pycho phantic heathen

Write to recover is what I always say.

I’ve discovered,

Is  few of my words  leave me whirling with  – I’m proud to park,  pay and display.

Deals are made,

devils I summon.

People are abused, Charity leaps to a new order of Coven.

I write this way, with careless affray

to not lose a sense that words are tangible,

if  I work my fingers to imprint my genetic copyright

Confirming my DNA.

Some might say,

I try too hard

To write for better days .

Left to my own devices. I would live in clouds wrapped up in  grey hues-

a cemetery for all the left over  fillings

Thrown away, because of corrosive mouth decay.

In yer face!

Borderline – on the rocks.

I write to prove I’m far removed from serving  more time, in a straight jacket in New  Jack City.

Gangsters running around with silver bullet signed glocks.

I’v’e spent my better days basking in  previous glory .

Like butter it melts away the fear  of sleeping dormant .

One wrong box and I’d have been mistaken for a Tory.

Liberal with my words, eager to serve and love all my friends with creative pulses .

Tic tacs, I guzzle-colours textured in obscure.

I fight these escapism ,  inauthentic, paradise bomber  impulses;

To get high with — to lose track of time.

To think

I need a  potion of artificial wired, chemistry alternatives.

Usually these act as a placebo.

Serve to knock off my crown of  free willed determinism.

Courage lives in a mane,

a city  near Massachusetts

Puritans might discover I’m Freud in a ghostly slip.

I’ll be hung ,

Hands lie limp by my side.

Bled feathers  will tickle  the crowd-

Show I  bluffed my way into the inner circle of creatives who have a grasp of the

same

sane

 mundane

chain.

Heads up!

Forever chasing  the dragon of stream  of consciousness .

My thoughts fail me,

I’m beginning to think,

I’ve become presumptuous.

The kindness in others  words — to allay my anxieties,

Overwhelms me .

I tie my own tubes.

Disgraced.

I refuse to give birth to a dancer  with stubs for toes, phalanges pimped out to strike a  quivering echo-like ,   Margot  Fontaine pose.

Inner fear corroborate with the sinner without a legitimate C.V.

Write nonsense-

The Lakers swan to the crowd

I’m a nutter.

I’d   crack a prince just to see a picture  of  a colourful scene.

Abstract,

Mindful – in  the lines.

It’s not important.

Just a visual spray of shamanic chakras to impregnate the rainbow-I foresee.

Leprechaun leave my latin beats to breathe.

Mouth the words of soft brie , camembert and  wild boar.

Grant me a baguette —    riddle away, and I’ll gather my thoughts to satisfy thee.

Goddess Luna grants a cycle to merge with my  rites in fertility.

Thoughts exiled to Siberia-paid to be alone.

My government  saves me.

My soul

I will put down-

Though I know I won’t gamble it all away.

I win back my losses

Trust me, I know there is always another day.

Write, write , write.

Each word is a  middle finger at the writers academia  establishment .

I don’t want to be even  almost famous.

I don’t need a book with my name on it.

I blog merely to pour my inner most thoughts out — free up my world.

It’s about as poetic as I can get.

How about I insert the word fragrant?

I’m not academic.

My passion is not systemic .

Always in a position to sky dive.

Risks thought about

After I land in the hornets hive.

Stings heal .

It reminds me I feel.

I live by my words ‘cos I’m irksome and caustic within.

I was born walking into  webs of contradiction

and, now,

All I beg is for  is a hint  of credit

For expressing myself in this audacious fashion.

I’m not here to chat ’bout literary success.-

I’m already thinking about my post party dressed as myself-

the bodacious writer ,

Who is in fact a sycophantic heathen.

*INSPIRED BY A COMPLETE MELT DOWN IN MY ABILITY TO WRITE AND FINISH MY MASTERS*

 

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Wanna know about life?

Honest and upfront is what I do best. I’ve avoided blogging too much or connecting over the last few months because I’ve been hiding a lot of guilt and shame –

so I’ve been doing some thinking.

No stream of consciousness or poetry in this post…

Are you still with me?   ha ha

I write for myself first  and I always will.   When I write for an audience I lose my way easily.

Apologies if this is old news to the more evolved spirits reading this. 😁

Daisy has an epiphany.

I’ve been contemplating on the saying ‘dig deep’

 if you decide to use this quote to get you through an experience

Do you  know  why you need to dig deep?

