https://youtu.be/diZEGYsAvJg I used to think my writing was ineligible maybe that was its charm. These days I write more concise cos a guy couldn’t take in more than 300 words of what I wrote. I detest this undercover cop writer fraud Its mind possesses my pen The daily dips in a stream in consciousness […]
She didn’t know it then
she knew now.
Woken up with on a loop blasting around her mind in surreal sound-
the Russian bass choir chanting in all surround.
An apt app unconsciousness knew her well.
A year ago, life had been different.
Mirthful, optimistic playful
Now, rooted to the spot with foliage, branches, lush leaves taking in the vagabonds seeking shelter.
Lost souls in need hidden by darkness
these nomadic souls plotting their next move.
Time for souls to gather there their thoughts
the continued search of their dreams and pursuits.
Forlorn found herself lost in her own shades of solitude.
She was alone. Tucked up in her double bed -a pattern of flowers – all Huey reds and purples.
Forlorn – wrapped up in a ditzy forlorn pattern matched her current mental state.
She could feel the bubbling creeping up to death by poison ivy- curling it’s away from the roots of her feet upwards.
It would not stop until she was mummified into silence.
She knew it wanted to make sure her mouth, eyes & nose covered in bondage to the soil solidly planted her roots.
One day she had an epiphany.
Moments of clarity were few.
A possibility to be something purposeful meaningful for her.
She had given life sustained it for those souls.
Yet she was weary, ageing.
Before she was forced to put down roots in an abode that spoke in foreign serpentine tongues;
Forlorn had forgotten she used to be a road runner girl.
A girl was taken by flights of fancy on a whim.
Ready to outrun her nemesis wanting to keep her hostage in a place she knew she didn’t belong.
An elder had kept her close to her.
Fearful to let her be free
To be whatever She wanted to be.
She begged her ancestors to rouse the beasts of deforestation to seize her keeper.
she could get a clean break – start over.
Feel movement not in height but in fluidity.
Nostalgic fragments of past it feelings -fragments
a pair of wings
A pair of arms
Even a pair of legs again.
Seasons passed still, she lay rooted to this spot. Full and plumaged as ever.
Ready to entice wanderers to seek shelter for without telling her a reason.
She fidgeted, yawned, stretched willing pine bristles to deter these unwanted vagrants.
Her heart had almost given up. She had succumbed to what she supposed was her last winter.
One eve she looked at the bees collecting sweet nectar for the unseen Gods.
Forlorn conceived a sapling of hope
Mental Rummaging a sense of Deja Vu.
I know it’s here’- impatient, sighing.
A piece of technology from the world she was once a part of.
A means of magic.
A way to communicate her distress.
Tangled hands finally caught the pointed end of a carved, wooden wand.
Slim, compact light.
Her true form to be again.
Stretching open her eyeballs could be made simpler if she had the eyelashes to wipe away the moss interfering with her vision to flee..
Diminished another sense
She would forget who she was
what she wanted to be
She drifted into a frightful sleep.
A woodpecker hammered a hole of her bleak existence.
The start of her new life was in a gestation period of fewer than 12 hours!
How did I sleep for so long? Christ! berating her herself under the twilight
Suddenly a swarm, around her were a fleet of fireflies.
One eyeball strained
and out into focus confirmed her impending anxiousness starting to emit it’s familiar disparate gas into her trunk form.
The final place she held on to her liberty – her mind.
Thoughts ploughed at her – like a farmer attacking a poorly harvested crop.
Not fit for tendering
Nor the soft touch of her keeper.
She fought with all might
Absorbed more -light, water, words…
The elder’s I told you so voice pulled her back into the darkness of her gloom.
Just like a car needs fuel to keep going so does the body need food… photosynthesize.
Try and be what you are destined to be. A tree.
Blasting those voices back into the void from whence it had snatched out
Reaching over – without much of a search
Rustled her leaves -A call out for new bosom firefly friends.
A loud moan persisted from her innermost pit.
Hunger to be free in the form she still chose to be.
Chronic cramp. If only for the longing desire she had for her legs or wings to ease the pain of being motionless.
It wasn’t enough that she contributed towards sustaining other life species.
This stagnant obsession never seeing a sunrise from another part of the world again.
She looked down at her well-worn form.
How hard can it be to throw herself back to a time when she had legs?
a moments thought yanked her back like leashed like a dog to this home she felt no affinity .
Forlorn inhaled the scented berries, unravelling the mask of sight at the ivy,
A glimpse an assortment of psychedelic fleurs initiating that it was time to wake up.
One more push, one more fight.
Forlorn no more she’d set herself free.
