Questions & Answers

Surreal Self Portraits – Fire Head; www.whitezine.com

Whirling figure twisting into submission
Hidden wishes forgotten in transition
Splitting headache throbs senses sweeping
Unable to distinguish the remains in the ashes

The flames die down, it’s dying now
You’re dying, we’re all dying so we all fall down

Down into the abyss in the shadows of thought
Who am I to fucking judge your last moment with our insatiable gods?
Hats off to existence, lonely soldier flapping in the breeze.
To answer any of THE questions
To glance but lose focus in concentrating rather than

being inattentive of anything and understanding it all
We kill DIE kill DIE kill
Ourselves in the days and the nights when
no one seems to have any of our answers
No one knows anything

So, we continue to laugh at and distrust the other…
Fuck that, the saying’s not quite true, is it?
We all own a little bit of experience
Enough to engage in hive philosophy when

one thing or another brings us together
I may not be an intelligent human
I may not be a successful person
I may not be mentally stable in any form
But I am responsible as someone from 8-5,

although hard to recognize; hardly noticeable at all to you darlin’.
Too convenient, the time it takes to think about the

empty spaces floating ’round brain
Filling up the voids with abhorrence

Sentient in its desperation
Penetrating mind, body, and soul
Raping deepthroat of voicing HELP
What does HELP even fucking mean anymore?

I guess we do as we please as we believe in our own answers

againandagainandagainandagainagainagainagainagainagain

I beg you, ‘let’s run away from this war’

but if you choose to refuse then I’ll remain as well.
Don’t you dare…don’t you leave me out of the final battle
Through it all, I’ve never been just the spectator, the nurturer

As I fight my way through the shit and dirt that we call Home
For this is you and your calling waves of disassociation, fuck nature
And its ways of always coming full circle.

I am grateful for our connection ❤

Insert Title VIII

Puffing out cheeks, I smile
Never an appropriate participator
Sweetness perfumes, I inhale
Swallow
Another glass of wine gone
Purple lips stained for the night

The devil’s dancing on the wall
Riding his favorite bull
Smiling all the while
The room glows in a honey hue
Unnoticeable unless hazy eyes
glaze and lose focus
Thick air smelling of moisture
No escaping the enveloping heart
Heavy and pounding in the distance
Unmistakingly broken, no fix requested
Is it me or is it you, it IS me who guesses
What’s next is nothing more than crazy
If the monster gets its way

Constant hum keeping me moving forward
With age we get colder, words I never expected to hear from that stoner
And what do I care now?
Only examining the day as the moon calls to its end
It’s never silent anymore
Destination as only discovered by the one observing
And we see him there, in all of his glory
We rejoice in the successes that greet us
And blame whatever gets in our way:

Sex/Drugs/Guilt

I am she of a thousand dreams
Seeker of fables through lifetimes
No questions asked, unless you forget…
It isn’t me you really see anyhow
Opening self up to what has always been enough and accepting the guilt that time could never erase
We chase the rabbit in this godforsaken race hoping that at the end of the day we’ll be given our due thanks
Each day bringing another outstretched palm
Not towards the heavens…
Face to face, these hands are always wanting

For this is you and your calling waves of dissassociation, fuck nature
And it’s ways of always coming full circle

 

I am grateful for what I don’t understand  ❤