How could you disguise that face smothered in disgrace
By attempting to console me with that condescending utterance: I could have held the EHA behind your back.
The SS goose stepping all sloppy like they were in an Augustan rain parade.
The Gods mercifully laugh at the man below who believes he’s a Demi
Demon suckling off the maleficent mede milk of Zeus’s pseudo mother’s
Others like you Bongaard with your safe guarding a half littered candle of conscience.
Once philosophers sparked off concubines thesis in riddles.
Ticking off the boxes-she says, Flicking those remnant ticks off her manky teeth whilst she puffs and huffs out the front door.
Who do I talk to when I’m feeling mentally incapacitated ejaculating seems too complex to grasp?
Bongaard can only gasp: Well, me of course, I’m your CPN.
She gestures to her limp, matted ginger vapid soul.
I’ll close the door behind you . Don’t bother I think, Insipid to the core if you can found them in that mass of fleshy ,ginger ,ruddy rotund-she’s invented a new geometric shape-I can’t help but watch her in unbelievable awe
Cos I know she daren’t turn back to gaze at a face that was and could still be hers if she didn’t have a profession to safe guard her. (roll of the eyes — only cos I need to lubricate my contact lenses) .
I’m not going to let her see me cry again.
Every session I hear her garbled muzzled diatribe about her life,
Bongaard, you are paid 24 K a year to do a job — shut your gob or do I have to show you where I hide the flipping cookie dough cream tub?
Find out how your’e gonna help me top help myself. I can’t do it alone I’m on both knees . How many suicide attempts do you have to sit through or read about or eat over with your unintelligible mind-space app and you archaic DBT clod splash therapy How many more gesticulations do I have to avert my perverted gaze because you blatantly cannot see.
The greatest heartache is the tears doubting this won’t be my last breathe my grande plan will find me in a goldie locks bed-wide awake , Paramedic-dejavu -ing that I gulet myself to A&E to get checked out.
Not in this state
I still think that ole Gemma is kind not like Rachel nor bongaard.
Gemma is divinity at the cusp of this dastardly escapade-an epitome of life.
Flashback: Crisis team! trello that treble holler, I’m, feeling suicidal again 7 days coma near to death suicide
You’ll be fine, dearie, I’ll just put the receiver of these words out in the gutter with my ethics.
An outline silhouette frowns ready to break his idle bones
A lingering chapati scent of a glazed woman longing to dance amounts the misfits in her town.
Welcome home-I love that sign — that font so silent so serene.
You don’t care, my better half a Achilles heel screams spittle into the wounds I hold in infested band aids.
For another moment I feel ashamed-eyes don’t know wether to look at that piece of lint on the stairs or raise mine to give him a stand off that he would never attempt to stir the birth of all my misery that I can’t regulate my emotions even if it would stop my heart beat- finally
The fastitious musty gut butt dances in a disorder darned fashion Disintegrates the log piles.
The fire is gone . Yet, I cry for I felt it-a smudge on my morning complexion Yet, I cry for I am half doused by that arrow tic carved matchstick.
the fruit frilled guilt lasts as long as the hem of these petty coated words promoting the warfare of safe guarding our children in a bed ridden world based on a frame of text books.
Do not judge me
For my sapling survival
a birth of a scape goat to inscribe the words of a free spirit
With no country
I claim as my own
I am who I choose as my identity
No political movement can discriminate against my spirit
For I denounce those who cannot see the truth
In front of them
even when they kneel
The only divine death
With nothing to face.
The unknown scripture of abandonment sans fear
How many times can a man kill
With the swell of pride in his heart
The ocean stained with the sins
Of his foibles and ills?
A death wish
Mammoth moments sunken by the greed of this lot
Moby dick stood afloat
Whilst man’s morals were lost.
To the rise of egos
The wan of humanity.
The flag ships raised
A toast to a humans descent into insanity.
Without affirmative action these are mere words of profanity
I drank a lot today
It read back to me like it was poetry
I woke up yesterday
Some other day
And the words hung over me like a scorpion waiting for a punch line to pass onto it’s ancestors
A bloody Mary
Dog of the hair
These words aren’t poetics until
I glare at that question
Maybe another time?
Own your crown like it is your temple- for the crown you choose to wear will define your silhouette to others and your temple reveals the boundaries that form the foundations of your character.These are my words for today.
She’s must be a fraud. Disconnected to this world
a caricature of a human.
An imposter civilian of society – a living entity to her dismay incapacited to disappear
always chased back in this race -the rush
It’s marathon pace she detests
The First in line to devour the despo’s discarded crusts.
