paper ashes
smoking words
curled remnants of thoughts
Don't ever be caught off securing!
The world is in a state of writhing.
Human skin is used to induce maps usage.
And then hang it on the wall alike a rootage.
Who are those poems on my lips, please?
And the lexicon of people who love freeze?
The strands beg, "Whom will I stretch them to?"
Who do you pass to in my night to feel subdue?
Dispenser fragrance distilled in my blood
Thrust out past service from the devil's stud!
Tell me if you're a mountain hallucination.
So, who truly am I? And my appeal literation.
Written: March 15, 2022
1st place contest winner
A Brian Strand Formed Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
Homonymic flares.
Spelling not quite write.
Conjunctions in dysfunction.
Grammer outta site.
Synonymic pairs.
Rhyming that's adverse
To silver oranges with compunction.
Timing never worse.
All literation as a smile to me.
I pine to pen a pun.
As like a poet I can bee
Buzzing beneath the clouds, oops, sun.
Drifting minds of preset situations doing
lost time in a self confined institute of corrections
Trying with what's left of life, then finding out
I'm losing touch with myself, losing love with
family & friends, giving up on reality. Not
knowing where it all ends or begins, then
some how it pretends to be insanity, just
posing as what's known as frustrating ends.
Running in & out of faces,getting caught up in
strange places with people I never met before,
hoping to arrive in time for what I don't know, as
long as I'm recognized by someone whose alive.
I try pacifying my time with some type of line
that I can't even write or a clock I can't unwind.
Hoping to turn it all around, then find I'm not
losing my mind. It's this state of frustration
bringing on the signs of confusion without
hesitation or literation as to why, it's driving me
mad, causing me to hold onto what little memories
I have of, what was once a good life. I had or still do have.
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