Thumper

Tick tock goes the clock,

the clock of life inside.

Pumping crimson through the veins,

until the cells collide. 

Weary and tired it wants to stop,

It throbs to finally rest.

And if it quits tonight in bed,

I could say I've had the best.

The pain it tries to rear its face,

When the moon is hanging high.

If only I could sprout some wings,

I'd join it in the sky. 

So now I lay me down to sleep,

I'll shut my crystal eyes.

And if I wake to see the dawn,

It'll be a big surprise. ;) 

Declutter and Butter

Diet gone to hell in a hand basket so lay on the butter while I declutter my mind, my life, my heart, my health..as the candle burns a bright blister into my eye drops against the blue walls the crow calls at my doorstep where I keep the broom to bust the dusters, the leaves they cluster this time of year when the deer drink dew frost and this week the Hawks lost. Declutter bring the butter, I jump for joy, find a lost toy in the mystery meat megacrap this place had become...time to clean up. Love fall. Love this time of year. Do I make that clear? I think so. Now if only one day I could live to see a tree covered in color..it's on my bucket list!  

Tiny World Open Door

The universe spins and rotates,

and funnels it's energy,

toward a tiny world,

toward the city of Jacksonville,

and the power descends,

the law of attraction, 

where random is no longer random,

and self creation defeats fate,

and odds are defied,

because she draws from the well,

and she knows what she knows,

what she has always known,

and the kavorka fills her cup,

and she drinks,

and a miracle which is not a miracle,

opens a doorway to a new world.

By my good friend Kev

A Trash Can and The Way I Feel

Hurt and battered, splattered and splayed, almost betrayed...when you give someone the world why can't they share it? I mean sharing is caring in a world of pink possums that hang in a row like love bugs that take tow, smashed on the grill of life, their hell without Halloween, once a queen, always a pauper, a beggar, a talker. A lover of the unloved, as gentle as a dove but mad as a wet hornet and the words damn scorn it, because if I could REALLY say the way I feel right now....the words would do best in the trash can....in never ever land. 

Three Acts

Being left out is an emotional drama that unfolds in three acts: discovery, distress, and, if you can get there, detachment. Being left out is the dark side of friendship

12:03

Past midnight, but the time of day is the month and date that I was born into this shitty old world. I wonder how many other times I've been born into this place and if I would've said shitty old world at that point and time. Eating myself into a sugar coma, compromised with a handful of xanax and a wonderful Angry Apple Orchard because it's fitting I think. The Angry I mean. I'd like to scream out about a hundred cuss words, maybe fall on the ground and pitch a terrible twos fit, or smash all the plates in the cabinet into bits...but none of it would make the pain I feel right now go away, would it? He comes in here and sits behind me and stares. He has no clue what I'm doing or why I'm doing it. And sometimes I wish he'd just leave me alone. The only man that loves me and I wanna push him out. Just go away and let me be depressed tonight alone. Guess it's my destiny. Not everyday is black. Some are blue.

Bones That Hold Me Up

Held aloft by two hundred six bones, like a thousand tones of skin color, layers of epithelial like cellophane packaging up what makes me me. But what if one flaw in my structure went unnoticed and this one flaw could make me topple at the slightest gust of wind without warning? What if God fucked up? On me?  

I Wish I'd Done Better

These are the things that matter most, I have to raise a toast to these folks that are part of me that only I wish were more a part of me, in the forest of life, we get lost, lose out paths, crawl under rocks, fail to look at the rainbows and blossoms, only come out with the possums, and plunder in the trash because trash is what you feel like sometimes when things get rough and no one is there to listen to the listener. I would give my last cell to spend more time with the people that matter most in my life. I only wish I'd done better.

Free Therapy Til Never After

Turn around and fix your eye in my direction, so there's a connection, I can't make a sound, staring at the reflection, the mirror crumbles into croissants with no butter because butter makes you fat and fat is ugly to the eye of the beholder, crush them with the biggest boulder until blood squirts in the eye of the criticism full of sarcasm and pride like a dive off the deep end of the ocean and blue is the color of the sleep that will come like a bolt of lightning in the frightening forest I feel so alone....
But I'll write until the lights go out...
because words last forever.  

Entering The Flesh Again

The color of blood like a flood,
Into the cauldron of continuity, 
Timely transmigration of the soul,
Is it half empty or half full?

A universal progression toward death,
Governed by Karma herself,
The existence or non existence on self,
Unchanging, floating on a cosmic kaleidoscope.

Might you survive death itself?
Based solely on your karmic inheritance...
Irrelevant to the point of returning,
A Druid's rebirth...give me my wings I say.

WTF?

A huge array of sensory information, degradation...
a segregation of sadness and sacrifice a race to suffice being nice and getting trampled like a beetle under a bull's hooves, 
as expressive as a loaf of white bread in a spread of clouds like a dripping faucet, indulge in a rainbow of chocolate, lest you slip a blade along your tongue, but lash out at a lizard in a landfill of lofty imaginations, temptations without the temptress but the paws of a princess in a faux laced up corset, I fight to stay awake but can't force it...
Swallow the blue to Purdue with dreams like buttercups and truffles damn I hit a ruffle in the chip of sadness where the fuck is my gladness, in the dark you were my eyes, in the forest you were my guide, what am I now but dust in the windfall of circus and cities of walls I can't climb but fall for the last time...I dream in a scream of rusted rage, words fall off the page like liquid lava without the lamp of life the strife it eats me up until I cannot find a single oxygen bubble in a sea of seamless hydrogen hypocrites talking and stalking me until the dawn never comes and the sun doesn't rise and there are fatless fries and endless ketchup....what the fuck is life anyway? 

Love Secondhand Serenade Songs When I'm in this sort of mood...

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Suicide To Your Existence

Don't ever get to that point where you are ashamed of being you just because someone is ashamed of you...to do so would be suicide to your existence.