from the past
We sit and wonder
why
Lost percentages
whisper denial
Yet
If left without desire.
Breathing would become moot,
for life would be obsolete
Meaningless
Wandering minds don`t wanna know.
90% of desires are unattainable.
9% will die a cowards death.
leaving 1% for misguided reasons,
and finally attained wonder.
You`d sooner find the answer to the meaning of life,
High atop a mountain,
through white bearded elders.
Questions that don`t have an answer,
because it s in correlation to,
self experience,
and self environment.
One man`s garbage is another mans treasurer.
Just as.
one man`s Eden is another mans HEll.
I don`t want your destiny,
I demand mine,
and I shall not stop,
NOT SETTLE,
FOR LESS,
because my heart and soul are as deserving as yours.
I present my pains,
as strawberry gashes.
Leaving skin poetry.
Depicting hurt and pain of moments past.
I remember each permanent memory,
as if an entry of my life`s journal.
"This is Pop-pop`s entry,
and that one there,
that one belong`s to Washington`s daughter."
"Yea that was a big one."
For you see just as your long entries,
usually depict deeper meanings.
My entry`s are as well,
depending on the depth of the hurt.
Blood flushes pain.
Scars record memories.
Regret and sorrow mark hate and distain.
My circle of life!
Forgive me for the expression of the following,
Hopefully you will better understand.
Her whippers felt so good.
They made me open and accept,
that finally I attained a perfecting union.
Words and tears spoken at first meeting,
created a never before felt,
happiness and acceptance,
and not just any acceptance,
a true self acceptance.
Yet travels and SEERS,
spoke of freedom desired and needed.
Yet still I felt,
even in distance,
I believed truth.
Yet as actions oozed,
and stealthy plans unturned.
I realized that ALL truth,
was mere child`s play.
My heart was her play-dough,
molded into a comedic laughter,
and used to PASS time.
and as I spoke,
and as tears no longer flowed.
I searched for release,
through the shinny side of reflection,
steel stolen my innocence yet again.
My belief,
as I dragged and marked.
I felt numb.
Drags became see-saw games,
slicing layers,
creating pains message.
FORSAKEN
NUMB
I desired sleep.
Not restful slumber,
but numbing animation,
of heart and soul.
As my body shook,
reality snapped her fingers,
perhaps a noise,
perhaps red`s paint became enough,
to scare reality back.
Glancing through tear stained eyes.
I hated most.
On hands and knees,
I scrubbed and moped.
So children could play,
without knowing daddy is sick.
Why hurt him?
I bled enough for the both of us.
And even in healing,
I`m still bleeding.
Leaving words and memories.
Creating a deep hatred of deception and lies,
that still go without admittance.
May in that deep dark night,
as you lay alone asleep,
with not phone to cuddle with,
before rains,
before rising days,
perhaps you will search your memory,
and realize,
truth would have made a bloodless goodbye,
and a woundless hurt.
Yet once the games begun,
only the strong survive.
and I lay devoid,
having only empty believed memories,
that can only be found,
in the fiction section.
We sit and wonder
why
Lost percentages
whisper denial
Yet
If left without desire.
Breathing would become moot,
for life would be obsolete
Meaningless
Wandering minds don`t wanna know.
90% of desires are unattainable.
9% will die a cowards death.
leaving 1% for misguided reasons,
and finally attained wonder.
You`d sooner find the answer to the meaning of life,
High atop a mountain,
through white bearded elders.
Questions that don`t have an answer,
because it s in correlation to,
self experience,
and self environment.
One man`s garbage is another mans treasurer.
Just as.
one man`s Eden is another mans HEll.
I don`t want your destiny,
I demand mine,
and I shall not stop,
NOT SETTLE,
FOR LESS,
because my heart and soul are as deserving as yours.
I present my pains,
as strawberry gashes.
Leaving skin poetry.
Depicting hurt and pain of moments past.
I remember each permanent memory,
as if an entry of my life`s journal.
"This is Pop-pop`s entry,
and that one there,
that one belong`s to Washington`s daughter."
"Yea that was a big one."
For you see just as your long entries,
usually depict deeper meanings.
My entry`s are as well,
depending on the depth of the hurt.
Blood flushes pain.
Scars record memories.
Regret and sorrow mark hate and distain.
My circle of life!
Forgive me for the expression of the following,
Hopefully you will better understand.
Her whippers felt so good.
They made me open and accept,
that finally I attained a perfecting union.
Words and tears spoken at first meeting,
created a never before felt,
happiness and acceptance,
and not just any acceptance,
a true self acceptance.
Yet travels and SEERS,
spoke of freedom desired and needed.
Yet still I felt,
even in distance,
I believed truth.
Yet as actions oozed,
and stealthy plans unturned.
I realized that ALL truth,
was mere child`s play.
My heart was her play-dough,
molded into a comedic laughter,
and used to PASS time.
and as I spoke,
and as tears no longer flowed.
I searched for release,
through the shinny side of reflection,
steel stolen my innocence yet again.
My belief,
as I dragged and marked.
I felt numb.
Drags became see-saw games,
slicing layers,
creating pains message.
FORSAKEN
NUMB
I desired sleep.
Not restful slumber,
but numbing animation,
of heart and soul.
As my body shook,
reality snapped her fingers,
perhaps a noise,
perhaps red`s paint became enough,
to scare reality back.
Glancing through tear stained eyes.
I hated most.
On hands and knees,
I scrubbed and moped.
So children could play,
without knowing daddy is sick.
Why hurt him?
I bled enough for the both of us.
And even in healing,
I`m still bleeding.
Leaving words and memories.
Creating a deep hatred of deception and lies,
that still go without admittance.
May in that deep dark night,
as you lay alone asleep,
with not phone to cuddle with,
before rains,
before rising days,
perhaps you will search your memory,
and realize,
truth would have made a bloodless goodbye,
and a woundless hurt.
Yet once the games begun,
only the strong survive.
and I lay devoid,
having only empty believed memories,
that can only be found,
in the fiction section.