I seek happiness, in roundabout ways at times, through the everlasting condescending tones of my peers. Of course, i do not hold grudges, because i know some of their criticism is with the best of intentions; while being criticized by others, their opinions and thoughts are of no use or constructive benefit. Being home, i learn who i want to be apart of my life and who i wish to expel from it. Those who create only hassling demands and impossible expectations are not worth my time. My next prolonged stay here will be fruitful in regards of personal and social growth. Having time away from all of this has shown me what is and is not important.

Monuments of disgust, lusting destructive wreck, will soon meet certain death. It must come fast and will strike with sweet, swift blows. Trust in this, as it will come much sooner than thought by common individuals--Bourgeosie, crooks of a common ancestory, villains of similar descent.

Downward, the sky's wrath shall be released with a quintessential desperation, an effort like no being has ever committed to the likes of civilization. Breathtaking, breathe easy, and heave those lungs until reaching queasy--It is one of few states i trust these days. Dust--It lays in all the places left untouched.

Fleeting fledglings despair in all but rare occasions, licking cracked limps with moist, but soiled, tongues in raging contempt--Temptation. Raize what buildings are left. The time will come to rise.

Sour scorn tares limbs from torn trunks, target the same weakened sapling time and time again! Hearts have limitations that only break all the time, and seeking out the dying still weakened the herd.

These times and these days rest, and they are stored in a familiar haze.

Your mediocre life is disgusting! Play it safe with your wasted time and bills of servitude, but contracts of safety are only temporary.

A most serene sense of endurement is held captive here, not quite alone, but close enough to taste what life would be like. Love has filled my heart and lungs; once again veins pump loving lust and nicotine.

I search again for a place to sell my soul, marketing strategic locations to waste so many hours of my life. With the best of intentions i seek somewhere to conger financial and social resources to benefit and support my next prolonged stay in a place i vowed to never return to. The atmosphere of this place can be dreadful, but it does contain sanctuaries spaced intermediately under the splotches of overcast and shaken dreams. There is hope, but often enough in my two decades of experience, that is not enough. Hope is but a starting point. At least home has this quality.

It is in the shadows of flesh and blood, concrete and steal that these places can be found. They stir here, meticulously, despite the sullen overcast to storms on days such as these.

***

Is it so hard for you to glance out your window, so up high in that skeleton? I wonder what you occupy yourself with while your light rests so stagnantly above this night life.

This mind and these times
Are just right for growing
And will be so ripe so soon,
Come this fall.
And although this season
Has flooded over,
It has met the proper conditions-
Patriots, not
Anarchists, yes.
We are fit for the taking.
Pirates of--This land!
This day and even more
When the sun has gone to rest
Beneath the horizon.
Awaken! Rise from sleep
And lather in the night.
The waxing moon sets the
Seams in soil,
Sow desire above the water
That has drenched the
Already flooded fields.

Flames flicker in between us; six dancing bodies illuminating a porch space that has been a figurine in my life since i was a naive and imaginative child. Smoke that has taken captive of these lungs now lingers about luminescent dreams, weaved from memory to mind and around thoughts lulling about.

Smile wide pretty eyes, because our grins will meet to the death at the end of lavender lavished kisses. Beans of cocoa and coffee seek refuge in our memories clouded with rolled-tobacco cigarettes and tranquil desires. I remember that spending nights alone are over-rated, especially in the wake of such a fog that has moisturized all corners of my skin. It is not my memory that is hazy, it is the future laid before; fate again, i now rest in your hands! This once, please forward your best.

Tragedy sweeps and takes some by surprise. As overwhelming as it seems, enduring is a high priority when pain swells the body. Emotional stimulation seems sullen at best when sorting turmoil from everyday syncronocity. Seething panic feathers out to meet distress, screaming for help; bellow for regression and hope for the sweltering--Meltdown and let all aspects of day bleed into the night.

***

Your gaze pierces thighs to eyes of the passerby. Globes roll back lick the cerebellum for lack of knowledge of what moves on and past the scene before your time. Your voice rings sweet as sour apples rotting below your heart--So tart i would spit it out if ingested, or placed anywhere near these supple lips whispering each word as i spill them out. I lay down the lines of wrath and wraith--Fact, sugar coated to make it easier to bare the taste.