I can't read my own hand palm ~ does it matter either way > lightness of breath is a marathon runner young at heart still.

had a nice due not quite a candlelight dinner

by the season of Fall we got even

the World overall did not change

there or here the metrics local, small

miniscule to those around and ahead

I drink a singular glass of milk, a pint really

at dawn to buzz off the ache on my jaw

thats a lie of course, I grow bored

and yet instilled so deeply is the habit

the destain a mess I can frame inside my brain

as my index finger pursues the rim of the typical glass I

contemplate the shine of what I am told is white cow milk

watered down to taste before serving and finding it pleasing

either way finding pulse in the pulpe taking swig after swing

short of a slam nor sham, all good it does taste like milk

I do do wonder

what is weight and why am I drawn to the causality of futility

just as rings permeate the inner glass, they remain NOT a window

to my soul or otherwise a confirmation of my bad decisions (I am only human and therefore I am afraid)

awash and sat straight and upside down the glass

is not faded to be a tool of my nourishment nor evidence of my sins (let it be, may it be so)

nor is preference for a bitter drag on my throat a price to pay (just as I suck my front teeth to prevent desolation from escaping//running away before I too have grown old)

to retire at the right time, having found something to care about

so so picky

my hand palms do remain familiar, for now

may that feeling linger long and ring true

for I have need(s)

aches and burdens preciously mine

however careless. a patchwork hideous to pursue at the fingertips

coarse for we fucked it up

wet for past the drowning at the holy river

it was left to dry atop stone by the elements and blessed with rain

I knock in my skull: there is no answer,

that leaves me deeply unsatisfied

uoah the pursuit of peace of mind suggests

a life sentence.

I had more fun in the swings as a child

my best memories really

being given milk by my mother

that memory leaves me deeply satisfied.

if forgiveness is a choice

my condolences to the mirror's edge for it shall taste

like barber wire slashing belief and deceit blazing

the wishes of that same candlelight dinner as the dawn returns

apparations are not real that must be clear as believers tremble in fear

a trick of the light matching eyes with the past, deluge the flood of a broken spell meant to fade

a persona I forgot to replace.

a nickel can get you a ride in the carossel

no matter what we do the timer shifts us though we stand in place

we are taken aboard and discarded just the same as we departed though within we know this

to taste untrue and that weight us down, suffering in mourning silence

in Uni I adopted a Dove or rather a Dove saved my life twicefolded

today a Crow with the same shine engages with the same grace

humans see what they want to see assimilating memory with the futility of expressive eyes

should I imagine animals can speak or reply?

hanging totems and scribing runes in the skin

as you were my dear:

must it be? it must be: it must be...

shift is a key

tripping over oneself head trapped in a darker place

misty and torment these darker clouds that both echo

and find space to spin and replace the light between the familiarity

of where I have been and thought I knew, understood and cherished

a breathtaking unseattling floor shaking instance of realization

that what I once loved, not the feeling replaced but that passion has moved on

to the ark of memory and recollection.

to the confinements of fragment no longer certain and freely given

as if flanked it does not last nearly as precisely as one wishes

nor is it owned exclusively, that much I understood

suppose I forgot every wish and promise

what's left to abdicate and mark testimony

flesh that knows no sin is but a shell

beneath the good action a reaction, new found purpose

or a flood of belonging//lounging for a recipient of match

lovers extend and interlock hands

parents create new limbs and teach them to walk, think and communicate

everyone else waves accordingly

let us keep the freak show to a content minimum

branch and achieve growth before the confinement of walls smoother

what's left of my continuum awake (and) otherwise.

