Image for the poem Still


Apparently my family quite carelessly remarried me.
A fan of me allegedly, appeared to be a fantasy.
A sentiment I feel and love is warm and supple like cement.
Demented honey brains remember all the rules and chains I bent.

I thought of it. A lot of it.
I even went and bought a hit.
Arose to a level I never thought i’d be bothered with.
Smothered by a mother’s tit is hotter when I fought for it.
I oughta have a candle lit but rains will always parry it.

I would like,
very much,
to be treated,
with a touch.
So light.
Barely visible by sight.
Merely missable delight.

Instinctively reacted yet vicariously acted
to the many re-elected non affected sacks of
shit who never resurrected nor corrected any
spoils of war they manufactured.

I sigh with all my crumbling might.
I might’ve sold my weakened light.
To the downstairs neighbour.
You know, dressed in red and white,
always awake, the man all the neighbours’ kids are afraid for.

Very much alive still.
Very married to my wife still.
Yet ever so departed from a life I’d like to live still.

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Eerie Skyra
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