so smooth your skin could be fourteen,
climb up on my lap again,
and offer my finger your yearning,
I’m distressed for what’s become of us.
I still have a fear of living in your shadow,
Being my fathers son again,
Living in his house (the churches),
My Mother’s rules (as long as you live in my house…)
We had good sex,
Replaced w/ pleasure,
Slow gentle sliding, and frenzied thrusting.
Wishes, places, things, to return to.
growling, reaching out.
Imperceptible in others, shocking in you.
Frightening to me.
Shitty, stupid, right-wing molded.
No utopia, not Zoar.
Can’t be remade, re-imagined.
Others have preempted their
dream. Your nightmare.
Too late for the powerless majority.
(Picture the minority giving up their hard-wrenched place:
Your new self:
Utopia lost, reality bounded.
Self. System controlled, hemmed in.
Destructed, now perverted?
No hope Paradise re-gained?
How do you re-make Utopia,
Reality gained; prevents?
I fear reality-molded you. Paradise-lost.
Grumbling, fretting, head pulled from the clouds.
Wincing, bitching, shit-hole reality.
Will you join the rest of us, or re-gain your peaceful
Was it a High-plain, or a _high_ plain?
Is heaven a state of mind, or a state of chemical-mined.
Will they return? Continue to harass?
Fear, watchfulness, destroys the soul.
Addiction breeds powerless hopelessness.
Destroys the soul,
I do know.
My soul is rotten.
Not strong, now trampled.
Yours to follow?
Forbid it Heaven.
Who reads your email? What damage, this to do?
Hit erase, don’t risk the harm.
But we’re over, never mended.
The damage done. What’s the harm.
Share my mind(?)
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