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Atrophy

Demise.

A state I  claim as my own.

A walking catastrophe.

There

I saunter

Meander

in the state of atrophy.

 Cackles  full of apathy

No more I write for pleasure

I write  more for  no pleasure.

Wasted to academic response.

The demise of a broguer weary wasting away on the scribe’s chopping board

The life in an annus miribilis  mocking bird world.

Woken by the tweet ( hashtag) Motivation Monday.

Today’s news

The latest politician to fall into a blunder.

Cordoned off by the first sizzle of thunder.

Dissociate  from a time they could

Muster

Guster

Cluster

words connecting heart and mind

Until

over spillage

Foam  froth

Displayed shapely snowflakes

A Costa ‘s  coffee hallmark.

Glug down for the dawn of the   festival of the dead

 Mourning

in a town close to the  Pennines-

Lost to me is this place meant

To prove to be a better person,

My woe.

Ungirthed

A  spit  fire roasting.

A  moaning myrtle.

Toilets

vacant

Blocked up with  yesterdays cum

By  Yadda Yoda .

Glee geeked a fatal flaw.

A whore — seeking out the currency of words.

Could screaming out his name strengthen muscles of an inner core?

Bathe in white milk entice to indulge in a  favorite parlor  game?

This back drop.

A mood scape.

Blinded archetype to fate.

If this story could end..

Two acts saved by marty’s who implore

Destined by a saviour

Garnished blistered scabbed covered  Hope fulled folklore

May clarity denounce

infinite  notion  of worthlessness

Disparaged hypo-manic thought hindsight

Goaded in to  a contemplative state

sat on the floor

Coloring in books

Mind

Fully Clothed.

hidden from a distance

Write to recover  or die trying to be

A better self

at peace away from this tumultuous existence

These are my words.

atrophy

nounat·ro·phy | \ˈa-trə-fē \plural atrophies

Definition of atrophy 

1: decrease in size or wasting away of a body part or tissue atrophy of musclesalso : arrested development or loss of a part or organ incidental to the normal development or life of an animal or plant

2: a wasting away or progressive decline It was not a solitude of atrophy, of negation, but of perpetual flowering.— Willa Catheran atrophy of imagination. 

nounat·ro·phy | \ˈa-trə-fē \plural atrophies

Definition of atrophy 

1: decrease in size or wasting away of a body part or tissue atrophy of musclesalso : arrested development or loss of a part or organ incidental to the normal development or life of an animal or plant

2: a wasting away or progressive decline It was not a solitude of atrophy, of negation, but of perpetual flowering.— Willa Catheran atrophy of imagination. 

MERRIAM WEBSTER

Blanch Guts

I may not be anonymous

I’m predisposed to mostly white.

Paled by charming powder puffs

Under any paltry day or night.

I may not be anonymous

I may appear big, small heavy and then light.

one little line of chronic

then it’s down & up 1000s hillside slopes to cut the gluttonous lust.

It grows in fervour

Diminishes all care.

If time is money (Wutang)

then it’s wasted to card dealing chancers

who think it is fair in the twilight

to fight this addiction to an eating disorder.

Sizes me up

Rounds me in

Heard in

cattle calls

Not time to feed but blanch Guts away to her final slaughter.

Why do I want to change my hues?

Tie Dye?

Or maybe these words are a whitewash of denial or a statement covering up a fat lie.

(May 2019)

Hangman’s noose -Don’t give in

Never give up!

Nina sang it well: it’s a new dawn, a new day….

When you look at yourself straight on in the mirror – chant his name three times.

The Grim Reaper is more likely to pay a visit and say ‘wassup?

Thinking about all those folk who want to live. Don’t have a cat’s chance or a lucky clover to pray over.

Last night, life became mission impossible. If you read it – I’m free flowing this to say

Don’t give up.

Don’t give in.

When it feels like you are at the end of Hangman’s noose about to kick the bucket from under your feet

that’s the moment we’ve the opportunity to reveal our true soul’s pathos.

Don’t you think the cloaked hooded figure has a lot of soul collecting to get on with?

I’m not saying that what we feel at the time is an illusion.

I pointing out -change is the only constant

 That can lead to desperate ,devastating confusion.

Inside – I’m trembling worrying , wondering. What am I gonna do? Can I do this?

Question after question more questions fogging up my third eye- it’s enough to make any mind spin.

Stop. Hammer time.

Warped sense of humour.

Effective

Enough to keep all the rattling bones and bolts inside me cast a  glow over my demeanour.

Hope.

Look around. You see a flower wilt or bloom inspite of his brethren humming out sad tunes.

Hope.

That’s Life continuing in spite of all that strife.

Hope .

One Seed.Of.Hope. Get through this second,hour, this evening.

Take the seed, germinate it, nurture it, feed it, love it , talk  to it.

Take the time – make it thine.

Watch it grow into a mighty oak – proud and on display.

Seems impossible to define.

Plant it. Don’t throw it away.

