Always the same shit.

Selling it again. All over the neighborhood. Making it seem worth while. Same story. Same falsehood. Same stickiness prevailing in all the usual spots. What, why and how will this find a non winding road? Blown up again over the ruse that always has to be ok for the magic mountain but not the rest. Hazing a horrific possibility is the worst thing one could entertain. It seems to make an appearance quite often. Let's see, we'll see, they all see............... but me.

LG, MK, LG, AP, TR, JI, NP, WR, SR.

Even though the bones were getting sharper, the skin getting longer and the shards getting taller, she desperately wanted the home made family, the large fire that she stoked for the small circle that fueled her for what had seemed like lifetimes to know that she would never take them for granted & hadn't. They had held her up, wiped away the sheets of sad that were only kept at bay by THEM, hugged her when others were afraid to speak to her, gave her a purpose and a reason. A reason to...... She would die for them, and maybe was; either way she wanted them to know that they were the ones. The ones that would be forever. This time and every time. Thank you.

Those Stickers Hurt...

Up. Down. Turned. Examined. Under intense observation, scrutiny morphs into a judgement posing as concern or curiosity; depending on the depth of woods said "observer" is stalking. The haze that this imagined projected dream produces is as freeing as it is lugubrious. I don't know what it is that you think you lost that you will reclaim in me. I am more hidden than you. It's a series of shards. A waning sleep that wants nothing more than secret light nestled in gray days to last. Not with you, but the one that's there to stay. That was never you and certainly the expectation that you house for its potential now, is futile. The best part, is that I never have to feel that static, anxious discord again. Not in this life. Still water in the cactus you emotionally devastating fascist.

If they wanna be real about it, they'll bring you the ocean.

On top of a roof top under an electrified sky that rumbled with the thrill of what was previously thought to be not only the improbable, but both parties had resolved an impossibility. That being said, a walk was had. Not off the side of the building but on the solid concrete that would fuel the conversation that would last a lifetime. Who knew an ocean was portable? She had no idea. The actual transference of energy could be felt, the ramifications were unseen, but she felt herself falling right off the edge. As did her phone. Right out of her fucking pocket. Chaos ensued. Reality notwithstanding, all of the engraved muck ups, not for you, not ever, brewed into a deep & thick chrysalis that brought her not back to reality, but to the ever present fuck youatude of the situation that had a way of continuously appearing for quite some time now. Long enough for her to believe them. It was too late. She was in ever loving, swooning l o v e. There were strange occurrences, close calls, blatant displays of back to black and just plain back. Then he was there in the midst of the dust, debris & shattered memories of things no one that had ever taken a breath ever wanted to know. Waiting. Looking. Approaching. Embracing. He brought her the ocean. Again.

I changed my Mind.

So one day all of the things that seemed to be set, maybe not in stone, but certainly viable none the less, sort of, just melted. A sufficient fire had been stoked, made its way into the dark that had held the tension and misconstrued ideologies for what seemed like an eternity and vanished. In it's place grew realizations that had always been dormant but never allowed to surface. It made her fearless in a way that she had previously believed was only reserved for those of the dawn, but came to find, they were also for the wolves of winter. She saw that the painstaking waves of contentment deprived years had been in close succession to one another for so long, due to the necessities for these truths to rise. It isn't in one day that they appear, but over a series of time that is on a pace unknown to the receiver, but they ARE here. No more nickels echoing in sad cups, no more vein stopping to subdue her children's absence, no more bottoms of things without bottoms but wrangling with the idea that there might be in this one. It all came to a halt, when she saw that winter was in fact not forever and there were mountains of glass that one was trying to move through to get to her. She didn't know anyone was looking. Her person had discovered her again. And for a long time, rain had never sang to her in the way that it did then. A wind telling of encapsulated fatalistic events that had to happen in order to get here was on its back. She knew that maybe not only should she live, but deserved to after the smoke. The apex of the triangle had been appointed to his care, and it was like then never was and would never be as good as right now. She knew it was him, because air was meant to carry something, and she chose fire. She knew she would never know the cold again.

The Devoid are making a Pilgrimage to my Medicine.

