There’s something in our entrails knows this dread.
You hear it scratching – that’s alarm enough.
That snorting half-suppressed, that flagstone scuffed,
a passing shadow of a massive head,
and we scent darkness, dark beyond the dead.
It hovers like Unreason. Does it know?
Canals of self-containment overflow,
like wits’ weak walls, at that approaching tread.
Our fingers, feeling for that flimsy thread,
Seem senseless, unresponsive: can’t perform
the simplest act. No order now, no norm.
The Void insists. The Hunger will be fed.
With locusts of the Labyrinth in swarm,
the mitochondria of Panic sprout and spread.
A silver spoon or a knife
They are both made out of metal
One showed strife
The other one disguise as a skettle
The edges are sharp, the wounds are real
But they don’t hurt as much as feeling unlovable
“I’ll do anything for you “ is all i want to hear
It got me doing the unthinkable
I would rather feel delusional
Appreciating cracked moments
Than turning Emotional
Waiting for love from the ones that see it optional
Maybe the touch of knifes make me sore
But deep inside, we're wanting more
A touch, a word, a glimpse of grace
A fleeting moment, a soft embrace.
We are spoon-fed by touch divine,
transmuting body-mind,
orchestrated by God’s design,
for those with love aligned.
As such, without excuse,
it’s up to us to choose,
the flavour of our muse.
By bliss beats led ~
We are spoon-fed
Being fed when corrupt
agents gather junk sick
fentanyl addicts functioning
only by giving false confusion
in exchange for a cup of
coffee at Denny’s bus tickets
from Alabama to Nashville
to Chicago where informants
are being tossed in front of
moving cars faceless
unrecognisable finally the
ultimate what’s in the box
it’s a human skull on a sidewalk
trick of treat jay Townsend
Johnson Henry swooning
Special agent Paula Brand
where does it all end increase
in fentanyl overdoses deaths
in Chicago being FED rat poison
Suffocating fear envy and denial
stop exploiting mentally Ill fentanyl
addicts homeless hoarders in Chicago
Have a happy Halloween check all
your candy for fentanyl
.
Top what hern exposed
top that swollen mound
Top
Her mamma
mine eyne
unto hern excited
bulbous mammillae
Mine anxious
eyne
duke's digits
Mine
lips
tap
they call it our independence
we were never dependent
they'll rape our only mothers
make us repent it
they'll sell our land
and bomb us when we tent on it
they'll condemn our freedom
after forcing us to shoot for it
morals are futile to the fed
to the hungry
well,
different story
—Tony O'manachain
You cannot take the country out of a corn-fed Iowa girl
You cannot pull the straw out of her teeth
You cannot take the “yahs” and replace them with “yeses”.
You can try to pull her off the tractor, but she will not come easy.
You can try to get her to stop eating fresh sweet corn
But I would not give you a nickel for your life afterwards.
my horse
knees buckling ~
Hershey squirts
many more lies said
laid with women while in bed
more bull us has fed
was kind and thoughtful
a natural born nice guy
you would want to meet
Lincoln supported
by many he never knew
who would need much help
another rumor
Trump has been put to get us
many more sickos
death and destruction
buildings torn to pieces
losses and chaos
The tears are bursting from my eyes
Still choking on your spoon fed lies
From scars and pains my heart has bled
No love remains from all you said
The cold indifference in your voice
Has left me now without a choice
Our chance to reconnect is gone
It's best for me to now move on
And though I know my mood is black
I say that there's no turning back
So here I lie my eyes still red
I pray there's better days ahead
Fed up of giving everything I have and nothing in return. Feeling like affection is something I need to earn.
I crave to cuddled to have his arms round me tight, a kiss on the forehead, a love letter, that’s how it’s supposed to be right ?
All these thoughts run through my head, sleeping alone whilst sharing a bed.
To be held and felt loved that’s all that I have craved.
Where is he? Where is that love that I wish I had saved.
Feeling like this it can be kinda tough , I’m fed up but I won’t give up!
sweet is the nectar
chosen you are a flower
milkweed and aster
~
favorite blossom
preference "bee" popular
pollinated plants
~
borage bee come in
inside me lick access my
nectar juices source
~
daisies water me
my patient honey bee year
round my coneflower
~
provide juice for me
ahh! the butterfly and bee
my Blackeye Susan
~
sweet is your nectar
I love beyond your juices
I suck flavor juice
~
preference blossom
chosen you are a flower
milkweed and aster
9/26/23
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2023
I manifested you through daydreams.
You thought of me too,
I’d later learn,
But still I wonder in what colors.
Once you mentioned writing together,
A chance encounter,
At arm’s length like you always held me.
Drunk enough to love unconditionally, briefly.
I see you still seventeen.
Dancing queen of his own party,
Who’d have his shandy and drink it too.
Kitchen fridge cool
I GAVE EVERYTHING I POUR MY HEART AND SOUL INTO PEOPLE WHO DIDN'T DESERVE IT.
I AM ANGRY I AM HURT I AM DISGUSTED I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO OR WHAT TO SAY.
I'VE GIVEN MY ALL AND I CAN'T TO DO IT NO MORE I CAN'T CARRY THE LOAD ANYMORE.
I CAN'T TAKE THE HARSHNESS OF PEOPLE ANYMORE IT'S GIVING ME A RASH IT'S BLEEDING THROUGH MY SOUL.
AT THE END OF THE DAY I MUST LOOK OUT FOR ME AND MY WELL-BEING.
I WISH HEAVEN HAD A PHONE I WOULD CALL MY AUNT MARY SHE ALWAYS HAD SOMETHING POSITIVE TO SAY.
SHE WOULD ENCOURAGE ME SHE WOULD TELL ME SHE LOVED ME WHEN SHE TRANSITIONED I SAID TO MYSELF WHAT AM I GOING TO DO NOW.
I KNOW THAT WE ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO QUESTION GOD OR EVEN BE SELFISH TO SOMEONE WHO HAS BEEN SUFFERING.
OR EVEN MAMA BRENDA WHO WAS MY PRAYER WARRIOR I WISH I TOLD HER THAT I LOVED ONE LAST TIME.
LIFE SEEMS COLDER SINCE THEY LEFT I HAVE ONLY A FEW PEOPLE LEFT BUT NOW I MUST EXAMINE MY CIRCLE AND EVERYONE AROUND ME.
BUT I AM FED UP, DRAINED, OVERWHELMED WITH EVERYTHING AND EVERYBODY
Their marriage has to be dissolved,
Nothing again to be resolved,
Twelve good years and problems unsolved,
Their priest had her of guilt absolved,
Mark who had thrice their problem solved,
Three is Lord God's Holy Number,
No case against her being sombre,
She'll stay right through the Judge's Gavel,
And then to Great Britain travel...
Joan: The Fed up with her Marriage,
Not planning to find the courage.
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