This struggle I have is from within
In my darkest moments I fight to grin
Because I am aware that stigma is true
Mental illness is cruel a burden to you
It’s like a disease that handcuffs minds
Depression confession lost in teal time
It’s like being stuck in tan quicksand
A slow sink in a nightmare with no chance
Looking from the inside I feel trapped
The enemy is me and energy is zapped
Why can’t I be nicer to the child inside
I tell her the truth she regurgitates lies
Lies like we don’t need the peach pill
We can pray it away use diet and will
In a manic panic we can run on treadmill
Frantically romantic we love never kill
I can never escape my cherry challenge
Shame it brings that I have an imbalance
The harder I try the more I seem to sink
Slow sink is worse than a quick ending
I can wake up from this neon nightmare
There is no cure but I am able to share
If I keep hope afloat I can learn to thrive
Slowly sink becomes a way to survive
Candy Cane Faerie sprinkles canes all over the valley at night
How she gets these canes would give most of us a fright.
They appear out of no where and land in her hand
As she flies around frantically in this weird cornfield land
"Listen closely," Rumple Stein
cackled, his yellow eyes
scanning the terrified faces
of the children huddled
around the campfire.
"A massive, hairy Bigfoot
stalks the foggy mountains,
sniffing the chilly night air for
a very specific scent."
"This towering beast
possesses a terrible, burning
fury against children who
refuse to do their homework."
"Because some kids don't do
their homework, the furious
monster swore to hunt down
every single lazy child."
"He tracks the scent of blank
pages and hidden schoolbooks
straight to your campground tents!"
"He wants to stomp slacker
kids to a pulp to punish them
for neglecting their daily education!"
He suddenly jumped to his
feet, throwing his hands high
as the wind howled through
the branches.
"And when he catches a lazy
student, "Rumple Stein roared,
"he crushes them with his giant
feet!"
The terrified children
immediately reached into
their backpacks, pulling out
their folders in absolute panic.
They frantically began
scribbling their spelling
words by the dim, flickering
light of the dying fire.
“Suffocation is a cruel way to go.” - Arlaina Tibensky
Battered and bloodied, she suddenly came to!
Recently raped, in utter darkness she now lay.
Entirely baffled, she felt so very cold
And knew somehow her foe had gone away.
Trembling, she realized where she might be.
Her body inside a box had been encased.
Loudly she screamed; frantically she flailed.
Engulfed by terror, she knew where she’d been placed.
Shallow became her breath. She no more made a sound.
Suffocation was her fate beneath the lonely ground.
Existence’s fragile strings fray, unravel,
Just like seconds spinning frantically on a tarnished clock.
Until clogs overwhelm and overheat,
Gearboxes grind to a halt.
Suspension of time.
Desperation sets in.
A race to permanently remain in stasis ensues.
Breathe. Calm down.
Find your repose.
Survey your frozen surrenderings.
This juncture is not on your side.
An unknown future awaits if you don't find the right building.
Ramshackles span miles upon miles,
All decaying—a stark reminder of what you are vehemently fighting.
The kiss of Death’s cold embrace
will not touch your lover’s lips.
Find Zoltar.
Place your hands upon the frost-tipped crystal ball.
Shatter any remaining cracks.
Dig deep into a pulsating pool of memories.
Remember the differences between the buildings.
Zoltar hides in the shack that lies beyond the shadows.
There is a knotted handle made of human bone.
Enter the sinister establishment.
Feed the insatiable figure your soul.
Open the portal.
Place your hands on the gelid orb.
Pulverised,
Stagnating time’s equilibrium—infinitely.
The roaming waters leap spilling droplets pearly
And screaming with fuss and fury, into the dell :
The feel and frenzy of a divine lofty spirited spell !
The wandering eager mind too, seeks a way early
From the unmeasured heights to rush and jump
Down to any depth seeking its own desired mode
Chasing frantically, the distant strange,sly abode
And rush across all, nay,everything else to trump ;
Where the virtual, happy content does not slump
Into chagrin : sure there is fitful thrill in such a fall ;
Ambition oft carries the drive far growing too tall,
Alienlike, uprooting all coveted crudes and clump!
Venturesome feats and pursuits free from excess
And self- centre often do end in exciting success.
Its paradise..For those that choose it.'
Eternal seperation for those that loose it.
For the ( predator class! ) maybe they live
With you.? Types Like pope leo epstein mandleson, gates, wexner, andrew, all drew
The shortest straw..Blinded by riches and
Power galore' now the sick-o-phants, who
Once called them elites..Press frantically
On the button delete.' Yet God keeps all the
Tears in a jar.' Of those who were tortured.'