Lazily, a tigeress snores into her paws . If only retiring was as simple to rule her inner world.
Curled up in warmth after a stroll into the big wide world,then settle for a quinquennium pause.
Her heart beats.
Nationalists- not even patriots are exempt.
All want to play in their own chord, tighten the strings ,she keeps it together, to satisfy their crucified minds.
In a state of constant – motionless movement.
If not an act of physicality -drill cumbersomely inside her cranium and you will see chemicals and synapses – making up fresh bricks and mortar, to fit in with the latest homemade yeast infused hootchie.
Glance away now, for fear of pitying an evocative attempt to get a rise from it.
Secret plots to charge this queen with treason.
Where will she live?
Her throne burnt to the ground to make way for a newly elected dopamine and serotonin scrupulous , democratic union.
Flags of self-belief – burned infringed – protecting her staked land was all this monarch tried to take into hand.
Defamation – character assassination.
Cloaked – in darkness- rat scuttles past – no pause – it already knows this violated prisoner is barren.
Scars and welts – a confession is sought after by the cardinal living east of the castle manor.
Employed only to instill courage when the most powerful empire seized a chance to escape into heritic souls howling in the wind.
Faith and Hope – not draft an erratic, purple, incensed dogmatic pope .
Dire retribution -execute the one who claims this state is her very birthright.
Clubbed to her knees – she will crawl not humbly- you shall hear her plea.
She wants to make them a better nation.
It’s her biggest exclamation.
Out plotted by her very own court – bribed by cheap whores-given away by the roughness of their hands, dressed up as expert courtesans, who clearly have seen at least one day of sun.
Intoxicated by some amorphous potion.
Formalyhde doused in cleaveaged lace dresses – it was not her initial notion.
A scented air of burning flesh
A greek tragedy indeed.
Scorned by her very owns subjects . She may be longitiduely dimintitive but she refuses to be bullied into showing them that wanted emotion.
Defeatist attitude does not a fit queen make.
Words in a precise order do not prize a piece of art,
so clearly a fake.
Forgiveness is her only weapon. She won’t see her country be overrun by zealous creachers.
It would appear her subjects wish to prove that she is illiterate.
Tortured, holding her breath under water to procure a confession – let her reiterate.
The crown is made to fit one head – It is symbolic and vaporizes with her when she exhales all energy and is varnished as dead.
Look how you’ve turned on one another – in the pursuit of power. It is a notorious illusion.
To master control over all subjects requires more than an iron-clad fist and an outraged dalliance to declare outright confusion.
recognition and honor are what she offers,
accept these as the wealthiest of gifts.
Only a fool would scream,
‘Off with her head‘ -a face full of sour lemons and a lust to frazzle the last tether.
The Noblest of causes – so much bloodshed – look into her bloody, vein threaded eyes.
She hasn’t slept for weeks in her fight, to appease all those in famine, hungry and underfed.
She needs no steering Regent to aid her in her duty.
All she demands is loyalty and valor.
With you all at her side ready to conquer life’s copious battles,
we shall not go down .
your hearts will not know the true grief inflicted made up of another community of arrows.
we shall not waiver.
Trust in your queen to walk as a stout cripple ,duty bound to protect and hold it all together.
Do or die –
live fast , party hard –
be an honorific rebel.
Shake me up,
Colour me bold!
Don’t wind me down – use a font that sounds like Bevel.
If I could jump in that diamond-encrusted box with you, would you promise that when the children come by we could uncoil, spring up, put on the frighteners – bob up and down on a wire?
I don’t mind you playing the feral monkey but those cymbals screech: overtrained!
we need a new theatrical,
a mind-body infused,hell-raising gospel choir.
It’s a happening, baby – right over here. Club Fifty-Four.
Andy Warhol is in New York – a shimmering and a shammering with his latest regurgitated muse, lapping up the froth off his candy-coloured eye-popping corps.
It’s all the craze.
It deserves a mention.
Yo, budding journalists get your jots and pens out, pay attention to the latest and greatest.
News knew how to mark us – with the blackest of plagues.
Fish and chips to go, in ink -lined, soggy wrapping?
Spill out your guts with this slick new verse, congenial wordsmith.
Toxic misty breath continues to reign -centuries later, none of us is the wiser to what we are all truly cursed with.
Need a blood test or has Fate told you to put up your feet and take a light rest?
Rest is of the idle boned – the ones whose gums recede in a world of a decade ago of old, gravelly deflated pillows, grimy duvets sprayed with remnants of last night’s perhaps last months dalliance.
Life is to be played.
Hard and fast.