My humble findings are what follows

Because whether  we become aware and conscious, in this life (or not) about my  proposed notion of  the meaning of the ‘dig deep’  quote

(that’s a bit wordy. ha ha)

here it is:

from our very conception into this life

-Our first breathe – we start to dig our  own grave.

We begin to design the lay out of where our  final resting place  or end will be.

It would epic and less stressful if from the moment we are born we knew  what we are  meant to be doing.

Many  people never figure it out or, if they do  its too late to ask them if they have for obvious reasons. 😞

Many  people decide to choose a saviour be it in the form of an icon – a god, a person , goals – money, love, careers, addictions , etc…

We strive to find something to focus  all of our seconds, minutes ,hours and years blatantly meandering about on this planet.

Be careful who you allow to support you – some people are so busy trying to save everyone else,  ( we all do  it at some point) we forget our first honour and duty is to save ourselves and know our own purpose.

It’s known in psycho babble terms as the dramatic triangle.
Most of use tend to flit between these roles depending on the situation we are in ,people we are around   etc.

To digress,

Many of us go on to  have children who rely on us – depend on us to teach them how to navigate their own path – how to create their own resting place – and to be conscious that each action,

each decision they make has a hand in determining how they will die.

Teaching others to rely on themselves is blessing not a curse.

Only when we are  faced with our own reflection and with no other help but our own resources that we have  collected along our journey in life ; will we know how we will get to the other side or to our end in this characteristic form.

Some off us  end up addicted, or come to  our end at the hands of illnesses like cancer or dementia , car accidents etc.

Many of us are not aware that from the moment we are given independent life we are consistently (for better or worse)  building our own coffins .

is it fair that we are not told this from our first breathe ?

I didn’t make up the rules in life or society.

We – I – can only govern myself and my actions.

Be wary who you try to help or who you accept help from.

Don’t get mad when people let you down

they are doing what they need to do – following their own purpose.

Some  people never find out what their purpose is.

Dig deep.

How comfortable and aware of your surrounding do you want to be  when you take your last breathe in this life.

We create our own Elysium  or heaven or utopia even –

sometimes it’s not what we want –

 but we won’t  know until we are swimming against the tide or even hanging ten and riding the wave.

 I do know that I want to be as conscious and aware of my choices ,limits  when the wave crashes .

My personal  chosen Gods have always been  tangible- in the form of fully crystallised human beings -flawed  just like me.

I think I chose human idols to put all my faith in to

 so  that I can have a go at someone  when “they” 😉 let me down. I want to face my own success and disappointments A-sap . Patience /Sabili is not a strength of mine.

 I need to look at a reflection of myself to determine I exist.

it’s not easy to figure out life- there is probably  more evidence for the saying that instead of trying to figure out life- it needs to be lived – consciously and with purpose.

We can live with purpose and not know if that purpose is right and we can live consciously and not know what out purpose is.

hopefully,  with the aid of  our experiences we can decide which of the  tools  or resources we need to use if/when  we have a “I’ve possibly hit the bottom of my pit”.

How do I bypass this mythical minotaur  I’ve read about?

We wonder  how or,

if we  can

or ,

are able to  crawl out  and up out of it to  place where we can find  some  sense of comfort.
We wonder if we have the endurance, courage and motivation to get out of coal mine

Whether it’s worth finding a running brook of water to wash the soot from  the I side out.

The alternative option is that our final resting place will be exactly where we decide to rest – in this case the bottom of a pit  . State the obvious 😂

Only we  can make our ending  a place where  we feel we have done everything in our power tosit amongst the angels or the gods of Olympus or whatever it is we believe in that will take us through from the beginning to the end, where we can  feel at peace with ourselves.

Some of us – most of us never get to that point.  Downerz 😁😁

I don’t know about reincarnation but I am aware.

Society  tells us it’s a selfish idea

‘ look after yourself’.

Human beings are wired to reach out  but how we do that and to know our boundaries and the boundaries of others is tricky and a part of the dance of life- the cha cha

one step forward backwards thing. I’m full of cliches in this post.

It’s scary to know we are ultimately alone – only we can change our selves – our emotions – our ideas – our path.

It’s hard not to resent others or life for making us so capable and resilient.

