Running joke

It’s not safe here anymore. Maybe it is safer. I feel stuck between loving myself and being a self hater. Traitorous to what is reality mostly because I am confused by the indiscrepancies of what I see or think is me. But who am I kidding? It’s me, I’m the joke running. Only fooling the messenger who is delivering the ammunition gunning my own self down, I’ve stitched a target in the threading of each gown that I wear, each item I put on, it’s just a matter of time, I’m not sure just how long it will take for me to be blamed for another mistake. Another settling down from the the shit I create. The things I make up in my mind. It comes cued in, right in time and in line with any hope that “I’m better” … in short that’s the descriptive head letter. Short hand expresses the energies lessened and the dread of resent is moreover presented.

So … confused?

I don’t know what I’m doing, I don’t know what it is with this feeling I don’t want to let go

but I know I’m no longer healing

I can see the happiness congealing

into little pools. …

when I pass by

i see the reflection of only a fool

who keeps trying to jump over the puddle forgetting it’s a river

forcing myself to Drown,

pressing down

into a sliver of hope

waiting for it to Hold my body

and help me Float

Flow freely, I don’t wanna keep repeating these same mistakes

waiting and hoping for love to grow,

but it won’t,

how could it when I raise the stakes every day.

This is loves game to play,

bounce the heart back-and-forth between what is real

and what is my reality,

what is real to me?

I only shorten that time by the time I spend questioning

the time I spend assuring

that deception is luring and

obscuring the clarity,

the hilarity is the severity

of how disparity takes a hold of me

and I see that I can see

but I’m blind to the outcome,

trying to outrun

the inevitability that this journey is done, drug me down turned me into someone that is no longer some one’s

present and certainly not future…

it’s fear is pure.

Born out of hell for the last two years. And now I can see

how I am responsible for these

about to be tears.. .

All the hypocrisy

coming from my broken mirror.

No wonder it all looks mispieced

and no wonder my perception

is not perceived the way that I can, conceptually

this is a malfunctioning plan

if I expect to somehow reflect

these jagged edges

and expect you to understand

and make them smooth

and cut clean like hedges..

still broken and rebuilt

but preferred to stack my brokenness tidy and esthetically,

brick by brick of emotion

as to predict the pattern accordingly, unfortunately

or a misfortune for me

or perhaps it is all jumbled beautifully, but when you look you see

shattered and shredded stories

staring back at you

from your imagery of truth,

and hear from your preferred tuning

in or tuning out of the details

expressed through,

communicating empathy.

and the reply is emptily

offering empty hearts,

easily breaking apart ,

what little is left of loves art

Damn feelings

I feel alone. I feel like the only one sitting here in this throne. Emptiness for accompaniment. Sadness in this establishment. Housing big servings of feelings that are only mine to digest. Pulling my chair up to an unoccupied table. Feeling like instead of in my kingdom, I am eating from the stables. Being fed bullshit enough to get my belly full. Then I feel uncomfortable. I realize that I am not being fulfilled, this has become illogical. Magical time and show is over. I need to be held onto forever. Or at least when it’s clever to show that the care is as deep as said. More than text messages and weekend dates in bed. More than hey this is what I did today, more like, I need you in my life, how is your heart, baby? Me, I’m crying inside I’m crying outside, Im feeling like it’s the pride that keeps me from dying. Again with the crying. I wish I didn’t feel so alone in my mind. Especially when I share it so openly. I give my thoughts over to help you see me accordingly. See me so that my heart feels your love for me. But I don’t feel that. I feel pushed, slightly. Away is not quite right, but averted from deepening. Lonesome reasoning.

factual fiction

I don’t wanna do this anymore and by this I mean that and by that I mean whatever it is that proclaims to be fact.  in my experience, fact is just a misconception of perception. Fact is we are just an example of an alternative personification.  there’s more layers to it than just one or two, which will encapsulate the idea of what it means to be you. You have to go down at least six or seven personas further. Fact is we are just fiction covered in a multiple media moldable plaster of lustre. Overwhelming the egos stature or, boasting that its perception is the only one available or factual. Fact being prepared and produced through the eyes of the one who lives in self-induced demise. Always implying that what they are saying is no way displaying an active disapproval or an act of a mouthful of lacked truth, full of Words that are heard but have no definition. words that are delivered to be accepted without friction, just factual diction. again, encouraging you to understand that it can no longer stand to be what is held on the pedestal of undeniable truth, no longer served to our famished and truth-seeking youth. fact is the words are regurgitated fractions of agitated hack jobs applying for the positions of manifesting life long words of manipulated wisdom. its looking grim, son, so i am done, i don’t want to listen anymore to the distortion of fact in your swoon song.

it tries

it took a little longer but it has come again, and the interest of keeping its company is wearing incredibly thin. it is not welcomed and never invited to stay, yet no matter how many times it is dismissed, back to me, it finds its way.

why is it so insistent and why does it think it is wanted? it only leaves me hollow and my soul left haunted. it begins by tip toeing a twirl around my spirit, and tries to offer a swoon of songs, starting so softly, alluring me to hear it.

how many times have i looked into its implying eyes, intentions of hope while the path laid ahead is paved by lies. how many times have i fallen into its hand basket, so pretty and made well..i cry out simply, too many too many too many to tell.

it takes opportunities to jab its insults, leaves remnants of disturbance, radical distortions and tumult. even among the scattered shrapnel and debris, it spins its webs of false ideas and ideals, waiting to snare its prey, me.

i stand with resistance and beg for it to leave, disappear, don’t return. stop looking at my soul to set your fire in, find nowhere else to burn. enticing me, with its smoking curls and its beckoning brimstone, i run, i seek refuge in love, that is my home.