No one wants to party with some skittle who loses the colour of his new shades – when the beat kicks in and he is meant to advance without a second glance.
Rookies, pawns, knights and queens.
Who should we really be saving?
Strategy demands the benefits calculated tested means.
Decrease or increase the stakes of getting a hit.
Snipers above you – numb shoulder – stay still, Mr unfit.
If I could be the monkey, I want to play the trumpet.
Souls are more likely to come my way if they can see few notes breezing over the Mississippi –
Maple syrup to go with that sultry strumpet?
Hard cold cash – transmute people into formidable magpies.
Shiny, wind-up trinkets send these entities up a spiral of canonised lies.
Dance with me – take flight to this notion. All you have to do is follow the lead – go with the flow just don’t step on my toes.
Look me in the eye – don’t worry what the other Ravers are shaking their glowsticks at.
They are revelling in a moment caught up in ecstasy- let go of your own methodical woes.
One night to play – shirt off -loosen that fusty tie – let’s make a play for the dairy queen – The rocky road ahead but it leads to confectionary.
read all about it.
We have a new sweetheart in town – all scarlet glittering lips- she hums the notes of a person who invented this spin.
I will call her
Rage incensed unfurled by the scent of the Unsaged.
The Wisest fool, I know.
Marked with your own hands
let your vapid swimming champion attempt to have a go
Let you paw my naked flesh
Touch me up and make me think I wanted you for sex.
I don’t give a fuck!
Get out my of my head, black-mouthed dog.
I got my hands sullen – fresh paint can’t hide your taint revolving around my mind.
I write with these hands because I don’t know what else to do if I sit with my thoughts
what else will I find?
Paranoid thoughts, I was doing just fine.
Soul crooners lull me into an artificial lullaby.
desperate to pull the remainder of my smile -on the down line.
Graphic infatuation, little girls grow up. I put my hands in the air.
My new escapism became you
There is no edge about you
indeed your toxicity is your strongest flair.
On the border screaming – furry fury cloaks me.
You took advantage, you sick fucking spatial wasted amoebic basket case.
Slap you, disgrace you.
You took advantage and to hell with you.
I suffer still because I let you have me.
No regrets? fuck that – knowing you live is the cord around my neck.
Choke me, pollute the air -in my world. it’s not fair.
No, life ain’t fair.
Break. it. down.
Trace my heart – find a pulse – wearing my heart for all to show -has led to this current plumous demise.
Despise – I’m spitting mad.
You think you got me had?
Leave my mind – cybersex or sext with the one with the most milkshakes accumulating in her breasts.
I back away -Every.Single. Day.
My greatest doubt is you.
My biggest mistake was believing you -believing in you.
I’m bored. I’m tired. I feel like you’ve drawn out the last pint of blood from my veins.
Silence your kind.
Judge not those who seem a reflection of myself.
Your kind is everything that drags me into the knockers pit – I know about that mine.
I know the rules now.
Not worth it. Wasted.
Not worth recycling.
If I see you again count on a different primitive play out.
You ain’t no clever clogs – your seduction techniques consist of stirring drunken lust.
You can’t even get your playmate up – he so broke – he to lame to even cough up and say I’m bust
See my belly button? I ain’t your mommy – there ain’t no umbilical cord,
Snap out of this maced crowdy place.
Am I losing it because of a hillbilly with a familiar face?
Contravene – isophane
Get out of my mind.
Tickets for you – you need to pay hundreds in fines.
Here’s the unpolitical correct version – may your mind be haunted and possessed by the very wrong deeds you have done with your own venomous spew.
I hate you. I hate me. I hate that I let you get to me.
Immigrant? I’d rather be that than insignificant. who are you?
Who are you?
No metamorphosis fly buttering around.
Comparisons to what I have tossed away to one side.
If I end up in a grave with a tag on my toe.
Please, family, don’t own me. Call me Jane doe.
Such is the embarrassment for the one I almost gave up breathing – you so shallow – you so low,
then I realize you want to have that effect – crazy bastard. Your mind ain’t correct.
How can I erase your dirty fingernails and unwashed face from my skin?
How could I let you touch me – lusted after you? You dear, are not my sin.
Lost and a wandering always flock to the same ravine.
I’m not gonna drown in here -with you the last thought on my mind
We all a bit crazy – you crazier than your previous generation of malignant space heads.
Fuck you. Fuck this – potions brewing. I’m on my way to Haiti to instil a dose of voodoo – you hoodoo – foo do – mush brain processed tin canned – factory-made – reset the defaults – you haven’t got a clue.
You think you some Who?
Have I told you lately I have some news for you?