Category: random feels

Spell-breaker.

I'm a spell-breaker,
a free-er of souls.
I smudge the line for a bridge,
and I don't care where you'd go.

I'm a spell-finder,
a scavenger of Void.
I search for signs of life
that's your last breath.

I'm a spell-weaver
one that has no hole.
The sufferings that I collected
will need a garden to grow.

I'm a spell-binder,
an eater of the world.
Anything I see I shall own
each & every where I go.

Fools.

Spent a lifetime running away
until too old & need a rest.
Just when you make a clean break,
it sneaks up & kicks you in the nuts.

There are many a fool
thinking they're clever & good,
going every other ways
except the path they should.

Missing pillars & foundations,
this top-heavy pyramid.
Just because the sun's shinning
doesn't mean the ice castle ain't melting.

There are many a fool
thinking they're clever & good,
spending money to feel alright,
prostrating & sucking cocainated asses.

Missing mothers & fathers,
this gut-wrenching family life.
Just because the moon is full
doesn't repent a single April fool.

Punch.

I ain't pulling punches, yo,
cause it's my goddamned rocket ship.
Don't mean to offend y'all,
ladies & genital sticks.
Never been to any club
that doesn't have piss stains.
So if you're talking to me
you know it ain't about civilities.
Tired of your sacred lies &
million-dollar fairy tales.
It's never what's been told,
but what's been left out.
Get a shovel, protect your 6,
and punch your own way out.
You never know, find the groove,
life might be worthwhile.

Breath.

My teacher tells me to take time to breath.
She doesn't know I'm planning my great escape.
Don't you know what's lurking behind the scenes?
Darkness is what protects you from madness.

Waves upon waves of anxiety wash over me.
In my head I tested the limits of human kindness.
I'm not doing my part, I'm the weakest link,
blanket me in, tear me up make no differences.

It is now, I make the jump, in the air for the while,
losing my grip, never mind the rhyme, balance all lost. 
A little voice tells me maybe it's time to be wild.
What can I do? I head to the shop, new cloths, new shoes.

Do you see a new world spawning constantly?
It doesn't care nor counts on my so-called humanity.
I'm breathless playing catch up like a mad galaxy.
It's no joke, life's a crook, my love unrequited.

Smell the Chicken Shit.

Warm & sunny day, chickens are at play.
Movements on the ground
when you bother to look around:
bugs & grassy veins.
Wind plucks the chords.
Sticky candy between my teeth
as I admire sweetly.
Holistic chickens shit prestigiously,
attracts flies & my jealousy.
Having a yard is great
until you have fat birds.
Is it big enough or are they bored? 
Did they swallow up the resident lizard?
Yes, it did. I saw it with its
neck broken dangling in a beak
before being swallowed whole
so the other chicken wouldn't get at it.
And it fights the other birds,
and squirrels, insects good and bad.
Still, I pet them every chance I get.

QLR.

Oh, hey! Ho! Library. Heh, heh.
Let me tell you, little quarantinites,
There's a place shrouded in mystery.
It's called a library &
it's where the books live,
and videos, magazines.
Yo! But it's closed
because of quarantine,
but they give you a number
to dial while you sit.
Then they ask your library card
so you better brought it & such.
Then you open your trunk
until the books are safe & sound.
So, thank you, librarians
for keeping the books from harm.

Domesticated Cock.

Domesticated cock that is
a warm penis. Old faithful
that erupts like a pocket clock.
Swing around with pee.
It's harmless, just stinky.
In the open air free as can be,
cradled with cotton & fleece.
Occasionally it would sing in glee,
getting wet in a cave so sweet.
"Hello, I have information
that you will want indeed.
If you miss this opportunity,
you will die horribly!"
"Oh, warm penis, won't you
be kind & leave me alone,
stop wrecking havoc?"
The domesticated cock is
not pleased. It bobs its 
head like a penis not wanted.

Nul.

There's the dark nights
with no land in sight,
drifting in the shifting fog
& the reflections on the ink black.

Sleep's someone else's dream
& I'm having the nightmare leftovers.
They look familiar.
I say, "Hi."

Perfecting the personal recipe
for self-reproach, doubt &
"Oh, what was I thinking?"
"Was I really there? Am I even here?"

I think I will go on, regardless.