Damn  you life! How dare you 😂

it’s easier to choose to not see the bigger plan – the idea that yes we govern ourselves and we must govern our selves and own our actions and our lives.

and at the same time understand that every move /choice/thought we make – has that butterfly effect –

we cause the ripples .

science has come up with a terminology -a language to help us understand our position in this world, our make up , what and how much we are capable of – how much responsibility we all have

How significant just one body made up if molecules is :to the rest of planet balancing out or toppling over –

We have nature to compare ourselves to – an example of what happens when we fuck up our ecosystems – when we put element a somewhere  and take out element b from somewhere else.
It’s trial and error.

We repeat – the cycle continues.

The fear of being alone is a lot scarier than actually being alone

When I am alone left to decide -I choose to swim and come up for air.

I remember that I have walked the earth with legs , I’ve flown and seen the world from a bird’s eye perspective.

I’ve also stayed a rather unglamourous amphibian  thinking I’m in a vast sea surrounded by  a fellow  hybrid form of alluring sirens

I choose to live  another day. I don’t know if my choices are right or wrong – time is what it is.

People in my life , of my life

I love you but I don’t need any of you  In the way I have allowed myself to believe I do.

That’s it.

Do i  decide to fight the battle every day or  fall  back into walking state of  slumber

The unsensational one dimensionals

 The pain inside me remains the real deal

It’s  a tragedy how I  only cruise on wordpress when I have tears dripping onto the steering wheel.

The journey that promotes me to tap away is always inspired by an ill gotten day.

Deal with the past. It’s too easy to blame.

I swear, I  look forward.

Stand up for where I  go wrong and who I  maim.

Revolving doors of asylum,  inpatient wannabe beauticians.

Incredulous  that  my  own mother

bipolar, institionalised,

beaten by her lovers and suffered her own ills.

Thinks its better to throw me behind the institution with E.C.T.  waves and the  barbed wire.

Jesus had a crown of thorns – aesthetically cruel in their Romanic decisions.

It’s  a loop on a loop.

more drama –

 Every.

Week.

It’s.

Something.

 New.

No.

every week its  the same song coming out in different shade of blue.

This won’t disappear by erasing my face from your mind.

My child is my glory.

You wonder why i can’t take this lying down?

 instead I give you the flamboyant, cussation  sign

 Call the crisis team.

We live in a Theresa May ,Tory sperm infested  government.

I’m not suicidal.

I’m not drinking

I’m not overdosing

 Not taking drugs.

Merely holding myself at a metaphorical  gunpoint.

I want to protect my family from the inner Iago in me.

Deceives and twists all the good my heart seeks to see.

A mighty herculean -blinded by rage.

Numbers  are his torment – he looks to  them like riches dripped in gold.

an obssesive compulsive disorder compells him to have less –

It  must be all light  and sage.

Alone , i wake up to the sound of silence.

No daughter to say good bye to ,

 no husband plodding about drinking coffee and watching QI on rinse.

In Africa I would be welcomed for my rise in weight.

I’m not in Africa.

I’m in a mind fed on media, with distorted ideas about what to look like.

Social media , I hate.

Insight is a curse -Ignorance is bliss.

Two weeks away from my deadline.

 Post graduate, Daisy willows , in the Humanities

I  should be riding out to the ocean to collect my sun’s kiss.

I feel like I’m there for everyone- I listen  to their woes.

I jump up and celebrate every time they make a success of their lives.

 They shine so bright – I call them my ‘little twinkle toes’.

I know I shouldn’t expect,

then I wouldn’t ‘t get disappointed.

I do,

 i do…

I do..

 life.

I keep up appearances until the night terrors pull me out of my bed, torture me under veiled sight.

 Days

 filled with  infected cuts and perceptions line up disjointed.

I’m not the only one who doesn’t have a family!

So, why do you get the hump when i have no other alternative but to call up the family intervention team?

I want my daughter to grow up without these bouts of fits & confusion.

the cycle of poorly managed mental health to skip a generation .

 Enough with another  ‘daughter following  in her mother’s  steps’ delusion.

There is more to the back lash of her tounge and callous remarks than plain  old wickedness.

We are a narrative of complex emotions bound up, in a body of flesh and bones.

look beyond your eye line fall.

Seek and you  will find a person who is not transparent -less.
Sick of seeking approval from social media one dimensional folk.

Cull the people who can’t see it for what it is.

 Fakery

 it’s  beyond a joke.

Cutting down on so called friends.

re catagorise my means to justify making  ethical ends.

 People see right through you

Unless your name is printed in black and white.

The best stars shine and go about unseen,

making wishes of hope seem bright.

