is it up to us how to feel?

as the dust settles

ground to bone shouldn't mix

to give up blood to sand

the fabric of time does not apreciate death friend

so choose happiness instead.

the drink we shared as the sun settled

there, further, up, on the horizon traces

mere replica but it felt quite real.

the frustration grinds like a blade to skin

slices away with abandon known reversed to the Sun

and those lost at sea. 

a half baked therapy consumes air like toxic waste

makes the very ground shake with weight, a hurricane we nickname catastrophy.

the word feels final, the ground feels wrong and somewhat that weariness is familiar. 

stranger things have occured outside, the open door a warning sign I suppose

we were unsure where to step and we must have step something Off

should it blow will be it close? am I too late to turn tail without conseguence

to go without It. the very saliva tastes the bad type of funny

a mercy forsaken, a wave that bounced into the sand only to be swallowed:

do swallow everything. 

today i sat and counted time

i do mind and it took a while to keep perfectly still and numb

to crawl back into a darker hole where futility has met tranquility

in pefect harmony

the burden cracks under the tear of fear

or so I believed, lost in the memories

that twinkle, blink back and cause me great confusion

blurred emotions, some say we cannot quite quantify reality

but this sure feels pretty darn real to me, stripped of dignity

what is left is ugly and contorned in shapes I unveil forcefully

mea culpa;

I broke my croocked guardian angel neck,

torn apart, didnt bother attending the funeral

I wore red today

no more torment in the basement, it comes out on the weekend

I estimate the remainer of my sanity free flows like the wind

that calls a name that is stuck both ways

it comes and goes like treasure that we easily abandon and forget

only to immediately recall at the 11th hour we crave the teddy, the lover

that now trumps gold,

this suffering for vanity

is unjust, unworthy of the blind

those deaf to the calling

fuck off shall we

I am going home, my bed my throne

rid me of this games, gods and lords

humans and the likes

for this is not how I choose to feel.