You're like the calmest

Slit to my neck

Bring me in closer

Chained to my desk

Beckoning nausea

Desperately chosen from a crowd of one and I, I...

I'll lie to you

I'll play this role

I'll act like my act is together

I'll go through life without hope

And I'll open the door and fall through the floor

or

I could open the door and breathe in the dust

And I could walk through those flames till I don't feel their touch

Oh but how can I leave when I know what's out there

silly of me to think that you might care

I want I want

To go to bed

But words, they flutter

In my head

Like watching swarms of wasps or bees

Like hearing whispers through the trees

Like waiting for a tiger’s pounce

But with no rest, no wink or ounce.

I think I’m meant to be a writer

I’m far too critical to fail

I know in person I get nervous

And my thoughts sometimes derail

But on paper it’s a different story,

One that helps me boast in glory!

But then again perhaps I should hide

My shameful and disgusting pride

Cause I’m no better than another

Cause I can stitch some words together

It means far more I’m treated kind

Than showing you what’s in my mind

So I stay silent

My silent bind

Is it for your sake?

Or for mine?

But there’s no way you could know

The feelings that I struggled with

When you began to show

You say that I don’t love you

But it’s because you couldn’t see

The things I did to keep you safe

To grow your life with me

You say that I don’t love you

But you have no single thought or clue

Of all the times when all I had

To hold onto was you

You say that I don’t love you

Can’t you see we’ve come so far?

We were only a few bucks away

From living in a car

You say that I don’t love you

Even though I taught you love

I taught you how to walk and talk and eat and push and shove

So now you push and shove at me

“You don’t love me” you say

And the broken pieces in my heart

Crush smaller everyday.

You say that I don’t love you

But I know it can’t be true

Words like that aren’t worth saying

if you know that they are true

You say that I don’t love you

And even though your wrong

I’ll hold you and remind you

That I’ll be here all along

And I will do my best to do that

But my temper does get short

I want to be a winner and

I’m not a perfect sport

The traumas haunting from my past my ale over my mind in a blast

I’m far from perfect

Barely kempt

And I just want to say

I love you more than you can know, I tell you everyday

I love you more I love you more

Until all my love has bled away

I want to be free I want to be out I can’t handle to be screamed at I can’t stand the shouts

But I’ll rest someday, not today-

Tomorrow will come anyway

And likely in a similar fashion

I’ll be faced with all your passion on

How much you think I don’t love you

But I know that just simply isn’t true

Pop...

...Fizzle...

Bang...

...Boom

....Crash...

...Clang...

My mattress is a holiday,

Tonight I won’t lie sleepless

I’ll dream tomorrow,

Another day,

One I’ll take bounds and leaps in.

Maybe if I find the gumption

I won’t even sleep in,

2021 will be the workweek I keep seeking.

This years had a sad and mournful vibe,

You can say it’s “harshed my mellow”.

Which would seem quite insensitive to any decent fellow.

But decency, with self control, both up and flew the coop,

Not this year mind you

or the last

but quite some time now in the past.

Well I suppose I’m getting off track,

I hear another firecrack!

Which tells me that the night is done

GOOD NIGHT,

GOOD YEAR

TO EVERYONE

In 1529, the Ottomans had just been pushed back from Rome and Hungary, and Charles V said: “Now that’s what I call magnificent!”

Not funny? Ok, how about this one:

Two Russian peasants are in Petersburg. One says to the other, “at first, I wasn’t sure about Peter the Great, but I can dig this!”

On that note, when Peter the Great came along, I was like: “and you thought Ivan IV was terrible.”

No laughs? Come on, these are hilarious!

Right, so, what about Otto Von Bismarck? Keeping it real since the 1800s, right?

And the “Communist Manifesto,” now THAT made good marks!

No one laughing yet? Jeez, the laugh distribution here is like the Treaty of Tordesillas, where I am Spain and the rest of you are Portugal.

How about King Louis XVI, huh? Well, to the French revolutionaries, you get what you paid for, or not.

Now, I’ve not been one to ‘indulge’ the Catholic Church of the 1500s, but would anyone like to give me money to gaze upon the bones of some thousand year old peasant who wasn’t even holy?

Ok, that last one was pretty bad. Here’s a better one.

You know, I think that the real misfortune is that James II of Austria went away.

Oh, and what’s with Austria during the Crimean War? If I were to do a trust fall with Austria, I would catch them, and then instead of catching me, they would just leave the room and never come back.

