The beat goes on,
cool naked feet,
pound to the beat,
drum to my heat.
Rum ba dum dum
Soul songs singing,
stomping your feet,
Rum ba dum dum
blue sky bruises,
lightning drum roll,
jagged tears pooled.
Rum ba dum dum
thumping heart drum,
cadence of lust.
Rum ba dum dum
Conviction of an addict
Exhaling this smoke makes my knees feeble,
The ache it creates can't be replaced,
A sad time again, slow and slippery I would slide,
Holding every stick like it's my last.
He said to me, be careful for something this much is bad,
I looked upon the confused old man and replied,
If I would fall to the ground then I would to do it with my stick,
The painful smile on his face told me all,
But my stick can't be left untouched for a day.
As a child I looked at those with it as though they knew nothing,
I said to myself it was meaningless,
I told others that it wasn't creative and won't bring wealth but take your time and money,
Then I knew in my heart that to teach I must have tried,
So here I am with the stick which I judged others for.
The tip feels light and every draw is magical,
It has created patterns which only I can understand,
I feel foolish and I must stop,
How can I?
I am just a little man which the brush of a painter,
Creating various strokes day and night,
My stick has become my addiction,
Here in front of the judge I plead guilty,
Today I am the difference between shades.
With my eyes gazing on the floor,
The judge has convicted me of been creative.
Call me the ADDICT
I will walk boldly
I will speak confidently
I will choose wisely
I will love with all my heart
I will be my best person
Is such a heavy word.
A human thread
as ugly as any
or are possessed by.
Greed, lust, avarice,
and the rest of the
7 deadly sins
all have their special place
in our black hearts.
in the way
it cancels all other
and rides darkly
to its own death
carrying us with it.
Warning: Don’t Feed the Animals
Warning: Do not feed this animal. He will follow you home, expect more food, and will not leave. Seriously. Ever.
A War On Candyland
Jim Jaw skipped gaily through the fields of sweet cremewillows. He frolicked about on the mushy lemon-colored grounds. He was barefoot. He was fat. And he was happy. The sun was beaming down on his bright orange head and the birds were singing their songs to his improvised dance. Up and down he bobbed along, every few minutes plucking a little white cloud of gooey marshmallow goodness from off of a long glossy stem. Humming all of his cares of the world away, swallowing each sticky blob with a sense of triumph, pretending they were the burdens of society being consumed in his pleasure. His older sister was across the field swinging from the licorice trees that fringed the pond of mint jelly. She hollered for his attention. "Jim Jaw!" she called him. "Look at me! I can do a back flip!" But Jim Jaw paid none. He was too occupied stuffing his face. She persisted again calling his name at the top of her lungs. "JIM-BOB (out of frustration) YOU LOOK AT ME NOW! DON'T YOU WANT TO BRAG TO ALL OF YOUR FRIENDS ABOUT ME!" She succeeded in getting him to stop gorging himself to death as he turned around with a face plastered with sugar and stared at her blankly from across the field. Berry-Jade grabbed two thick tarnished pieces of black sticky branches that dangled in front of her from the rest of the tree and tucked them between her thighs. She put both of her hands around the necks of them. Like Tarzan she swung through the air letting go midway and tucking her body into a ball landing belly first in the gem-green jelly with an awkward thud. "Some flip," Jim Jaw muttered to himself. And then something sad happened. Something so tragic and unexpected. Jim Jaw stepped on an active cherry bomb. His orange hair blew right off the top of his head. All that was left was little orange fuzzies sprouting out from his charred little skull. His bib overalls were cinged to smithereens with only remnants of jean fused to his pudgy white body. His hands were gone, feet were gone. Melted away like a fudge pop on a hot summer day. Berry-Jade didn't hear the boom while she was submerged in the mint goop, so it came as quite a shock to her when she came to the surface and found the front pocket of her brothers overalls resting like a lillypad a couple feet away from where she was. She knew something terrible had happened. She crawled out of the pond and ran across the field as fast as her legs could run. And then abruptly came to a halt. Her scream could be heard from the mountaintops. Jim Jaws toasted lifeless body was laying supine in a puddle of bright red shiny juice. Active cherry bombs in the rural areas of Gingermoss meant only one thing.................
Hell is not a location,
rather its a lack of place,
a hollowed world of dark space.
Spirits no more alive than an embryo,
absent to occupy nothingness, for foreverness.
They animate bodies, roaming and broken,
spend decades, lifetimes and generations of thought;
planning your coincidence, desire and accidents,
to build their darkness in you.
Cracked into the weakest of human, the softest of DNA—
the addicted towards, and the blackedout to,
all the time and effort, just for you.
Hell is not a place,
no fired chambers mankind paints.
And if you let it,
the occupants of nothingness,
will become somethingness, in you.
These Indefinite Spirit Spectators,
will enter you,
take over you,
and belong to them,
Taking in Hobos
Restorative generosity is feeding my soul,
While labotomizing realities take my functioning as a whole and throw it right in the shitter.
The scene gets grittier in the gross growth causing most of my issues. The frustration due to not knowing what i should do next.
My brain is a mess, where I have yet to be able to even write it out.
This cloud of thought looming, blocking out my ability to really see past my eyes.
My mindsets demise on the rise.
I've got to fight..
Beware of all Interactions:
Creature is very old,
with an Emotional Acuteness
to Feel Thoughts,
and Distinguish Truths.
The Power Of The Word
The wealth of the spoken word
Wouldn't be as free as a bird
For the literate would be celebrated
And the impoverished would be decimated
All but a society of silent lips
Calculating each intonation and dip
And some would chatter in endless time
Losing all wealth and turning sublime