always come down
gravity is invisible and it's inevitable

a ghost hanging on your shoulders
the sheer weight of all this.

Boredom flogs me
and time is the vinegar thats poured in my wounds.

I want be on the savannah shooting lions with the sun turning my neck into cracked leather. I would shoot it without mercy or malice I’ll look it right between the eyes then I’ll pull the trigger. I’ll watch the dessert ground absorb his blood. It will just dissappear.

I am an astronaut bouncing on the moon. I have planted bombs in capital cities. I have stolen from museums.

As he dived headfirst into the
kiddy pool, he was thinking of you,
and the roses gathering dust under
your bed that you wouldn't find
until next year, when you were packing
for a trip into the countryside
to clear your head.

He remembered your dreams as he
plunged hard into the concrete floor
of the place you spent your summers in
as a child, the one you loved most
when the sun was shining and no
bodies clouded the path between light
and what we perceive to be darkness.

In love and lust, he mourned your
freckles upon hitting the bottom,
his bones floating off to sulk
in the corner somewhere as his brain continued
to think of the possibilities when one has
gone and broken his own spine in a
reckless attempt to somehow get born.

When you pack his tongue into your
briefcase someday, I hope you'll remember
the way the sky felt on the day you told him
you weren't in love.

Religious ****, Religious Crap, Religious Dung and Stool
"Christianity" today...Puke to fill a kiddy-pool
-
Then the "christians" jump right in, play patty-cake all day
Say some lovey-dovey prayers...chase the Devil far away
-
That baddy-baddy Devil, "christians" don't allow
To him hold up a crucifix, then go kiss their Sacred Cow
-
They don't have to worry, 'bout Wrath or WWIII
They think they'll fly away...Oh yea, lets wait and see

Remember who you were before they broke you.
As you are picking shards of them out of your skin
not able to see your reflection clearly in the broken glass-
remember yourself.
You are not the pieces they left you with
broken and bleeding for each piece of your broken heart-
You are strong
you will not give them the last pieces you have left
because you are holding out for someone special.
The edges of your fingers are cut from the shards
and you spend your days picking up pieces of yourself
from the bed where they used to lay beside you
and you somehow can't get their smell out of your bedsheets.
Every time you fall asleep the empty space cries for you to fill it
but time and time again you drown it out with tears.
You've spent your days crying oceans for someone
who wouldn't shed a raindrop for you
and the puddle you've made at the edge of your feet
is no longer shallow-
it's still more like a kiddy pool and it's deeper than it once was
and you tell yourself to wake up, stop crying and get a ******* mop!
You keep trying to tell yourself the ends of your fingers
no longer need bandaids
your nose no longer needs shirt sleeves
and those eyes of yours are finally starting to see clearly now
but you see one more shard laying in the puddle you just mopped up
you look and wonder how the ******* got here
how the wreckage in your bones feels more like home
than you ever did with someone else
and you ******* rebuild.
That shard of glass is now your lighthouse
you look down at it and laugh as you pick it up
bandage free fingers you cling to that brokenness
and you look into that glass and finally see yourself for the first time.
You were always a soldier, picking out the broken parts of yourself-
putting them into something else, someone else until you felt whole
but you didn't realize
you were drafted into a war you didn't sign up for-
until it was actually over and you were left with the affects.
But now you have more strength than you did before
and these bones are no longer wreckage, no longer weak.
They are built from muscle memory by tragedy and heartbreak.
So pump the brakes.
Don't be afraid to slow down once in a while
and know that not everything will turn into a wreck-
your world may turn upside down for a while
but that never means you can't learn to enjoy living that way.
So rebuild.

And you've never understood this feeling
It's not love
I don't have the capacity
But if I don't have you I'll cry
No
If I don't have your attention
I'm a selfish creature by nature and you keep giving me what I want
But you're on the deep end while I'm in the kiddy pool

I try to stay in shallow waters were no sharks are so I don't get hurt.