(if physical health exists, so does the emotional fulfillement

and music transcends all three including the spiritual necessity

to tap into the tingle of a door ill designed and jammed tight)

unclear

lost all my composure

a fever of chemical combustion

bodily revolution exasperated at the arrival

of dawn, a sign that the spell has been not lifted

records of dental affairs and blood trails

to conjure wonderlust and love oneself

is a wonderful feeling indeed.

a fish once caught withdrawn, taken

out of the element where it belongs

shortcomings in a plate, grilled and broken

from spine that still combat the predator

stuck in my throat making us equally

out of breath and deadly bored

with what has escaped from this day

synthesis of flavour

whatever makes it worthwhile

to satisfy the fantasy of eternal pleasure

such fun.

cannot shake out the infectious status of paralysis

a flood of choice, given enough time

desire to be an insect crushed by the roadside

be by pyre or transfused by reason

condition: terminal; origin, human.

at a glance there are no roots in this tree

not within reach

to carve a path by means of mere fingers

hands like claws, broken nails, tore skin

achieving quite little in fact

hope is what is caved first.

i heard they killed the sun

dearest star sabotaged two years off retirement

a tragedy and a freakshow, a cane crushing an open jar

an open window is not an invitation to fly friend

i wont stop you if you try though

to let go is a lesson and a testament to the ability

to care, to share, to kill the Sun.

i don't know what i am doing

what has crawled out the skin

was not healing but acceptance

rejected by the body akin to disease

oily, slimey and quite frankly stinky

an obscene solution laced with vandalism

violence to the people atop the mid-sized donkey

child I barely distinguise tree from stump, all the pretty colours

are anothers to name and frame

to capture axe by splint on the table, desk and chair

do not forget the closet, wardrobe and cabinet

made especially for your mother

how to envelop and elupe bad decisions

rejected by the atribute of harmful domain

appropriation and self-reflection a trap on the lake

where crystal devours humans. 

improvise, adapt, for the sake of circunstance

we dance under the moonlight, sheltered from bad decisions

adulthood starts when you come to realize

there is only lending never a prize

replacing the protection of guardians for the betrayal of allowing the outside

to step inside and murk the place abouts.

heresy is neither thought nor false prayer

there ain't a cloud of difference in my position

a held scream a stain in the throat, quirky and in the way

of peace of mind when I sit down.

 I once had a date witnessing a live autopsy, my idea

 we clicked, laughted and walked away that day

a mistake meant to fade away, a grave to entertain on an otherwise dull convencional sequence

of words to pass the time, chopping at the letters carelessly because

look at my palm and see hell in tarnation

pinch, slap and bite away at the dry skin

gone astray, numb and torn into pieces that pretend to mend

the fear behind the smile in your face

how to reawaken the warrior buried under the fairytale

the charm has been dispelled by the brutal reality of the mess

we pretend to just ignore as if Time would stand down on the aftermath

of the miscalculation, immense, fruitful and worthy

getting over the ledge and trying again.

mimic you mocker of the link regional to the wound

doctors say it costs little to hold faith

options limited when the hounds ate grandma

do gravediggers ever tire of separating dirt to make space

does the blade now dull, rusty and discarded find solace

in the crystal water of the lake, refuge at the bottom

whatever boomerang effect trials my patience beyond the path of reason

I command thy seize momentum and catapult yourself beyond the walls of treason

and leave me be.

surely even gods grow tired of toppled empires and twisted tongues

bifurced badly and uneven, enerving all to see

blacken tongue, tv static. effortless desire to be anything other than human

disfigures the happy faces

waving back, at me

through a cracked screen

they are so thoughtful

on a loop repeating a speech

of parasocial brew

a deadly cocktail, attire and regal format

blade in the ribs; poison for dessert

no farewells or goodbyes for everyone dies

in the end. in this perfect story no ones worth it

seemingly summoned into being

a foot on a landmine afraid of running into paradise

I dreamt of Buddha buried in white crystal sand

the gravitas a spear through the reset of misty rain in a sad day

a walk by the park in source for reasons

to contemplate what power contained in breathing

can produce the euphoria born in Eden

the bitterness of salt awash this island

has us preserved in volcanic tomb

Julian the whale a titanic watchtower, both guardian and villain

demon and angel for his belly contains sustenance and grave

never truly an empty space for refuse

nor salvation for the drown rejoin the cycle

anew, hard to realize the release is not found in a crux

but a coffin instead, name engraved my heartbreak.