He tells me Ja.! You have read my writes
On the pred-o-viles.' And what did we hear
Epstien advise his (friends erstwhile?) To
molest an innocent girl child.'
Dress as Yeshua..! Now reader you might
Understand.? Gods voice and judge-ment
Are close at hand.!!!!!!!!!
Rustling grass as I sprint towards the dimly lit cottage, I feel the soft silk touch of nature rub against the thick cut on my leg. Out of breath, yet I can’t afford to rest. Forcing my way in, frantically barricading myself in what little safe space I have. There’s one way in and no way out. All I can do is sit and wait. The familiar foul smell of a dumpster fire creeps closer; the walls bleed with grease and oil. I could’ve sworn there were stairs in here…
Your flesh is divine,
I’ll wear your skin, be your twin
Bones snap in the dark.
Sick of this impetus.
Life's, keeping up with.
Nerve-taut, no time to unwind;
With that running mind!
Breathless, batty, borne along
Too frantically.
A slow boat, for a bed!
Surest heals took to.
Cool blown, puts to sleep the best.
On its infant's rest
Of waters' gentle rockings.
Floaty-dreamily.
This poem is being distributed under terms
laid down by galactic conventions of amorous angels.
By breaking the seal on my lips, you agree to be bound
by the following conditions: you will frantically search for perfection
in love and end up a snack for worms; you will never regain
that gemlike slumber in the universal womb
which is the only thing worth having; you will waste your existence
in howling pursuit of the phantoms of desire,
which will suck you dry as you ravenously feed on them.
No warranty, expressed or implied, is being made
that you will conquer cities of moonlit enchanted towers,
or bask in the homage of rajahs with perfumed beards,
or drowse in voluptuous pomp of erotic temples,
or be otherwise enabled beyond necessity.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
carried in her little apron was a rock
smooth and simple, dark with a red speck
she had found it near the creek
where she saw the cardinal
the little bird had hopped around frantically
as if he was trying to warn her
she never knew about the wolf watching
but felt the rock meant something special
Santa always wanted to be an elf
He made a wish one day, against a shelf
The clock above got a little mixed up
He changed Santa into a dachshund pup
Santa went barking around and scared some kids
the clock transmogrified him into a gnome, named Lids
Lids sat in the woods and counted mushrooms that were whole
In the meantime, there was turmoil at the North Pole
Where was Santa? Who would drive the red sleigh?
Would he return home before Christmas day?
Mrs. Claus got out her Bible and began to frantically pray.
The clock rolled his eyes at the kerfuffle heading his way.
Around this time of year
the cats play with the ghosts.
Wondering what they see
you watch them, curious.
Tails bolt frantically.
Around this time of year
floors creak more than normal,
it makes you pause mid-step.
A glass may hit the floor,
sometimes you cannot prep.
Around this time of year
soft wind whistles a tune.
That sense of foreboding
saved for spooky season,
the song’s quiet in June.
Around this time of year
pumpkins will don a mask.
They guide the departed
while warding off evil.
Halloween kickstarted.
Social Media;
Perfecting Hysteria.
Push button Reply;
Gas lightight the why.
Sticks and stones...
Blood and bones...
Reds and blues...
Roaring 'Boos'...
Silence begets silence;
Speech yields violence,
Passion to fight,
Stomping the blight.
Stuck in motion;
Ignoring all notion.
Frantically turning;
All paths churning.
Ground faulting;
Conscience halting.
Lies swirling;
Truth curling.
Confusion surrounds;
Chaos abounds.
Champion humility;
End the futility.
Plug the ears;
Muzzle the fears.
Pause the trigger;
Quell the vigor.
Close the eyes;
Unveil the guise
Force the thought;
Lest be bought.
the bumblebee was frantically trying to get out of my studio
He was a baby bee, beautifully fuzzy, black and yellow
I looked for a cup, because why not save him?
He is one of God’s creatures too, is he not?
I put the cup over him, glad he did not fly up.
because I am short.
I slid a thin piece of cardboard under him and held it tightly
then I took the cup and the cardboard outside and released the bee
Good grief! He almost flew back inside!
Why would he do that?
What would make him want to do that?
For a second I thought he had flown back inside.
As I returned to my studio I listened for the frantic buzzing.
Luckily, he seemed to be gone.
Had he found his mommy and daddy?
Had he returned to a cone flower? It was interesting to ponder.
I felt smug that I had saved a life.
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