Her rage tips over the sides – the current for those who get credit for being generico stereotype.

It’s all hype.

they barely even look alive.

I want justice.

I want the people who make a difference

 to get credit where its due.

I’ve had enough of this  fake bakery .

Diabetic shots brings out the bad assery in me.

I’m done with pretentious folk .

Emotional  vampires who expect.

Because they think they precribe the ideal look.

Its sad, a shame.

Don’t get caught up in the superficial.

Remember, reality goes way past the fantasy of this screen.

Cos we naturally wired to be a human being.

We need to communicate

 reciprocate.

Technology has purpose – it’s not for living life in a kumbaya state.

So many lies,

people all have ties

Issues-

That keep them  reaching out for 39p tissues.

I’m here for authenticity.

Denounce those who I see,

in all their duplicity.

I can’t be good and kind to all that seek attention.

selfish,

marred

 How tragic is this situation?

Goodbye to many of you.

who will never wake from your boggled  eyed fallacy.

I don’t do this out of spite or even maliciously .

I see clearly what and who holds me back.

My sole purpose is to stay on track.

So good bye to some of  those

I’ve met on my path

Good luck with your life and everything that comes with decisions aftermath.

I aint got no more energy for you.

My people, my life needs my attention. Arrears paid up –

Well overdue.

 Mini life update 14 days  until I  hand in my End Of Module assessment for year one of my Masters. 😛

I will have a post graduate certificate in the Humanities 😛🤓🤓

I have news….

A director (not name dropping) wants me  to send him my script about the homeless couple.

I don’t think Im going to……..

Or maybe I should …..

I don’t know.

I’ve never thought  I was a good enough writer to see my work brought to life.

It”s scary to think that success is possible.

Rejection is normal, but the more I distance myself from the people in my life who made/make me feel shit about myself, and my abilities, and my sense of belonging; the more I  meet  people who see the good in me .

 I don’t want to feel like shit around people.

So, I would rather be surrounded by a small number of those who are true and think I’m cool ish 😎😉.

Let the rest of world get their claws out in their need for attention, and to be heard.

 Be humble.

Life is a blessing already

One thing is for sure. I will never work for fame. I will always work for justice and what is right.

I’m struggling, but never will I give up or give in.

This heart beats.

These eyes have fire behind them

DAISY
Xxx

 

end of Nervosa beginning

She conceives words as they follow. Military soldiers conform to order.

Dissident few stutter in a withheld, race identity, chalk circle.

Her brain won’t allow her to move on.

Lamenting for  a trusted source.

until then,

Life halts.

Collapses onto hot tarmac. Too tired to alter.

Melt her heart.

Resuscitate the breathe that gives her corpse a reason to impart

A post

worthy

For a creative outlet,

Her own personal work of art.

Hands raking  through her hair. Grip  at the sides, pulls out a chunk,

Its cool,

She’s dating an alopecia hunk.

This funk makes junk.

Eyeball sockets sunk.

Maybe,

It would be better if she didn’t care if the words weren’t her own.

Maybe ,

It wouldn’t matter if the characters  didn’t continue to harass her.

Calling for their story to be heard.

Multiple attempts. She can’t cut out cardboard citizens.

Maybe in an empty space, yes.

Verbatim theatre could work.

She submits  to an elusive entity.

Virtual paper work-enough to bag a colostomy.

Not been on here much.

The guilt makes her turn her head away.

She gets it,

She needs to reciprocate.

Sincerest apologies for not being present.

She’s surfing the web.

Googling data  analysis and Lady bosses fine tuning their hold on her own grip.

She prefers to lie down  on green pastures than make love, on a bed,of  green bills any day!

Unfortunately, life says she has to pay in paper too  to make some headway.

It’s all right. It will pass.

Shivering from the inside. Lack of carbon dioxide.

Waiting for the critical to report how much recovery time she needs before Muse Goddess ups and leaves.

It’s a look of a person. Shrivelled  into crass.

train

Thought-rhyming is a pain in her  ass.

She’s laying it down in quick dry cement.

She’s  empathetic,

she knows we all want to be that portrait

Well, hung.

She’s a portrait too.

Has her needs

Open your eyes-reach out to touch her.

These layers of skin hide organs, bones ,

And a heart so tense-all it can do is wheeze.

“This is me. I can’t deny it.”

We all have a life.

Hers has become a familiar rendezvous with Alien Jackson sporting a mullet.

What does it matter if characters are Black, White or Hispanic?

