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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)

No sense no flame

*Unedited stream of consciousness writing with an image prompt.

The hand in the shadows inarticulated all senses. It Dims all potential – intertwined s all 5 fingers into a Complicated riddle.
Sight blurred by over analysing her inner Self-perception -imagination distorted in the darkness the eyes of truth remain hidden.

A Taste so tainted by past memories seemingly nothing to gain
A gluttonous child cavedweller who hid from the rain Afraid to enjoy the lingering passion behind a lover’s kiss a foreign delicacy
Gulped down chunks of fear -resistance -a refusal to taste the smacking licks of lips from a distant pain
Sounds of brawling. Tortured screams left her to scramble away – hidden humming a discordant tune- unharmonised to the language used by the normal folk those who socialised under the sunshine day after day
Touched by a love so fiercely so devout. Terror aroused she turned her face away from one name. He bathed her in the moonlight – she was stuck in her ways – tucked away in her self made dark haze.
Scent took leave of all senses – seasoned impurities infiltrated her brain. Refusal to inhale life -to contemplate risking one day. Left her bound by ignorance -alone in an abyss – people forgot she had lived -had been given a name.
If only she had grabbed hold of the hand holding what appeared to be a flame risk would be her new life-giver. Her greatest achievement to feel the pleasure of the suns rays

Image prompt challenge

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.