Keep a hold of it. It may be the one thing that  carries you over the struggle D-day line.

On the surface – flowers, trees, icebergs – all look fantastical – magical even.

Look below the surface. There is a formula – you can build on that too –

No magic. No miracles.

Approach thyself with an examining eye.

Make it  your number one priority to get to know what makes you  tick.

If heart’s Hope stops make it your priority to know where to go to get a battery replacement. Get it resuscitated.

Know what makes you well

Reach out to that alien.

Get out of that comfort zone.

Scream ,yell, type, don’t bottle it  up .

We have the technology – make a call -pick the phone up.

We have a voice – use it. Listen..

Sweet melodic freedom – we’re the only ones with the unlock and escape from our own self made prison key.

Hope.

Never give up.

Life gets difficult

Life gets complicated.

There is more to this space than a  one-dimensional prism.

 I know it’s scary – to feel caught up in that schism.

Pieces of the mind caving in -thoughts toppling over like being a Chilean miner being held hostage underground.

Two months of no light . A sorrowful plight.

It’s dark but you are still breathing. You may be the only one but time is not about to start giving in.

Chin up. Keep looking for a strategy.

An exit route.

Use that sombre time to recollect . Hell, soak up the dramaturgy.

We come into this world kicking, screaming, wondering, possibly even believing. We mustn’t give up unless time says  ‘okay enough’.

So, I say go the way you came in . If it is not  our time – fight with every muscle. All the nerve you can summon up.

Truth  or  dare?

I  have truth spilling out of my aura like pennies falling into the slot machine- the one in  working  order.

Dare to have.  slip on your shades if you have to – things might just get a little brighter.

You might levitate – feel lithe even a little lighter.

Don’t be afraid to succeed.

Don’t afraid to be happy.

You don’t need to go to the dentist to get your two front teeth divided so you can look like some Go  Lucky Gappy.

Photo credit Francesca Woodman – White Socks, Providence, Rhode Island, 1976.

Operation clam

Maybe I’m not who I say am.

Maybe I’m too prised shut.

Im certainly not the man

More likened to a clam.

 

Plenty of fish to test my lack of faith.

Indirect lines

Caught in the net-

Delivering me to an Ill designed fate.

 

Mate,

Tag me with an aphrodisiac.

Swimming in the theatre room

Hang up my ten phalanges

To ward off the inner crowd.

 

Grains of sand obscure my funny elbow.

Morose in all affairs

Wander afar from the nudists-

They emulate all my common fears.

They are my foes.

 

Grains of sand.

A Stormy clap of hands.

 

Alone in this operation,

The agenda is to make sure I get by on an innuendo.

Fear to be me-

To let the tears show up my negativity.

 

Look for the silver lining…

Give up?

Be happy or die trying.

This is a message in a bottle

Fish are borderline crying.

 

In yer face

Illiterate

Poet,

writer,

Creative of my right palm.

Read in between the lines

I’m the maker of my own divine crime.

 

Instinct -don’t know how to be


Instinct them there eyes that sit on the side of your face

where your ears shoot up from the top of your head.

Primitive- does it have a capacity to learn?

What is instinct?

the ability to know if something is a good idea or bad?

Is it just leftovers from another former homo sapien – who didn’t get the Darwinian letter notifying us to change?

Second guess it –  

Third time make a mess of it.

What about those who have been conditioned by torture?

How do they know if their instincts can guide them to shores of safety?

Mothers instincts – is it the same as caring?

The instinct to repeat the same mistake –   short circuit -rewiring alert .

Instinct tells me I am fucking it up.  

I lie typing furiously trying to have my way.

I paid to be happy and don’t tell me I’m wrong,

instinct tells me this already.

Inside there is a stubborn overgrown tree – happily rooted-

Oh what a character!

It takes over me. Seen those shows when a person is hypnotised?

Never been hypnotised but…. I can imagine that worst case scenario is wanting to do something or not wanting to do something but having this entertainer conjure me to do the opposite of what I want.

What I say I will make me happy.

The rules is I am in a theatre of sorts – being watched, performed on .

I’m paralyse, can’t move -yet still I get to see all my actions performed for all to see.

I’m compelled to just let it be.

I was born with an inherent instinct to destroy every opportunity to feel a laugh leave my throat or a smile find it’s way curving upwards.

what is in me?

Who put it inside me?

I was pulled out with forceps and a low tolerance for people –

Did I get put on the wrong planet?

was I a botched experiment from a distant galaxy that needed terminating?

Who in their right mind throws away happiness like a blossom tree losing her flowers in autumn?

I don’t have that much to give. I did at some point but…. now that seems like a far away – old shedded skin

Creativity comes from within.

Instinct compels me to sin and win

LittleBee I failed you…

Can’t finish this… it is glib.

I can’t forgive  me.

I’m a monstrosity.

DOn’t say those words daisy or you will become what you think you are.

True but I’ve forgotten how to be I am , I are, I will ,I think…

Don’t know how to …….