Social realism settling on common ground upon its release.

Not for an escapist’s  palate.

What is the state of  theatrical politics, on the horizon, beyond that place we call-

a future?

Statement.

Not even two Bonds can be saved.

Edwardian era

high necklines

Pearl earrings engraved.

Cavities,

Her gums are in recession.

Blame the bank and the Tories.

Her feminist views will place blame on those next in succession.

Watermelon-shaped breasts

One larger – hangs limply from her chest.

Commit a mastectomy on  her femininity

Humans fight terminal illness, homelessness…

How dare she think her position is dire.

Utter profanity.

Disbelief that that her renegade words  follow in a Capitalist order.

Letters appear

She falls onto her  knees,

Thanks Ashanti for her daughters.

Time to shove a half pill down some pussies throat.

Its nasty ,

Its dirty,

Doubts whether deep throat works

She’s trying to  stay afloat.

Her illness-the chronic versus the opposite divide

Stereotyped bullshit

It’s her personal narrative that finds her  margined between this blank space on each side.

Calm and serene.

A  mother is  reborn.

Lost for 3 days — late – couldn’t rise,

Her mind was indeed full of scorn.

Today, she waits,

Wrings out her anxieties.

Maybe new teeth will  win her  virtual friends.

Give her more appraising  likes

Maybe, they will finally see that she is real,

vulnerable ,

rearranging her mask-unsure of what reflects back at her multiple ‘Me’s’ 

Discombobulated

Her reflection is divided  into  pieces.

Cant fathom out that there is a whole entire being  to examine

Jig saw puzzle unresolved ,

yet again  crippled to her knees.

No prayer.

Fervent  sweeping up of  shattered glass.

For a figment of a second she saw an outline

Perfectly crystallised.

Stories march in protest – for plot out lines, dramatic structure, scenes, reveal characters in lace

Just enough exposed  to show.

Three more weeks, one year down-more time for unadulterated fun.

If you don’t hear from her,

Know she weeps every night  into  a whisky soaked bun.

It’s a metaphor.

Let go and melt the sun.

Cool down its temper.   Versailles gardens make her think of France cut into a jambon quarter.

Carry on till the end.

All the books say she ought to.

Humming a song

Doing her  thing.

A mere whiff of failure invokes convulsions from within.

Weary, purged…

‘Write for myself ‘

Truth , integrity and courage is the only way she will let herself be heard.

If you can’t accept her-carry on peeking over at her life, not mentioning if cuckoo finally flew.

One day, you won’t be able to tighten Ids screw.

*Inspired by a kish kash,  Mish mash of nerve endings and beginnings .

Love has a fixed abode

Beggers society.

true love insatiety.

Two lovers with no fixed abode.

Pariahs to a culture in the quest for a monetary load.

Shelter over head versus security locked on the inside.

freedom in exploring lovers spell,

remember even outcasts have rights to claim base to a premise.

Basic needs

Allow Emotion necessary feeds.

inconceivable,

two teens choose homelessness!

Why allow increased suffering and sorrow into the hearts of a young generations bliss?

The fault is not with those who choose companionship.

The system fails us all.

Digits in  Information Data protected code.

Silicon domain ship drives the latex whip.

Norms of society don’t make for a decent person.

Laws in place to follow obediently -can’t find a pulse – humanity is cursing.

No religious books needed to teach us how to know right from wrong.

Morals are instinctive-passed down a DNA cell telethon.

Spirituality and science

is empathy responding in defiance.

Scrutinise the tramps

for he who makes not a wage sufficient to put in our governments’ banks.

Gleam citizens of society!

Feed your families by working for a legal, unethical corporation.

Where will you take your possessions when nature sheds a hernia?

Blood bank Sponsorship in need of a  different type of currency.

Fear

we have lost.

Not long until we see all genders in mass hysterization.

Followers, likes, tags, social status

irrelevant.

War on the photoshop Generation

 insert a sultry slavering pavlova condition.

wear the no makeup look – wear less makeup.

no need for a  two-hour trial and a  tutorial book.

A means to an end.

Look at how we teach our children to defend

themselves

alone

for one day we must die.

How can we continue to justify how we live life?

continuously living in hope of being upgraded by united airlines,

feet up in the sky

‘on the high’

*FEELING frustrated for multiple reasons. Still waiting for my TMA 3  mark. Started on my EMA for my MA. I’m doing act two from ‘the homeless teen couple in love’ script that  I started way back in November 2016. I’m still 100% passionate about finishing it, however, I have learnt a lot about writing this year. I’m going it act two with a new approach.*

MUCH LOVE TO ALL OF YOU ON HERE.

