I’ve spent this last April evening crying my eyes out
Being strong for years on end wears on one’s being
I feel weak, I feel alone, in the darkness…
Actual and rhetorical, distractions hold sway no longer
Thoughts, feelings…boiling over the edge
Why put on a happy face?!? I’ve done it for so long
It is all I know. I want to know more, I want to feel
Fifteen years of choked down anger, pain, frustration..
That is all I feel, hiding behind the hope filled smile
The mischievous grin, alive with hidden truths…
You are not prepared!
Fuck it, here it comes!
Alas, I am alone…none to share with, not to bare witness
To my truth… I am a brain injured fuck.
You knew, you knew from the start!
Lying to yourself only deludes your understanding
That’s what hope does, you overly hopeful bastard
Few are prepared and none are more
Rare oils rest alone
You, one of the rarest
Pbutt and Sniperooney
“Down guys, down… Roll over!”
“Good girl! Good boy!” Scratch the heads, the jaws, take the paws
Grab the food, take two bowls, healthy scoops to brim filled goodness
Tails wagging, water full, take a pull, time to eat!
You were the inspiration for thought
Carried over time and emptiness
A placeholder of think
Worth Is More
Stop sacrificing self for women who don’t care about, don’t see, don’t value
Too wrapped in a world of face deep wisdom and cheap fanciful fucks
Worth so very much more, more than worthy, though
None see nor value the gift…the folly of an intention deficient society
Worthy of love, true love…the romantic heart holds sway.
Passed, left, discarded, overlooked, forgotten
Romanticism is a disease, cherished…for nostalgia’s sake.
Immediacy’s gratifying armor shed for acceptance of is
What one wants is of trivial import
Energy without, comparable to that within
Spectrum the same, though focus, the change