What am I supposed to do when all I want is the Naughty and it’s time I had been in bed already.
Gosh.
I can’t think straight. I’m so distracted by thoughts of things I’d rather not be doing alone. As if I’m hard up, or something. Perhaps that’s my problem. Insatiable.
I
should
sleep
and stop
allowing my imagination
to
Over
Stimulate.
Interference. So it’s called. Less than desired results, make new choices and try again.
Except
I made no mistake. So why do I keep having
to Try?
What is stopping me from just
BEing?
the answer is in the blankness of the next page.
concentric circles misaligned upon the same axis.
back
bone
unlike this
brokedown Network
net worthy catch phrase periodicals
fast times buy more
space.
Radial distance
inconsistent.
Facilitate
Feign indifference.
(trending)
Filed under: randumb ramblings
“and thanks for always living out loud, being true, and inspiring others to be free.”
I should have blushed or felt a surge of gratitude but truth be told there wasn’t an ounce.
Instead I found a dusty reflection, wrought with complaint, polluted with
Contentment.
Who knew that happiness would create an adverse affect?
Satisfaction silenced inspiration.
Filed under: regurgitated leftovers
I’d much rather listen to the silence between confessions
Than listen to admissions
laced in half-truths.
Pay attention to subtle hues of dried stains and
Blue.
Delta/Jazz/
And all the standards
Sound better than mediocre attempts at Upper East Side
Living.
These scales,
Drenched in aerated wine, milk and handcrafted Bullshit,
Sit upon pillars carved with an ivory hand.
I’d rather listen to sullen shades of midnight Blue
Than the same sorry Southern California proximities of
Luxury
(oceanic,
non specific pieces of “prolific Art”). F.you.
Give me
Simple lines of
Authenticity.
Exchange
Jaded hemlines and
Jeweled upbringings;
I’m no privileged
Living being
Just another person who believes that
Seeing
Is enough to tell the tale,
As along as you can see
The Details
Within every shade of
Daily
Sky
Blue.
We all sit underneath it.
Hr Disappointment
fuels the flames
higher
she holds hr head,
[ crooked neck
buckled spine ]
hopes climb vines
to float with the stars
Too far Too often.
Filed under: regurgitated leftovers
[ she ] Remembers syllables once flow’d from
somewhere inner…
less inner thigh
more like…Deeper
meaning.
Scratchy throat can’t confess,
Without coughing conundrums. It’s easy
To blame sand storms,
But lesson unlearned’s
The one
That caught
a tongue.
Fingers rest from weaving
softly waving
Rhythmic blankets of
Words.
[ She ] Had to catch her breath for a minute.
‘twas stolen by a dashing prince,
piercing eyes and a steady hand.
She had to catch her breath because he stole it;
He gave her his heart in its stead.
The End..
Filed under: regurgitated leftovers
“That’s too bad,” she thinks az the rudeness walks away.
She returned the stare with
Heavy lids,
Long was the day.
With twisted cheeks she smiles on cue
To thank you
And bid you Good Day.
Be glad she didn’t pour your
Sour attitude
Into your
Personalized Cup
Of
Coffee.
Sometimes relief
Comes slow
Or not at all
And those are long
Thirsty
Days.
Looking at the mirage
Of hope.
So
goes
hours
Of dragging
Through sand,
Time lapses
Slower
Than
Starts that
Don’t go.
Attempting to preserve a glimmer of joy,
Youthful innocence’s blessed to succumb to wizened depths –
Days spent watching
Change.
We play in the shadows
Until we outgrow them.
Caught growing in menacing strings
Feeling for wall
Stretched tall, up against shadows
Toeing sunlight
Fighting against the inevitable tomorrow.
Don’t give up hope.
It’s all part of the game.
