mother I have had a terrible night (and little confort after a bath for agitation invites madness)

dread trickles down

a thread feeling alien and abnormal

at odds with contentment, it haunts me

both awake and when I try to sleep

where to start, what is new beginnings

I was told to walk up a faint road

akin to responsability but which falls short

of a stolen reality, passed around like a drug

overdosing in digital regicide I colapse

little shine in these stars as of late,

idols  too break if dropped at thy feet

heads will shatter and pages once ripped

will go missing and the search for want of 

shall drive us mad, ever so fucking mad.

 no matter what I take, it feels off and the years

fill up, goubling sand like they want a need to kill

whoever threads the same fine line as me

deserves to be told the truth

and yet, it doesn't quite matter

I think I know an aproximation, 

a fig fragment fractured in dust and atom

together, bind and at odds with one another

in a pathway towards decay and quantum solace

from where I stand willed by bone toll alone

I feel I realize that what I am not

enveloped by a blanket sitched of what I shan't

name least it brings me cardiac unrest or once

calls upon my spirit to flee and join the tide, that fleet

well above the prison of bone and curses of breath and worry

relentless and made to suffer. 

leer and peer through the veil of systems

command the abyss to move along

I do not feel better despite the breakaway

a near death experience cannot translate thought-fly

irregardless of drug intake, they do not grant your a sweeter embrace

just as well to mean well, that's fleeting and ever

changing: one in a million baby is a statistic

and I do not feel any better for it.

a clockwork operator can design the device

but shouldn't,

a human can interrupt the course of living,

but shouldn't for this darker chapter will too pass

in the inevitability that transforms gratitude and misfortune alike

I am therefore reminded in the first chemical opening

of heart to fragile youthful love

to be called the one, I repeat it, the one

does an awful lot of reparation to otherwise disaster

for this I am convinced the young deserve their second chances.

Pray (everyday - but not for me for I hate all mannerism and celebrations)

Pray send a tale

Befitting the enactment

Of the exchange

Between Sinner and flame

Do we do what we do

In reverence or fear

Portraying a stage

Or as per cogs inside a machine

We interchange motion

Without emotion

What was lost in this interaction

Frequent alleyways blindly

Unaware what follows beneath,

Senseless castration of character

To choke in regret is

To let go

To abdicate of the indigenous right

That ought to mean something as

Life exits your Vessel

Whose name so longed for dearly

Spilling like Wine over the weary traveller

Anguish and torment, nostalgia and tangent memory

Knee deep, unknown and transparent in hindsight

For those outside the verge of jumping in

Recklessly like a carol travels bard by tongue towards the dearest

Season, every welcoming year

God knows the knock comes along

Regardless of invitation, of that

The tack and tac off no consequence

(Weather) Resistance {FUTILE}

Guilt absorbs neither the weak

Or the dead regardless of the time

Of the year (or how tall the tale drags)

Enter

Suspend

A while

Rest your dry lips in

A bluer portrait still

Do stand still.

______________________________________

Love is not (only) appreciation

And yet (now) I wish I

Had told her (I) adored franticly

All at once (like) an avalanche, a tidal wave

(What) a catastrophe to lament if, but, nay

To a bitter end, twisting at both ends about spilled wine

I (never) brought, gave it up

I (was) cherish the company, not the drink

We (meant), well... a state and device to garnish the answer

Tribulations (to), sensations, experiences

Hand on pulse (be) come as confirmation, not salvation

Conversations overboard, fragmented/twisted

______________________________________________

If; Lost, at sea

I don’t speak Found, drowned

Do! I exist? Twins, departed

How much worth? Grief, anchors

Stock measured in gold! Did all, they could

Does it really matter.... Did their best, they did

Mayweather fairytale I believe them, I just don’t care

A seasonal dread set to rest The wheels may well turn, annually

One more oh, no-oh-no On, repeat

My better half was, swallowed whole

By destiny, what a life

Why should they, in turn, part for me

a siren turns a petal into liquor,

hard to swallow, making your insides jelly hollow

this fire does little to medicate my brain and numb the pain

I hate all mannerism and expressions of celebration

equally, unfairly. 

prickling at the Told You So's

toss it in the trash babydoll

You ain't worth the burning of the cane, can or to add injury

to the bluest moon, to insult Cain and sibling alike

no-no-no and not a token remark farther to rip prickles at my soul

It takes but it never gives; 

retrosprective dillema, eyes wide open under the mistletoe

Well I be dammed if you aren't a deer in front of an incoming train

It don't pay to lie to the Devil or oneself,

and considering I am not in the business of fooling either way

I won't be torn apart nor prickled at at whims, satire nor jumping to order or instructions

Catching strays like I can't restrain nor reframe thought to process

Tapping my feet yet I don't feel like dancing

the wrong side of sympathy when it reflects a road so-oh-so heartless

to make concessions when they take offense and make objections?

if I am loneliest when you are near, yawn tapped forcefully 

I hear a tear, a disconnect grown cold far along the crossroad

the true ridicule is to keep poor entertainment when I have long learnt

where I feel happier in better company

alone in a room.

reimagine: a prayer serves little to the blind and the deaf, let it be for it must be (so-so)

an uplifting connection

a bridge, suspended between naivity and sunset

postmodern infectious disease disguised as a champion of distress

a fever chewing at the bones of torment, love is in the air (and it's HOT EVER SO HOT)

group up, team up, round 'dem up

after the hallow halls of empty embers, November gives chase

and what awaits we shan't acknowledge just yet.

doctor it hurts, me... deeply

when I get my hand stuck in the lever of the vault where

I got stuck on a blender 'sess' bleeding key, raw throat

never fuck crazy least their teeth toss your love in trash

baby what you don't understand is

I already saw what despair looks like and let me tell you

the sight of that man jumping in front of that moving train

shook me stupid, to a transfix: baby sister I once believed family meant we would die for one another

but now I realize you wouldn't do the same

and that's just not sitting right with me.

