Sleep, We’ve Been Over This Before…

a neverending nightmare
like a toxic case of a deep down ugly spell
whittling away at my health points in a role playing game

sleep is, once again, becoming less a temporary break from the ridiculous nature of our collective consciousness that we are forced to participate in & becoming more of a continuation of the same, that I have no control over

sleep
oh, how my dreams mock me
broadcasting my failures & teasing me with optimistic subliminal images of what could, should, happen in the future
a remote in my hand that doesn’t work
involuntarily watching what ever happens to be on

like a bird in flight snapping its neck against a squeaky clean window
it’s getting harder to know if I’m going the right way

sleep
please just let me rest
that’s all I have to say

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Neutrality

middle of the road
not particularly memorable
& not all that interesting either

Oh, that’s familiar.

minor background character in everyone else’s lives

try chewing the scenery! improvise! go off the script!

the secret’s out. there’s no script.

the main conflict in the main story line in at least several different stories at a time

Best make your own script
‘less you want to get stuck in someone else’s shit

shit-dick from butt-bumping the ground, Le Grind
a place you ain’t meant to fit

purple holly, so legit
you’ve got my mind so whipped
that my hips just dip
& grip
and whip up a fury in the sea

category 5

get right to the point
right when the moment is the most crucial

I just fade to grey…

Baby
I guess I’m just neutral.

via Daily Prompt: Tender

NewPower

Pardon me for breathing, am I suffocating you?
Pardon me for living, am I constantly in your way?
Pardon me for frolicking, do you ever get to play?
Pardon me for being, what kind of voodoo do you do?

Primal deep down rumblings
rolling like thunder
a volcano’s peak crackling seconds before eruption
head dizzy from concussions
blows from metal batons held in the hands by The Unsaveables
rain down upon my cranium and grab my unmentionables
wanting, demanding, my submission

Oh Fuck.

This is no longer just minor superstitions
conspiracy truths veiled without our permission
killing us, our blood fueling the system
opposite of what of what we’ve been told, its quite the juxtaposition
with armored pigs trained to kill on commission
while the rest generate plans for a mental prohibition
Idiocracy overnight, controlled by a mad magician

Oh no, Sir.

Not while I still have my cognition.

I’m On A Mission.

Don’t Say I Didn’t Warn Ya

Banshee Screams from the Pacific Coast

What is this desire to unsucceed spectacularly in every way, burbling in the underbelly of my being like a cooking teapot, scorching hot to the touch & an ear-splitting high pitched whistle?

The way it reels my soul in, leaving me gasping & flopping about like a common guppy….something in the air does not compute…

And what’s so strange, so scary, is that this sensation is a haunting from a specter causing an unsettling disturbance in the force from a source of which time has no bearing. The ghost of past, present, & future together in a cataclysmic bang of the forever beforeandafter

…temporal curses…

Ain’t that a bitch?

Less a question of ability, moreso a question of fortitude. A quiet quandary of epic proportions. Raging like the Great Red Stain of Jupiter.

something in the air does not compute…
there is no air

& I’ll suffocate under the weight of a thousand unanswered questions before I have time to wake up

quiet quandary

This is a world in designer jeans designed to slow you down
There are no tools for the fix
only schools teaching men who aren’t fit to rule
smoking in the boys room, cussing for kicks
Give up if you must but know that all would be lost
and the beasts will grow to be your boss

Get yourself together
or leave it alone
Stretch out those joints
or just phone home
Get it together
or call your next of kin because your ass is gone

Try hard not to go coocoo
birds do fly & so do you


Brother (A Tale Of a Man I’m Not)

Popping pills to find serenity
but pills can’t erase the fact that he’s alone
In a place that’s not his home
A place where his energy is no longer welcome
Trying to feel better, feel good
but he’s not. Feeling far less wonderful than me
or you, frozen in the lonely cold.
Just another sucker working in
the specter factory wondering, “Oh
what will I do
?”, before grabbing another bottle.

So blind, so blind is he to his righteous
anger that wakes him each day. A fury
that Hell hath no reason to combat nor
will try. Yet rum & an eighth dull
what can not be contained, what will
only be kept at bay for a terminable time.
But seconds, minutes & hours mean nothing
when his head in the clouds.

Oh, I hope someone will help him before he loses control
You may think, as you continue down your own lonely cold road with a peacoat.