Tag Archives: Thoughts

Fragment 27.45

Aren’t you just the cutest little fear filled spook dressed in my favorite reds and porcelain milk for a softer, silky shell, a breath or two out of winter’s den. You feel free to keep  haunting, nonetheless.

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Hemlock Realities

hemlockblog-8

Some times,

Fantastic fantasy grabs ahold

Leaving nothing but this mirrored,

Narrowed view,

While separating one

Onto a mountain top,

With a back drop painted with well intentions.

But it ends up looking more like something,

You painted with hazardous paint,

From your childhood dreams.

That you eventually must eat.

The convulsing doesn’t seem to stop,

Nor does the hole in your chest

Pump an adequate amount of blood

Until you pour more idealism on top of them.

Then you spend so many moons and moods trying to feel human again.

Yet,

You really aren’t.

You’ve been cast by your school bully,

Just playing their interpretation of you.

Everyone eventually so shocked,

They just sit by,

Speaking in hushed tones to your facsimile,

Hoping for you,

The breaths will slowly return,

The sky will clear-

So you can figure out what you need to finally do

To take care of you.

Fragment 17.000

Poor thing,

tired and dirty ❤️

Was hoping I would want to write more when I arrived but it seems as though I’m still just caught in the ocean of some strange tide.

However, happy I did not surprise anyone because really that was a ghost from a former life I should not have ever wasted a thought on. I think I’ve always known I had no loyalty to seek there. Being so busy now, it’s just exhausting expelling my energy on mummified peach seeds that once brought comfort. Plus, I’ve learned a lot about love since then. I want the kind, that just fits. If it’ll have me eventually that is.

Suppose that’s growth or me seeking more fun in my life? Who knows?

I’m gunning for more unsolicited adventures in my life, what a riot just little pit stops were even

😌

Xoxo

Fragment 10.147

My story lies in the sorrowful

Screech of the violin’s mourning strings,

The vibrato of lung’s

Expressive dreams

When trilled to such

Passed history.

In the cascading twilight

Between what was

And what’s to be.

Yet,

They all believe

They’re the author,

Of the epic tale

Of the sun cresting

On morning’s dewy mountain top

Never seen by man.

I’m sorry every daling

That never heeds

My warning,

Men don’t dwell at such extremes

Until they learn to see before learning to speak.

You are barely treading the surface

Of the soul’s design.
(P.s. I don’t believe it’s wise to tell someone with the same mix and revolutionary mind as Van Gogh : they don’t feel the right way. You’d be beyond wrong. I can cut my ear off for a returned devotion if I want to love like that, thank you. Apologies if you don’t like love’s give and take mentality  xoxo)

 

Well… I don’t even know as well.

I attempted my first spoken word almost slam piece. It’s always weird to hear yourself recorded isn’t it? Even weirder with an altered attempt to use the words to evoke. I’m not sure it’s something I’ll continue since it’s so foreign because I miss my voice’s fluidity when listening to it he he

But here for those that do not follow me at the other place if you’d like to hear.

Fevered Incubus Delirium

beautiful_nightmare_by_alicechanMaybe it is the chills,

The fever burning my body on and off.

Maybe it’s the sleeplessness,

And the tightness in my chest,

The inability to take more than a quarter breath.

Maybe it’s the  agonizing pain in my chest,

My over working oxygen starved heart.

The tinges that make me wonder if I’m going to survive.

All from running way more than anyone should while fighting to live through infection griping me tight as I fight the illness.

Now giving way to things I don’t want to think,

Like

The looping memory of me in the end days

So long ago – as I left your cruel, heartless, untidy mind behind.

Remembering myself in a den for more days than I care to grasp at now.

The dank darkness almost obliterating my ability to see,

Heightening even the smallest of sensations and turning them to deafening pin pings.

Yet, you still believe we should be friends because we are required by man’s law to speak with civility.

So, I’m cordial and enlightening in order to ignore the next treble phone ring ,

Somehow there you are right on time,

To continually torture me.

Vibrating me into hysterical day time nightmarish epiphanies.

I cringe because it’s you,

And roll back over because I just want to sleep.

Despite the memories that still haunt my dreams

Despite the mind’s supposed ability to solve it’s worst

Destinies, encountering-s, fallen fantasies

By systematically sorting them while I suspend this conscious waking reality.

You’re always like a side swipe accident with a car crushing  car and twisted irreparable steel in my mind.

And maybe the scars on flesh still ache

Every time it rains now matter how I attempt to

Place them as far away as possibility allows.

I just want the fever to break.

Or maybe every last stored recalling

Side dream gone to aging already.

Even a memory wiping machine I saw on a

Tv show once that dictated the daily thoughts

And lives of men based in only good memories

Until they accessed it’s deep web hard drive for truths

That left them unraveled and undone.

And like the man at the end,

I’d just cut mine out.

Words: M(e.)

Captured Phantasm: Alicechan

The soundtrack of the forwarded telephone ring-