here's a little hook about a girl we know left me again about an hour or so insipid meetups all tangled in woe should of forgot her a long time ago I'm sick of stories telling what I wanna hear this same one you hit me with last year cant keep em straight, your not gonna last here principles, you don't got a lot dear. It's time to move on, move out and just move cause no masseuse is gonna adjust you how could anybody really think to trust you oh man you must think we're all just fools i hate the time ive wasted so many years stung walking the streets hustling with my head hung everyone else knew i was being dumb well good now we are so DONE
a wordless voice whispers dark things in his ear. never abating stating the things he fears. trapped in a nightmare the darkness unfolding. wheres the solace in a spiritual unmoulding? where lies the sublime in a warriors lament? and who tells the story of an arrow, spent? how does one explain a woman so rare? all that remains is her smell on a bear.
pages pages so many pages, being so pointless lets make this painless. if humpty dumpty sat on a wall, i guess humpty had some big balls. we all have our share of big falls. we've all walked through hallowed halls. Trials? yeah i know them all getting through them don't make you raw. the most trustworthy car will stall these pages i keep turning like the books the church was burning, its over in the morning but that leaves people mourning. much fewer leave yearning. but many keep returning some of y'all still learning instead i just keep Sisyphus up a hill ridiculous, at times i just remember us, then hide under promiscuous the tide has such a gentle touch when riled the water tends to rush a child and your all ants to crush but I've become mild so ill recede and hush. a rap i did a few years ago
light is trickling a leaking pipe, the darkness slinks and drains away the water rises slowly comes the break of day suddenly dams break the light rushes in brilliance awakens me yet i drown in light
i forgot about this, here is an original piece i am submitting to get published as flash fiction: The Greatest Joke Kelley Ever Told Day 14, round 2. “You will feel a little prick” I’m pretty sure that’s their favorite line. I ignore it, exhaustion long ago took over my body, I glide from test to test. They are examining a ghost for signs of life. My veins begin to boil in the familiar way, fire starting at my extremities and working their way into my heart and lungs. I try to breathe deep before it attacks, but I am too weak. My lungs become bricks in my gossamer skin. I feel myself begin to pass out and wait. “This will only last a moment” they tell me as if I wasn’t more experienced than them. It passes. Oxygen rushes back in and the beautiful emptiness fades back into pain. You don’t understand what pain is. I begin the waking dreams I am driven to, to stay sane in insanity. Slow flashes of light course across the white sanitized room, some people say this is what dying is like. Then memories play out in a kind of compound eye split screen, none clear enough to latch on to, why would I want to? All of that is gone now. My vision clears and fairies dance across my screen, taunting me with the various plugs and apparatus hooked into me. “It’s a race; will the illness or the treatment kill me first?” I joked with my oldest son the last time I spoke with him. My body begins to swell up, filled with the vile concoction. They turn the tap off. Medicine that dulls the pain can affect the readings or the treatment itself. There is no relief. All my senses have begun to be drown out by the pain the last few months, except for touch. My touch is amplified by the lack of the other senses, and that touch is excruciating. “Stay positive”. Sure, I’m positive that every time my heart beats it feels like a heart attack. I’m positive that sitting down hurts more than standing, laying down more than that. I’m positive I am too weak to stand. I’m positive that I no longer know what is real for days following the treatments. I’m positive that the treatments have caused brain damage, and I have memory lapses. Are you “Positive” you know what the hell you are talking about? My doctor ordered therapist says anger is healthy. I’ve begun to notice the sound of a clock near me, was that always there? The faeries all look east simultaneously. Good, that way is east. I must be lucid again. The familiar pain returns. The daily pain. My resting normality. I look to where my husband used to be, that’s my sister. “We’re just about done here.” I laugh at the irony, laughing hurts terrifically.