Shallow slide

thin top, skin line, just reaching the surface of whats on my mind. only briefly brushing on topic offering a skimp of your time. continually trying. often defying what it is that i have been relentlessly defining. implying that satisfaction is just as fleeting as fashion always pulling a distraction from anything factual. just enough to impress on as emotional yet not contractual. cannot commit to the thick of it. just enough to soften the rough bit, bitten from the tip, leaving behind all that is really underlying, the depth of the call, the start of the fall. Falling deeper into the crevasse of desire, wanting the soul to be the subject to inquire. Passionately engulfed by the fire, staying upright on the high wire of presenting face while Love is locking into a dangerous place. Shallow pools still aren’t safe. How do you grab a life jacket when it’s material is lace. Not able to withstand any extenuating circumstances that require a longer observance than the effortless sideways glances. And still yet entranced with the chance that change is in the future plan. A stand for the grand entrance into the meaning of soul. A vibration to visually uphold and come closer to listen as its story begins to unfold. Uncreasing each layer from warm center to the extended edge’s cold. Examining the veins trenches as it’s red carpet unrolls. Pouring along the outline in shades of burgundy . Like truth spilling out as it was intended to be. Still exploring the vast and the void that is stored inside, showing off that it’s only crime is draining personal depth to honor its pride. Back behind the sheer curtains and passing connectivity aside.

Interesting scene

I can’t stop and it’s twisting up my head. It spills, stains my brain and makes my view full of lead. I see only nothingness as the target in my chest has been washed over as unimpressive, unimportant. It must be an imported goal, complete with unidentifiable instructions leaving a hole where it was intended to be whole. Gaping, kind of oozing from a wound that is nothing short of self abusing as I sit here expecting or even hoping for the perusing of such words I have put out to be read. Most likely taking risks of it being misinterpreted. Although that would be welcomed moreover than any false hope, and following paths that keep my interests broke. The trigger that pulled the gun of loves infliction now has chambered echoes of bottled indignation. Insulting the very beginning of held out foundational building. I keep building. Seeing with a blind intuition and leading myself into clear confusion. Seeing what’s not there, but knowing it is. Giving bits of fresh air but those breaths are short lived when I see the amount of time and space afforded to something stealing away, causing priorital decay, pushing the interests further away. With that, stay. Stay there in that example of complexity, in that world of feeling not quite wrong but rightly denying the subtle intensity. I see. It should be me, maybe too clearly I see. Maybe too clearly i just want to be seen, a scene hard to turn away from. And now, killing me, I play along, willingly. I want the heart, the soul, the brain to be freedom.

Why do I feel

Why do I feel so out of place? What is it that my brain cannot erase? It holds on too tight to what I cannot say. It’s like a corset too tight at the lace.

Why do I feel so removed from myself? What is it that puts my comfortability so high on a shelf? It makes me reach further into empty wealth. Like I’m without the coin to toss into the well.

Why do I feel less like I am less than I am? What is it that keeps me from the “bigger plan?” It keeps me from deciding to sit or to stand. Like I am reading a book that I don’t understand.

Why do I feel like I could just fade away? What is it that keeps me wanting to stay? It withholds my affirmation and my mind starts to sway. It’s like I am without instruction but expected to play.

Why do I feel like I don’t belong? What is it that keeps me with this yearning so strong. It’s like I want to be right but impressed to be wrong. It is something I’ll keep up but not knowing for how long.

Everything

the whispers on the wind that makes your soul sing…. the rays from the sun, warmth to your heart it does bring…. the rhythm of joy as a child’s purpose on a swing…..

I want to be your everything

the delighted witness of fresh blooms in the dew of spring…. the silent wishes into the well which coin tosses do cling…. the reverberations of nature’s song when the chimes of wind ring….

I want to be your everything

the fastened dependence of feathers in span of the birds wing…. the clash of electric surges and exposure of radiant lightning…. the lace trimmed and adorned twirl on the dress of a little darling….

I want to be your everything

the water claimed holy sprinkled about while offered blessing…. the vibration of love expressed through tribal drumming….. the endearment of grace given in darkness waiting for morning….

I want to be your everything

Grief – it ruins

Grief,

It comes out of nowhere. It tells you the truth that lies want to use as a cover. It sections off nothing and offers no disclosure.

Grief,

It is allusive and gives no remorse. It sanctions nothing as sacred and promises to contort. It gives a visual of hope and has only desolation to report.

Grief,

It is forced upon those who are desperately trying to heal. It comes full force when Love is the life’s appeal. It transitions hope into a perspective of false ideals.

Grief,

It has become an inebriation. It transforms love into devastation. It gives face of light and darkens the illumination.

Grief,

It has made me monstrous. It has erased all forms of calming guidance and patience. I have become brutal and callous.

Grief,

I no longer know what to expect from me. It has taken my dreams and defecated on my reality. I am no longer who I want to be.