groove is to keep your eyes open and on the mind

of potential blindspots

in defiance we serve not as idols but vessels

of the infinite wisdom spinning deeper despite the callout

to push against in vain resistance

my sinful confession is to implode in greater sloth

If I say I regret it that's a poor man's rendition 

I surrender (unwillingly) for the clouds cannot placate

my greater fallen state of mind is not betraying heaven

but my own damm self:

"they told me if I love God

they told me I would find you...there!" 

a saying cannot maim, it serves poorly as a weapon construct as such

a soothing hand can guide and smoother given enough pressure

a gentle woman can detonate your entire fucking life (believe me I have seen it)

embers are kind and generous

when they restrain from burning (my house)

I'm glad for the flowers that breath chemistry

below the heavens at an adequate, moderate sea lovely cradle

gone faster than the dices dangling sparks and tasers

guiding hands, finite strokes of fantastical (hot) what If's

capital G's for Generational Gap  {or what is general gender gentrification?}

heck it all bends when the cavity of my chest gives pause if the right person moves with purpose

tracing paper cannot testify, not this time

I don't always serenate to myself, and if I do it breaths nostalgia like breaking bread with an old friend

of that I am certain and cannot tell the difference:

if the Bonfire night, season, callout is upon us you can bet I'mma wander back

to the fears of heights and graves from yesteryears when I clowned around

and telling the truth got me in crux crossroads

a misguided lesson ill afforded to burn at both ends

of that I am certain and now understand the difference.

I remember guiding hands

open bonfires and leaping short legs, shorter people still

cheers and friendly company drowning animosity to the fellow neighbor

grilled meats and Fire excite and trill so very easily

as we run, toss and turn we look as the embers wrap around

involve, take shape, turn and leap with us

warmth and safety grow and fret with adequate risk

side by side with purpose

whenever they are kind

and generously do not burn my body

sparring my soul momentarily

what is to own a fellow scars if deep down

we are carbon and atom alike exchanging vitals dangerous to one another

as if wishful thinking could be less dangerous

to me if I noticed

I stave the fire in my sleep making it hella sexual

a narrative of juxtaposition akin to the tales where the princes

end up dancing forever.   

20/20

a familiar space craves disgrace

like a low heartbeat invites excitment

a primal call towards prey, headlights frozen

accidents are a gamble that one's lost

despite fancying not the chances

nor being aware of the cost as they stepped into

the divide that unites hunter to callous victim

to what's worth it hurts little to like one chops

from distance to bounty a singular strike

practised like a pick-up line aims and therefore rings

true should they match the vibe, for see I know of you

granted I know little to nothing about you, assuming we 

are all burdened by our demons, so take it or leave it

fantasy is to hang steady for someone to call you to their side

as if they were on your team, nothing of the sort.

____________________________________________________ 

the key to the puzzle is not tearing down the pieces

nor confusing hallow spaces for where the lock may slide wide open

to add confusion to the general frenzy of panic as phantom pain triggers

my sides, blowback/flashback to see another possibility, branch to the bonefire

what folk fail to connect is that what drove me mad

was not losing everything I ever wished for or had

nor talking to the Moon not understanding natural satellites cannot replace

at most replacing the promise of an open heaven as the eyelids close shut

no matter the bend or cronies turn arounds the distance dictates

that the worst of them is to be made a fool of entirely.  

____________________________________________________________________________

there is something so fundamental and particular

in the resounance of a camp out under the stars

plain, raw disconfort in a caked uneven dirty blanket for a bed

tiresome drawn out conversation exchanging politeness for emerging

realization that it is little that marvels and shines iconic once tested

I was brought up to become a provider, come out of my shell and detest spiders

I'm scared I pale to give fundamental roots I can barely get right in the daylight

I disagree with the Sun and don't always get by but for what's worth I stake no claim

nor am good at keeping secrets but that judgement call is not mine to grieve;

I adore Life and lay no intent in overlasting my own grief nor infect others with hate

a follow-up, an emergency to break the rules from time to time: it pays to smile and iluminate the room

my heart last exploded when I walked off a clift willingly, aware another held not my hand but my life

understanding the exchange of trust, experience and brotherhood

a silent resilience is where there is growth, a shown difference

I too was afraid of making a mistake and that's why I do not distrust the spider nor the writer

we all keep secrets inside (us)

I don't always need what I crave but I do sometimes get it too damm right

and it tastes simply divine.  

he said she said (this and that- it sounds stranger whenever you closer; it rings true in our heads and farther from the destination)

"So come a little closer, tell me it's all in our heads 

We're young and in love, heart attacks waiting to happen 

So come a little closer, tell me those three little words"

sore spots are a sign that the pressure

pressed on has forced out what was locked away

the tag stamps the timeline just as fine as the sandal slips in distain

both to old age and aggravated assault by degree of force or weighted pursuit

some things simply are not meant to be, simple addition and subtraction

a mirror distorts, bends, deflects just as light breaks and our eyes lie

an enigma that knowledge alone cannot dispel, just setup new beginnings

a grove to nurture and take solace (in) should one find need to rest (or hibernate, quietly, just as Summer)

ends so do passions, whoever it comes to be the decider, shared comission or otherwise

it does not take an expertise to empower my decisions irregardless of permission:

leave some space to facilitate the divide of ambition without the setback of surgical precision

a narrow comedown to the drumming of heartbeat and tension dissipate all the same,

a river meeting manmade cannal or drug injections, don't make it my decision

"don't wait for me"

 we all get to be the victim,

once.