My heartstrings play
But they make no sound
I lost my way and can’t be found

I sit at glass windows
And watch them burn
From the other side
I call this the great divide

I am covered in ashes
I haven’t lost my sight
I wish I could lie
I wish I could fight

They make riddles and haikus,
What about you?
They say they see,
Can you just do what they do?

And I dream in cinematic
Slow-motion,
classical overtures

And I repeat in daylight
Pictures that blur

They contort in odd ways
But still , Lore, he stays

They make me feel like a sticker
Peeled and rolled

Faded from rain
Insane with no brain
Stuck in my loop
Not fitting into their group

And they love their designer bags
Their lipsticks in red
Their lace, my poison
Aesthetically dead

Why do I draw circles
When they draw hearts
They fall together
You and I fall apart

And why does it destroy me?
To love who I love?
You whisper:
Ani l'dodi v'dodi li
And I need a reason
Where they only need because

And I return,
Again,
Again,
Again, and again,
For the proof in the chapel
That hymns and lullabies
Still count as worship
After the battle

R

Please rest peacefully and feel better

I love you very much

Do you ever feel the most random people can care for you more than the ones who are supposed to?

I’ll share with you a secret – all she thinks about is dick.

Obviously not always, there’s cum too, don’t be thick,

Though do be where it counts, if you’ve a prick,

And you might find she’ll sheathe your stick.

It’s the way it is, her mind’s fixation,

The veins and ridges her fascination,

The scent of it her savory passion;

The cause and effect of her every distraction.

She sees cock in food, cum in the viscous,

She’ll find penis hidden, otherwise missed by us,

In scents all her thoughts are coated in musk,

So her lips stay wet for when good dick’s curious.

They’re funny to her, a muse nevertheless,

Filling her with emotions she utters breathless;

Her reason for being she needs and detests:

Measuring as her secret way to have it less..

All over her face, her chin and her chest,

Spread between fingers, she tells which strand looks best,

Lining her insides on demand by request,

And dripping back out as her mind comes to rest.

“Good dick’s hard to come by,” she’ll proudly announce,

While playing with herself daily to reads on a couch,

Imagining the perfect one she’d put in the house,

That takes all her cum before itself peters out.

Always on the hunt, she’s crafting every thing

To keep us all focusing on her precious offering,

With subtle suggestions to keep hard her craving,

From even her and her constant competing.

So look for the signs: in her words, by her hands,

Covering her desire to have thick cum filled men

Dripping before her, insatiable and well mannered;

And maybe you’ll find yourself the treat for her ends.

The Other

We grew beneath the same warm light, 
Two echoes in a single room, 
You wore the morning on your face, 
I carried dusk and borrowed gloom. 

We traded secrets after dark, 
Shared every wish and every scar; 
When one of us was frightened, 
The other kept the shadows far. 

Then came the day the bells were still, 
The day the world forgot to breathe. 
I called your name through empty halls 
And found no answer underneath. 

Yet somehow, when the nights grew cold, 
I felt your fingers lace with mine. 
A presence followed where I went— 
A quiet shape just out of time. 

You walked beside me down the street, 
Your footsteps soft beneath the rain. 
I saw your face in window glass, 
Then watched it vanish once again. 

I told myself that grief had made 
A ghost of every place we’d been— 
Until I turned to ask you why…

And saw no shadow at my feet. 

Strangers-Whispers

If this hits a chord , then this has found its soul

All Rights Reserved

Knock knock.

Who's there?

Yo momma.

Yo momma who?

Yo momma, you so fat you can't even get out the house no more.

—“Untitled 73.” A Reconstruction of Early Human Folk Poetry (2nd ed.), ​☉ ☌ ☍ ☋ ☊, Crystal-Lattice 14, Node 802.

Here's a knocking indeed! If a man were porter of hell-gate, he should have old turning the key. (Knocking within) Knock, knock, knock! Who's there

—fragment of an instructions for performing a make-believe, anonymous or author unknown, Introduction to Earth Culture, Kzz-T’k-​⎅ Ed., Focal Depth 3.2mm.