Her washed out hat mirrors
Her bottom lip
Scrutinizing the clouds wafting by.
Human puppets strung up
A reason to carry on the charade?
Compelled by the hypnotic pull pulsating with a love song serenading the humanity of heart.
He can’t bear to look at me.
I hate your nose – it’s bulbous, broken
by his nemesis circa 2017.
It blows. It’s flat. It stinks. It’s fat.
It’s a face he doesn’t want to know.
If he knew how close I am to snubbing him
It will show up in a bloody knife responsible for cutting off his honker.
Noise pollution-snoring slovenly.
I should be asleep!
3am is a bit late for a distorted nose disfigured by his hatred for gluttony
If he hates this nose
If he detests to look at me with an impoverished plea , why won’t you up and leave me?
I need to change!
Don’t we all. Happiness resides in our very own core.
I love you , do what you need to do. Thank God it’s friday.
I’ve gone off fish -is he interested in this snivelly, snotty news?
No, he’s confused.
What do you want if money was unlimited?
There’s not limit to further your happiness
Depart from those dirty, tinted glasses
Depart from the lady you thought you once knew
You’ve outgrown her dance. Your silence is more than a clue
The confrontational snoring . I want to bludgeon him with out further ado
Who really blew it, God knows! to hell with his slumbered shout – the only form of commication he can muster or do.
The lack of reciprocation.
The lack of effort.
The lack of indecisiveness
Start again .
Change is a fearless beast for many rather than the few.
Guilty as charged.
Perceptive-on my guard.
Make a choice. Don’t sit on the unmade bed. Your freedom is self made. Doubt starts in the mind.
Who has the highest score?
Perhaps if I took my sleeping tablets I’d have drifted into my haze
Tonight I’m the monster awake with a the unsightly nose.
God only knows why his zen state lie soley with me changing my all.
He snores and snores doesn’t know what he wants. He’s his own boat with a chance to carve out oars.
Right, that’s it I’m going to get the carving knife
I’m going to cut off his nose then we’ll see if we indeed reap what we sew.
What a carry on.
Blow after blow
A mindless hedge untrimmed unkempt. Shut up I’m the one who knows.
A charlie chaplin lost in translation
He mimes in waking moments
Dictates his Hitler speech in the hours of slumber
Separate the whites from the yolk.
I’m out of here. He’s bleeding profusely.
You heard nothing but the snores of a sloth.
It’s up to me to disappear. The ugly nose is a no show.
My husband slept on the floor again.
My daughter slept out away from home
I stayed upstairs in our kingsize bed
I’m beginning to detest the word again
Walked out my front door
First time in 5 days, I turned right for a change of scenery chucking out the rubbish – the highlight of this today
Beneath my feet the concrete was still grey
My demeanour resembled the bland council houses unimaginative choice of decorating on the cheap -resembles a prison … whatever . No , I’m done rhyming today.
What prompts these feathered words typed and on display – a bird not in flight
Wings tinged with blue a sorrowful sight to see no fight
Eyes bright with dew dawn light.
Eyes screetching victoriously: I found the worm special of the day!
How do I say , justify , describe the way my heart swooned the wrong way. I looked up at the sky thankful for the first time in many for it’s consistant rays.
A distraction , a rouse – I knew it was dead . I’m ashamed to admit I didn’t move him onto a more dignified path. I was afraid he’d come back to life.
Circled around him in a hesitantly callous way
How dare he interrupt a quiet walk-the first in almost a week from sunday?
Did I imagine it semi flutter whilst I walked past him with my bin liner full of litter ?
I profess to love watching those with wings -airborn soaring . I’m envious in away. A speculating visual painting adorned with glittered hues , proof that life moves in every way.
I confess I have a phobia of dead birds. Past memories of one I wasn’t able to save in my childhood
Direction moved me to walk the other way from a lifeless soul left to rot on a staircase.
Behold, the black witch inside her!
“For one day she will realize her true powers to the full and command her random intents.
And, so the ‘magic’ of her possession will will cause the chaos to come,all those toxic around her will tumble.
Bruised and scarred
They will all roll away.
The witch inside her will turn in on herself and become a tiny black , pincered scorpion. If she is arrested under a great ultra light she will glow.
Yes, she will glow fluorecently so, and appear other worldly and of exceptional brilliance. That is when she will decide sting herself to the death.
maybe she will use her power to create ‘real magic’ that sings with a beating heart-one full of love and acceptance.
This. Is.The. End.