Mood

father forgive me, he cannot the devil whispers. because a blotch, a hiccup, a belch, a fart told you not to ever do that! shouted the old man down the street

thud, thud. stomp away and break your own bank. nothing registers but a glassy eyed look of bliss where the mind is snatched, the heart buried in some memory locked away from eager kids wanting

inside the belly of a wolf, i found odd companions - never did mingle with them in days when grass was green, though much in common i began to see of rushing wind, of howling grief, exuberance and depths of getting smashed,

if i could choose one moment. what would it be? a snap shot of colorful moments, the brightest memory of that well traveled road - and it would not be, that mindless hedonistic empty callous chauvinistic glass eyed photograph. the life that everyone wants and that nobody wants. is truly a mystery when it is the nods of approval when gestures

tip toe to the spot. a drop of blood, not too difficult. then the recitation of a million verses, to vow, to make amends, to become a child of darkness, when light has betrayed. but beneath light, a liar is found, who holds on the horns of a ferocious magical beast! thus i found myself hugging tight -

sometimes i like to follow the comet - chase the many heads and tails of mystery's universe. does she go out with a bang? or is it this forever silence between us; someone is not saying the full truth. i swear this is not perjury, it never

scream, it is an octave higher - then hear. the pattering of feet: sure way to have command over free will; made to sound more grand that what it is, and what it is, you're not going to want to hear this, shoo off if you're into that positive talk crap. i can't help thinking that too is a trap. a human's warped sense of who he is rubs at the wrong

reason commands, dictates, shoos the bus dashes across high mountains eager to drown the horrors of death whose yelling, screaming, beatings echo eerily around these vast canvas wrinkling, convulsing, it is not wanting to breathe

on your forehead, try to wrap a turban around - slips off easily as to when and where, a carpet might just become magical. fly high, didn't the ride almost take off

feels utopian, is not. what's real? feelings are real, thoughts stop. so much negativity