280418A
-----------
Wiped out
from the scenario,
the way blood stains are wiped
and sanitized.
Chlorine is wonderful,
at battling the odour of sewage,
and bleaching out
unwanted memories.
There are no medals to be won
for soldiering on.
Medals are confetti
littering parade ground streets.
Vague lineage to nowhere,
railroaded out.
A tarred and feathered skeleton
stands scarecrow on a sea shore.
Washed down with words
becomes sand in the eyes,
steadily rubbing away
any final clarity of vision.
Feeling drained out,
bottle dry and tossed.
Feeling bled out,
of any remaining ideas.
-----------------------------
280418B
-----------
Dreaming of brandy flavoured
marmalade,
in a winter of peeling back
the rinds of oranges,
trying to become addicted to something,
so as to escape a crushing nothingness.
More eaten up than feeding
on circumstances.
Always in danger of plunging in
to something more fatal
than those prior experiences
of multiple near death moments.
Brainwash becomes the surf
washing over each new beachhead.
Trying to take the high ground,
but failing to advance to anything.
Then falling back into a delirium
of trying to close your eyes to it all.
The oblivious are the lucky ones.
You hang “Do Not Disturb” signs
on those you chance to collide with.
That way they quickly forget the trauma
that you would otherwise threaten,
their empty shell sense of fullness.
Feeling completely abandoned,
by your own ancestry.
Having survived past the end of the line,
to anticipate new punctuation,
cutting through every desire
with all that imposed emptiness.
You are kept running in circles,
in a perpetual lock down condition,
that no one can ever really diagnose.
All of your plans officially cancelled,
and yourself blamed for the terminations
of your steadily devalued self worth.
Another way to crawl out and in,
from one ditch to another,
smelling the same as everything else
that was thrown in on top of you,
in all that ignorance,
that passes as false flag friendships.
The victim of someone's beliefs
is always denied their victimization.
The extortionists know no bounds,
and those black mailers laugh;
claiming to have accomplished something
in imposing a template of wounds.
------------------------------------------
280418C
------------
The days beat down,
and all you want to do is get away
from the conditions of threat.
Nowhere to run to,
from feeling obsolete and phony.
A sort of discontinued bad penny.
Penny for your thoughts,
is history now, in a penniless society.
Everything written off to experience.
That feeling of being crumpled up
and thrown into a discard corner,
finding nothing really adds up.
Your cost has continually risen,
but your worth falls much faster,
as to any worthwhile estimations.
Everything comes much too late,
if it comes at all,
and all you know are more delays.
It is how styles change,
in the political backwash,
that breaks up and ruins the salvage.
Nothing will be saved,
the way they churn it around,
beginning in the pit of your stomach.
Bad memories
spread their inkblot horrors
across an emptied field of expectations.
There is no way to afford
what the others have going for them,
leaves a feeling of being written off.
--------------------------------------------
280418D
-----------
The clandestine truth
that you do not even dare to whisper,
is that you need someone,
and have no remaining idea
if there is anyone for you.
Life never brought you
any of the right valentines,
and that ass hole Cupid
only works for a hostile government,
at inflicting wounds.
Perpetually disconnected from any hope
you feel like pulling the plug
to save anyone else the trouble.
Conditioned to the expectation
that any attraction means severance.
Having run out of meaningful apologies
as to everything being like it is.
Still only a clown to the crowd.
It is always a pie in your eye world,
no matter how it turns.
----------------------------
280418E
-----------
You only hear about the ghosts
of those who did not really want you.
The ones who declared you dead
and then buried you,
beneath whatever occupied their time.
Not the sort that would spare a quarter
on a phone call.
They left you with their disinterest
as to everything on that long list
of futile offerings.
You could have done much better
if you had been a cat or a dog.
That might have really got you somewhere,
as to something more cultivated.
At least you could have been petted.
--------------------------------------------
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