cemented the design meant to unfold

swallowing whole the specie that aware

thought itself special and unique

a flawed logic self-imploding from inside

an avalanche of tremendous conseguence

alas, in the spectral of the aftermath the individual

does not matter but should we split the atom

we will all die

as babies we shan't strive

nor survive without a nurturing kind guidance

a blessing now forgone, out of reach

I never understood why I felt inapt

felt broken and less than human

I now remember I went into hiding 

and gone back to sleep.

do without ice-tea

recess avent healing minds eyes set on fire

atop the empire a pyre of wires and desires

feline presence, holy mirror of mine bestow wisdom of old

upon the youth of yesteryear, those meek lost lamp and sheep alike

I pray I figure out where did I go wrong in places I walked by, far and away

in the lessons we exchanged, gave away and simply displaced: momentarily.

like fleeting summer scalds, unlearnt scars to bear in strives of passion

skinship of friendship a sail that dependent of wind and matching

what exactly, I could not trace the relevance and yet

undoubtly a duel of might, wills and corny jokes

has occured and faced due judgement in the arena

rocking up to the joint waiting for that something something

to whisk our spirits and take our breath, surprised it hasn't happened yet

maybe I forget. 

elated, elastic, unmotivated occupier of this space, don't watch closely it dulls the mind.

a complete waste of time.

________________________________notquitehalf__________________________________________

a chanced talk trapped in a call mid queue to buy something I did not really want

but nevertheless could not breakaway from the day, a mistake

turnover the wardrobe, knock it over all the same

by inaction, attentive devotion to a reluctant

war against oneself. loud and messy, twitching

a pending appointment, a misterious pain

glassdoors offer no privacy nor security

flesh pressed on connections, against fragments alive and bright

awake, flying, lodged deep, slicing and floating atop clouds and dreams

in dilligence they work whose sleepy cranky head, should we

follow. I volunteer to reimagine the wires connecting the chain reaction. 

shapeless, within, as they should for they belong here.

what I conjure as my realm

of wanted confort, normality and peace, it takes a while

not as long as to take, in, the sights, endless as they are pretty

wide as they are grand these roads suspended and free.

requests cutting deeper, heavier

are perceived threats to my enemies

a crystal clear blow out

forest of silent hunters on the prowl, beware do take care

(shared) co-existance a living hell of sorts round these parts

trail a scent of 'over 'nothings' a tell tale of fundamentally disagreeing

a thing of the heart I 'sppose

crime tomb of mine, of speedy stories that serve as time gauge, metrics and odd devices

prison to hold a secret, atop of my tongue and its an intoxicating feeling

freedom joined to the rotten crawling on the walls

loss tearing at the flesh never doing it on my own

a speedy overtake with family and friends, no less!

words alone cannot contain this lukewarm room mood

a worm infesting the ear canal

neutral unequal, bored and pressing

the strangle hold of waiting for the something else

the good change on a coin flip

                                                                    the usurpor of a bonbon

by a depressed, suicidal

housewife

locked by choice

on a lovely villa

ample garden

laughing, annoyingly energetic

children assault her senses

on the daily

some her own, by the way

sipping on a bottle

a call to the infancy

in need of nurture

red wine and expensive

bon-bons

chocolate, delicate liquor infused

chocolate.

a phantom whose gown

barely contain the lament

and feminine form

trapped, drapped and neglected

openely kind, in need of a shoulder to cry on

I slashed by childlike knee open, go go fast

or so I recall, and do hard as I try

I wish I knew better in the joys

of my childhood if,

a friend's mother and a dear crush

gone at 43

why in this page, and why now

what fragments got chopped

and otherwise embelished

or flowery regarded as a cover-up

for stories are shared

 never ours.