Ever notice how some folk always think they can wait it out; leave a rusty busted & most certainly un taut canoe out in the water, just to see, see if there's any bite left? There's hole in it love. There's no dyke big enough in the world to fill it, particularly, when it's docked in my yard. Perhaps the answer, is to simply stop stealing my force that can't be reckoned with & feigning ownership to it. I have earned my keep under the soft night & am in little to no danger of losing my medicine. I suggest you stop leaning so hard on socially acceptable memes that some how translate to your virtual happiness, promulgating a way of life that is foreign to you and have no business treading through in the first place. I wish truth upon you in a way unbeknownst to you as of now. If that doesn't gel, you can always go back to being a bottle blonde, buying spanx & or Jordans respectively, planting fictitious seeds where no soil lies and last but not least; if you can't stand in my light, certainly don't hide in my shadow.

Dear Da Nv Tli

It's a gnawing feeling, yeah? Like being suspended from moments you didn't understand then, so they were erased via heroin or otherwise at the time, but not really, now their here again in this muffled loquacious haze that keeps you at bay from falling in but it's not enough. Where you were, I don't know. I know the endless dicks, rigs, blood and floors didn't provide any of the shade this suspension allows a peek at. I wish you hadn't left, but I understand, you run with black horses. Making sense of this without you is difficult and I need you, but you're not with Elisi at the moment, there, but not there, she said so. I m not slipping but not sure this is an endeavor that I can stomach for a long period, however, there's not a choice it's accompanied by either. It's all deadly. Thank you for sending him. He's doing it. Wado da-nv-tli.

Lighting the way.

I had seen them before, creaking in on the splintered floorboards, in between flame licks that somehow never seem to touch me. I knew I wasn't like them and that my fate would be one ripe with choice, not of a series of mistakes that I actively participated in. They seemed to volunteer for such things and ends. It was and is not in my nature to allow atrocities to stay and make a home, not for too long anyway. Folks tend to make their choices so final without any thought to the groundlessness than can take and does nest in their already packed psyches. It is as fascinating as it is sad and am glad that I can choose not to get my ticket punched. The delicate orb that once embodied the soothe has expired for them. As they march into what not to do again and again, they are beacons for me and I appreciate every last one of them. To the slaves of vastness in all the wrong ways, thank you. You pave the way clear. Wado.

See Through You.

Crystal ships bearing inanimate pleasantries that may or may not be constituted as friendly in nature. More of a friendly fire situation; not meant, but excused by way of negating said intention. There are others, you know. Other transparencies, looking to expose just enough to instill a fallacious quality of safety all while bearing witness to the greatness of you and what you have done with the endless pile of corpses and vagabond ideology that has insisted on making a living via a parasitic nature. A nature that infects but never lets up. A glass bullet. A poisoned tipped word, turning an age old phrase does not equate to one having no less a mercurial kind of fancy for intolerance and compassion alike. When the shadow became bigger, I knew you would be pleased. I knew you would run into the denseness of mediocrity only to be capsized by your own ego. I knew this. Meanwhile they're all riding that blue pony, that darkness you have laid out and claim to have no part in but we both know what time it is. Ponies and shadows are no substitute for tarnished spoons and honey warm sleep. A glass rig speaks volumes into the marrow of "know too much." What other alternative is there, than to march right up to said shadow, engage it proper and disintegrate? If there are other options, they have remained a mystery for 36 years and counting. I don't get care if you peek, just don't document. The Brown Madame seems to have made a point, several in fact. None of which I care to admit to, especially since there is no longer a known buffer. I came up. I came up to the apex of the thing and balanced on top of the black solder, just to remain there with more information and no where to unleash it. That's the thing about friendly fire, everyone's got an excuse as to why the inhale is happening but no accountability or gauze for the seed. Germination is killing us.

Right. And then....

Its a habitual thing you see, not self preservation, but an undertaking that never made its purpose known. Sick eyes are sick eyes, I know the cure. The one that's self prescribed. The one I use to take myself for a large portion of my lifespan. I know it's a rut, a kind of metallic over gloss of things meant to be overlooked. I am not on board anymore. I am rejecting the habit of your groundlessness. It has never been my station, yet somehow has become so. I participate in a clogged drain. There is little to no need in such feats. Now I remember. Now I remember how you looked the last day I saw you look at me and the warning that you gave. I m hip. I won't be taking any rides. Much less getting in the fucking car. I m awake.