THANK YOU, TO ALL THE NEW NEW WORDPRESS BLOGGERS FOR YOUR RECENT FOLLOWS. 

card-flowers-daisies-thank-you-card-flower-chamomile-thank-you

I’ve so many blogs to look at. Welcome to the willows.

A place that never stays the same.

Don’t know if that is a good or bad thing, it’s how this mind works.   ha ha!

36186390-368-k525336

Goofy syndrome

Mouthwash gargle soprano interlude

Still damned if I do or don’t by my inner feud.

Can’t Darwiniate   😉 like a bird fish off the fly

grow a pair and touch the sky.

Sunshine intervenes, always with this static state of mind.

If I started to grow and extend a branch – could it be so bad as to what I find?

Life needs nurture – decay -70 pounds of envy watching Nervosa images online.

Scales de harmonise ‘we are family’ tune

burning the bridge -wasting so much of this vessels time.

Come out and play and invest in cherished moments

priceless .

This choleric temperament pillaged every time I stand my ground spasmodic

crisis.

Fits jump to the left -turn your cap back to front and leave me in the wind.

Some don’t mind making a life out of lying down – this vessel scowls in an impediment.

Little dwarfs fall from the sky.

Black holed theories bask in the sun,

nebulous erasure

convinced counting blue sheep will make sense

constantly on the run.

Never have to leave current occupied dwelling

yet, so convinced I’ve spun around the globe and back- so quick to reject love.

Trees I planted.

Trees  I denied oxygen -another one down from the felling.

breathe of grit

fluoride is the key to mutate this smile.

Disposition in denial.

government extends VAT -we all walking the green mile.

Pencil rapping,

wooden table – fraternise with education.

Anxiety levels cut off all circulation

 Leaving all my bluds homeless without an occupation.

Distress call.

Look above you for the murmuration.

Gone gainst my nature – this character is in a constant dance with eternal damnation.

One theory for all of this!

Life straight through to death;

so many of us become motherless.

Sorrow in faces- show me the money.

natures green is the only path to the land of pure honey.

Extinction of the masses. Humans are not as smart as we think.

The creator reveals a divine plan the golden ratio printed on everything.

No time to blink.

Floppy child syndrome, fetus rest dormant for 36 weeks.

Blood, tears and love -fallible, selfish

there are side effects to every action each of us seeks.

Fear destroys love.

Hate is Its biggest symptom.

Ever seen a child frown sliding down into his daddies arms?

rapid growth,

we could be forgiven for thinking

Life is a phantom.

Feed into reality.

Make happiness a closer eventuality.

exacerbate the problem until people do that point saved for those deemed suffering from stupidity.

Set the sound wave.

my biggest moan is why can’t I be a shade of norm Amish tone?

Forever on the collect call waiting for the silence on the other end of the phone.

Heartbreaking words to have everything

and denounce my own.

 

Muse on the run

 why have thou forsaken me?

The only God I ever thought could fulfil and denounce all insipidity.

Creativity- my muse. usually, I type -words flow not perfect but in some sense of verse.

Can’t swallow – I’ve been cursed.

Another person knows the truth – think I want to go back up the birth canal first

over thinking rhyming words – music, hoovers, the energy is far from an ideal haven.

Look above, hear the wings flap – a freak migration of the black wings – inaugurate the raven.

All exercise comes from my smile –  I’ve packed on the pounds frowning lines overused, flex around my mouth.

flex around my mouth.

Drop dead. A blow to the head. I’ve lost it.    Muse? ditched me to become a stitched up cowboy down south.

Swallow guilt in packs of threes.

Music to my ears -guilt shake me, blood seeps out -donation date in arrears.

These fears.

This rage.

doubtful mind -caution mindfully what you attempt to incite.

Confederate  vocabulary union matched up on  a strike

No more smiling faces in sight.

Each word resigns – there is nothing left to type.

No tears pouring down his face. There is no moisture to wipe.

Studpity rots the brain

no more stories when a writer runs out of grain.

Shadows – I cower away . Shadows induce carbon monoxide attack

Clamp down on every thought – seize all my gear-leave me with not one solid fact in tack.

Sincerley ,

the writer who dunnit