At least it’s better than having King Philip II as your father. It’s like: your mother gets married to him, and then when she dies and you take the throne, Philip goes, “time to declare war on you.” Talk about family troubles.

“Yeah, Dad,” said Queen Elizabeth I. “I never went to Church like you asked, and look how well I am.” Ah, Spanish Armada.

You ever notice how, no matter what France does to improve its nation, Britain is always better? That’s because they draw the line at roses, and France has a lot of roses.

Ok, that one was also pretty bad. But come on! Some of these are hilarious!

Ok, ok, back to Karl Marks. He apparently said: “I don’t start revolutions very often, but when I do, I do it with class.”

And talk about the Industrial Revolution: great times. Everyday is bring your child to work day.

Oh, and what about Gustavus Adolphus? In his prime he was riding thirty and leading an army.

Ok, that one was pretty good. Anyone laughing yet? No? Oh. I feel more distraught than Rasputin’s assassinators. Huh, huh.

World is drowning,

In an ocean of vices,

Deceit, anger,

Envy, chicanery,

Manipulation, betrayal,

Where all good that blooms,

Latent; only darkness prevails,

All good that blooms,

Lies broken in a gloomy corner,

Goodness; in every era wins over the evil,

While now the tables are turned,

A game where the good succumbs,

A game where the evil conquers,

Selfish desires over abnegation,

War over white flags,

Wrath over love,

Arrogance over humility,

All the love which tried to sprout,

Killed by weeds of hatred,

The rotten apples are chosen,

The good ones are thrown,

Rotten apples are golden,

Good ones are fungal,

We are taught to be smart,

Not by reading,

But by learning to manipulate,

We are taught easy ways,

Short routes, quicker lanes,

Earning money is the way,

Not earning love,

Rich becomes richer,

Poor persists to perish,

It has all become the game of money,

Money has replaced heart,

Materialism at the zenith,

Humanity under shackles,

Shattered was the dream,

Of a utopian world,

Where love was ubiquitous,

Copious and meaningful,

Chicanery; the way to go,

Lying; a habit to learn,

Manipulation; technique to success,

All these replaced,

Diligence and grit,

As ingredients to success,

As we live in such a world,

Where being good is a problem,

Being rotten is the solution,

Where we are coerced to lie; a thousand,

Where we are asked to be,

Selfish and greedy,

Or else we can't survive it seems,

Where we are taught,

The way of life; deceit,

Where money gains primacy,

Over humanity and happiness,

Where we become used to,

All the injustice,

Which is force fed to us,

Yes we are gulping it in agony,

We live in a world of anxiety,

Where the good wilts,

Too fragile to digest,

The fact that what rots,

Is not rotten,

And what blooms,

Is not beauty,

Reading stories of,

The good winning over the evil,

Celebrating their victories,

In festive spirit,

But all have lost meaning,

In this new world,

With new norms,

The new order,

The world's new desire,

For me to change,

From an innocent soul,

To a monstrous beast,

From having simple desires,

To having materialistic ones,

From being magnanimous,

To being pusilaninmous,

From believing in peace,

To believing that everything,

Could be achieved,

With wrath and war,

From being a naive kid,

To being a master of manipulation,

From honesty,

To sugar coating,

From kindness,

To insolence,

From humility,

To hubris,

From dharma,

To deceit,

From a fragile heart,

Wait, you should not have a heart,

Yes the rule book says so,

Follow it,

With all your heart.

Light showers

Grey clouds

Milky fog

In London town.

Speckled windows

Rainy rides

Moving home

Warm inside.

Pleasant books

And sizzling tea

Providing comfort

On stormy evenings.

Owing words; an irreplaceable part of me,

Dropping my emotions on paper, which flows like the turbulent sea,

Evokes the invisible fragments inside those who read,

Transports one to a mystical escape; freed,

Obstreperous voice written; yet mute,

Pouring her expressions; saccharine like a fruit,

Owning the kingdom of imagery, painting landscapes of beauty,

Enchanting the cacophonic world; is her duty,

Thoughtful and powerful,

Readers' hearts; full,

Yes, she fills the void with her words; bountiful.

My words create a painting better than Van Gogh,

Mysterious and livid.

All alone in a meadow of green,

Daisies, sprinkled around like snow.

Last of the rain with goodbyes to bid.

The eyes watching from the forest around so keen.

The wind, it doesn’t blow.

Sky so clear, all the clouds have been rid.

All alone on the towering meadow hill.