This fucking....

How does that look? All wrapped up, sorted out and squared away under the watchful eye of a self declared misogynistic impersonator of a man proper? Seems trite and caution ridden, a path for one one does as he's told. Strange that you would beg that cloudy day now and not then. Odd that you would declare an emotional upheaval in the midst of your own demise ridden future. I must admit, I have never gave all that much thought to your lack luster self induced path of indifference and carefully keeping your shallow limbs in tow, accompanied by a soul that Jesus himself wouldn't deem worth saving. I want to wish your cloudy days into a tempest that would make your Grandmother feel the kick back, but you do a sufficient job of that yourself. Be better. Be better than you ever were so you can be worth the time anyone foolishly puts into you. At least then, at best, one could look back on you fondly. Your a lesson no one needs. Maybe you're the only one; the only one that needs to learn anything from yourself. Fish in a proverbial barrel, no? Its a shame, even all tucked up, the "man" part of you utters its proclamation from underneath borrowed maternal related skirts. (That bit is very important, due to the nature that even a woman's given nature wouldn't stoop to nurture yours.) Good luck in your row boat, I used your oars for my fire. Keep on your good foot, the rest of ya is bleeding out like a sieve every time you speak. That foot is the only one you got, maybe you should keep it in your mouth for the time being....

Says Who?

Well, I guess some would say, well they may say it's none of your business. Others, mainly kin to you, proper on not, may say it is. However, I m telling you it ain't. Furtive as you are, I m onto you in a way your Momma wasn't, say when you were 13 or so sneaking out of the house to going to do who knows what with fuck knows who. I slide past those monarchs, past those lazy day trippers with nothing short of a brilliant trajectory toward liberty you claim you want to know, nay be IN. I know whats your business and I ain't it, nor is my secret soul hush that you want infect with your crude stereotypical harshness; your harshness about life, limb and the ability to exude exactly as you should with no after thought of the perception of the other. That's the business. That's the vast well known secret of the few in the forest and the negated surreptitious strain of ya'll. I know your sad eyes and long nefarious tale of borrowed woes. I know you want me to open it. I know you want me to yoke up with you and tarry this sad sack with you, but you know I m tired, am seeking gainful salvation in a face of brutal shape shifting fallacy and I won't tread on your trip proper to your Mecca of man made, so please, with cherries on top, don't fucking intrude on mine. My Momma DID always say "It's none of your fucking business."

Its all on lockdown.

Absolution in clarity ridden decisions is always a welcomed commodity. However, there are instances when one is so ego ensconced and social, self induced expectations are so ingrained in a person, they rely solely on the mistakes of others to forge forward on the coat tails of others all while utilizing "strong, borrowed characteristics" of others to make their very bad decision not only a good one but one for others to look up to. These aspirations or rather the focus for them is still to collect sympathy, compliments and positive reinforcement for trudging on to fruition with their bad decision. Not only will I not applaud such a mistake, I certainly won't after knowing that I personally had given one all the information and evidence necessary to avoid said mistake. It comes down to pulling your fucking pants up, not trudging through and expecting the sentimental antidotes, but by being accountable, responsible and calling a spade a spade. To ask for support after fucking yourself on another's advice, experience and personal account is selfish, ridiculous and merits no support and zero understanding. YOU bought the lemons, make lemonade the best you can, sans my recipe.

Maybe we should all shut up.

Maybe. Maybe its a crystal ship. Maybe its a typhoon with all the makings of a hermetic peace that is promised by those you can't trust. Maybe its a doubt that is founded, maybe its a genetic defect that enslaves one to the mercy of a transient belief that it is one's birthright to cater to such a thing. The times where you squirm at the thought of having to suck it up one more time, or even worse, not. It could be the best time or the most opportune time to graft that insecurity onto a solid groundless mass that will leave you on the precipice of nothing, and maybe that's the best part. To swim in that deep, black question may be the best thing this life affords you, but the choice of that can be hellacious within itself. Maybe that crystal ship is chock full of fuck hope and that's the good news. Lets watch writhing pain dock and hope to shit not to hope.