Snaggle Snoof

Forgotten with time, Lost beyond lines, Obvious the obliviousness is mine;

I am without directions, Knowing not where to go, Following the path always further from my home;

Make what you will from that which you do, Forget what others say, Possibilities up to you;

Dumb founded is the place I once stood to listen, Ideas like water, When the sun shines they glisten;

Anesthesia creates the feel of being numb, Even though the pain persists, Neurons tell me that there's none;

Having nothing to say is worst than being mute, Being tone deaf is bad if you play the flute, Tasty and flavourful is the flesh of rotting fruit.

Hypotenuse Stammer

Attracted at the inciting desire to win, when ego speaks loud enough, admiration dissolves the sin-sations felt from deep inside, keeping secrets is the unspeaking of what it is to hide. I have none more for which to behold, I spoke aloud, and stood quite bold. What is this undoing that could possibly be, the matter at hand is the issue with me.

This issue I'm sure that I'm equally unsure the outcome is certain, its the actions that can spur up startling retribution in the form of a hoax, love or lust can be misguiding, both compile to coax you into states of dissolution, separated by constant evolution of thought. It's this protrusion that put you on spot as the world come crumbling down around you, and even still if you're left in the wake than you're not heading for the hills, in which case sit tight and prepare to be judged.

Living elsewhere can create quite a buzz, living in fear can consume you with fuzz as the real world observes with dauntlessness unrelenting in scores or three to a trillion and what's worse is more and more of the world is slowly drying like paint, if we don't hurry up then we'll never escape. As the vacuum gets stronger, the forces expose that the little things in life like the symbol on your clothes, or the name of the person who originally designed the pants that you're wearing to cover your behind doesn't really matter, what matter's is what's real.

What is real is the question you ask as I feel, the need to explain with exclusion of truth, is the life that we live is like the view from the caboose. At the end we see everything behind us that's past, if we stand on the top then we can see at last, that the tracks up ahead lead into a ravine, should I wait or just jump, in the air should I scream?

Post mortem

As another day comes to a close, the inner loser I am becomes exposed;
The intrinsic avoidance I am used to portraying a change that I have chose;
A change for the best, that is my hope, my voice is my rope;
Every lie I ever told a knot that could weaken the life line I am using to cope;
Dangling in space, the darkness that surrounds, I don't know what's really out there, but I can guess from all the sounds;
Echos from the lost voices, my own truths are many choices;
Will I ever escape the hate that I've scraped effortlessly like gum pressed into pavement, blackened over time, the harder it's pressed the thinner it gets, coated with grime.

Nothing but a series of questions I find myself asking aloud;
Answers slowly come to me, the more I hear the less I am proud;
The less pride I feel, the more the angst sets in;
All I ever did before is because I just wanted to win;
I made choices that had high stakes, return on investment very low;
Never thought I'd be cashing in, but now that I have, I must reap what I sow.


I was once broken, pieces scattered amongst the stars;
Now I have to go collect them, traveling both near and far;
I regret many of my choices, I told myself I'd never regret;
The more time went on the less I felt whole, and the more I became upset;
Picking up the pieces, some are shattered, some are lost, probably never be the same again, and I ask at what cost?

Perhaps the pieces missing are the ones I no longer wanted;
I can make new pieces up, become better instead of haunted;
Daunting is the process, elimination is the state, where my present and the future must come together to create;
Now the new me is quite suiting, I just have to keep it up, pull myself back together if I want to fill my cup;
Tomorrow is another day, a brand new fresh start, at the end of tomorrow I hope my repertoire is like fine art.

Bitter Pill to Swallow

Been someone else for so long I forgot how myself feels, Guess that's what I get when I let go of the wheel. Guess that I forgot that my own life was so real that the one that I invented became plastic it revealed that the person that I thought I was was truly not the truth. Only took a single moment for the fake me to go poof. Only took some time in solitude to understand my spoof.

I am doing away with the smoke and mirrors, allowing only sunlight in to ensure I see clear. I am ridding of the darkness that consumed my entire being, breaking all the chains away allowing only freeing. As I make strides towards a better me I understand the hurt, caused by all my actions and those I treated as just dirt.

But remember this taking into consideration all my running through the fields was like the plowing for integrating. Dirt is such an understated medium for growing, only everything that grows needs something to start the flowing. My foundation has been rough and completion is quite near, Only want to grow the greatest, ridding all the field of fear.

I am past the point of being so mindless, its demanding. I've got to do what's needed if there's room left for expanding. I depended on the dependency of a lack of independence, now my actions are endeavors for reactions to my penance. I will only make the choices that have outcomes that are greater than the one I made before, which left nothing but a crater.

I wish only to grow big and strong, up to the sky, and then beyond. I know there were sacrifices made along the way, but the painful march towards progress is to take the hurt and stay. I am more real now than I have been in forever, sucks it had to come to this, but I'm only getting better.

Sweet and short

I've been floating about on the jetsam of life, when I stopped just to ponder why it is with such stifling profound prolific articulation that my memory conjures images created with half the facts of limited information which in it self is quite limitless.

Congeniality can be venomous depending on the stability of which it is laid for such dismal thoughts can be that which sway entire generations from happiness towards dismay. Now if I may for a moment portray my own conjecture indeed it is the thing that can levitate hectares of nothing.

If you only believe, that's is at least half the battle, twice in one week. If disapproval is what you seek than sleuth forward, because the only direction everything is truly going is in a downward spiral. I be showing you how to do the thing that you do when the soup spoon is too big use the hole in a screw.

sparkle factory

A toast for the post that I post the most when I post as I do whilst I'm giving this toast.

A full grown grin towards the man whose tragically hip so if he learns that he will turn the flop before it flips, tighten up my lips because the case for the vase has begun like the chundle king  and if you're wondering, the taste that I'm seeming to thread like I'm seaming the edge is vunder zing.

Neolithic tidal wave plunders through the under pinned equity line that you'll find is quite ehh-quit quietly I'll see something somewhere has to  give if the normal apparatus is the under quilt and sieve, then the system is flawed, and the whole sign is a drill of the entire empire, as retirees ride and they spin in their hover round, floating above ground riding through town.

Now the temperatures low and the slipping on the ground has a chance in which the index has entirely spun round, releasing statements unclaimed by the slippages and limitless understanding left made, from pretext without recourse and what's still is unlaid retorts that are half made and under grade.

A toast I say, A toast to the least of the queasiest host without quizzerifict feats.

The Centurian Post

This one here this marks the hundredth post I've made,
How many words I've laid, the verbs I've displayed,
I'm thinking about taking this to another forum,
Presently I'm unscared of what it is I'm in for, or is it foreign.

Policy dictates unadulterated bliss in the wink of an eye,
Yet in the flick of a wrist the aspects of which were formidable to say the least,
Are they sitting on the bottom, or are they indulging on the feast.
Carpet makers marking up markets in the midst of a saturated carpet market, try to bark that.

I can nae say for which it is I do know that I do not,
If the farmer herds the sheep, and the shepherds grow the crops,
What a mixed up place would not you agree?
If so then why let bygones just be?

Why not stir up the pot, pound the ground,
Get the goulash a slip slosh slopping around,
If you eat a whole pound cake would you gain a whole pound?
Mental lost, or perhaps just yet to be found.