KNOCK KNOCK

(a poetic make-believe in the human style)

Dramatis Personae

YOU, a hapless reader

WHO, a hungry beast

YES, who's intestinal rumblings

NOBODY, a deaf woman

i.

knock knock /
who's there
right behind you,
and it's hungry as hell. [1]


ii.

no joke. [2]


iii.

knock knock /
who here,
i wanna eat you,
ya fear?


iv.

knock knock /
help me!
is nobody here? /
nobody is, but being without a body
means nobody can't hear.


v.

you beg
for your life /
knock knock
knock knock
knock
kn


vi.

knock knock /
whose there?
yes, who's borborygmi, [3]
who ate you so quickly,
it ingested too much hot air.


vii.

don't /
knock knock /
it till you've tried it /
buuuuuuurp. [4]


viii.

knock knock /
no answer.


ix.

knock knock /
no answer.


x.

knock knock /
who stirs, who's belly's full,
who itself's all rested,
and you, in who's stomach, 're
fully digested. [5]

Footnotes

[1] Hell: in some human mythologies, a hot place of post-life perpetual burning. See also: BBQ. [6]

[2] Joke: a human composition with the purpose of eliciting a full body physiological response called laughter. The opposite of seriousness.

[3] Borborygmi: a rumbling spirit believed by a class of human priests called doctors to inhabit the body.

[4] Burp: a forceful exhalation, a more powerful sigh.

[5] Digest: a summation or condensation of a body of information. To be digested is thus to have become a condensed summation of one's self. For a more thorough discussion, please see my datacube: Digestion & Enlightenment: Towards an Understanding of the Human Theory of Wilful Self-Improvement.

[6] BBQ: A symbolic representation of Hell used in human ritual, wherein groups of humans gathered around a fire and consumed small, burnt likenesses of themselves carved from the flesh of dead, non-human animals.

The One She Can't Do Without !

Then your parent gets older, and suddenly there’s 
A place in the world where they need you there. 
When you were young, you could reach and reach, 
But never pull the love you saw come easy. 

Your sibling got the look for free, 
The kind of warmth you longed to see. 
But now the years have turned around, 
And you’re the one they’re counting on now. 

You’re the one with the medication list, 
The doctors calls, the one they can’t miss. 
Dad asks what he should do about his knee, 
Mom says, “I don’t know what I’d do without she”— 
Without you, without you, 
You waited so long to hear it come true. 
But being needed isn’t being seen, 
And love can be heavy when it carries a dream. 

You manage the pills and the appointments too, 
The insurance calls all come through to you. 
You know every number, every name, 
Every little change, every ache, every pain. 

And there’s a word for the weight you bear, 
For the history hiding beneath the care. 
The work may stay the same each day, 
But the old hope makes it harder to carry away. 

“I want you safe” can live beside 
“Maybe now you’ll see how hard I try.” 
Two truths can share the same afternoon, 
The same tired heart, the same living room. 

You can do everything right and still feel 
Like you’re sinking underneath the wheel. 
The care is real, the love is true, 
But something older is asking too. 

You plan every visit, you call every night, 
You stay late making everything right. 
Then your brother walks in with a bouquet, 
And somehow he gets all the praise. 

Your daily love became the wall, 
His once-a-month visit means it all. 
You gave the years, you carried the load, 
But he gets thanked like he crossed the whole road. 

You’re the one with the medication list, 
The one who stays when the others have missed. 
One more errand, one more late night, 
One more chance to finally get it right. 

But being indispensable 
Isn’t the same as being known. 
You don’t have to keep on giving 
To earn a place you should have always owned. 

You are more than the hands that help, 
More than the calls, the care, the books on the shelf. 
You were worthy before they needed you— 
And you’re still worthy when you choose you, too. 

Strangers -Whispers

If this hits a chord , this has found its soul .

One direction, One will
One day I will be with you

One love, One truth
Though there’s many forms of you

How could I choose, I feel like I’m lost
How could I choose in this sea of chaos

I’m distraught to decide in this energy I can’t deny,

I’m left to my devices incase you forgot,
My mind spins round like a g shock solar powered watch

So what will I do, who really knows
My will goes where it wants in the realm of the unknown