FiveSpokedWheel

I hate you. And when I say you, I mean me.

Take Soma, like I did, speak with your gods, A Cartesian rift in an ephemeral pause: False death, a myth which fades to a chill, Unwinding the shroud, the caress of your pills. When memory rises you bury your thoughts, Banished like babies in sound-proofed cots, Vanished like vermin on the cusp of extinction Soon to return in the plague of your thinking. Still… carve out your lonely distraction: In fresh blood you'll always find passion.

Old harlot begging with its wanton pride, Return to Nazareth, before the first stone is thrown. You poor creature, out of the wilds, Still writhing in the cold glory of instinct; You need not betray the truth of your atavism… You wish only for chains.

Eliot’s broken images these are not, Elitist structures are neither wrought By mine pen which lately toils Through earthly emotions than erudite forms.

I’ve drank the wine of love; it tastes of death, The blood was blended poison for the heart. Each lover thinking love and wine were health It sullied each and bade them beat apart. A tainted heart becomes the palate’s blight For sensing love’s reduced like failing sight, And when upon another’s breath there’s tasted Flavours rich in sweet romantic wealth, The heart reminds the senses what is tainted When supping aromatic crystal zeal. Yet ardour trusts the blending will be fruitful And begs unto the heart a sole appeal; Wedding Cabernet with Merlot rings fateful, And medicates the heart against complaint: The vit

He sat alone, eyes closed to the external world. His ascetic pose would have conjured connotations of tranquillity and benevolence for other mindful entities - the image passing through the subjective mediatory which wrought dichotomy between inner and outer truths. Whether the dichotomy was itself a symptom of subjective interpretation was often pondered – when each is hemmed in by idiosyncratic structures, difficulties can be engendered which fray the rope bridge of communication between autonomous entities. In this way friends may become enemies. Yet his pose remained. In a narrow clearing he sat, amidst a thick wood – subject

Oh primal springs thou did precede, The proto nous which thus has freed Us from the womb, our mother’s structure, Which nature wrought for needs of nurture. Mind thee now, for what came first? To love and hate, or wanton lust? And what, pray tell, brought to heel - Desire for cherries men could steal? Away old Ire! How didst thou bloom? For nature’s folly is man’s own doom! As vengeance hath punished its sire, For seeds sown that grew to conspire. Base wrath entwined with reasons thorns Doth prick man’s wild untempered scorns. As ev’ry existential gain, Begets wilful acts of pain. Now empathy, thou contests

In full view about this globe of matter: A darkened space with candlelight scattered. Dot to dot and spin the wheel to tell an age – It's dust that bakes to bricks that builds the stage. See the sun and all its particle orbs Make circuit round the dark star that absorbs. First gaze upon their ancient spiral form – Demoted from a distance, one fly in the swarm, Caught – cocooned in weaving gossamer web That spans a corner space – spatial form ebbs. Beyond horizons that void the count of time, Waves a state that knows no verse or rhyme.

Doth I blunt the blade of expression As I temper contrivance? Reneging fealty spawns usurpation, Apropos of articulation: Oh great King, my dictator, my Liege, So beginneth abdication, Forced from the throne of prestige… …for I shan’t transgress the boundaries of bondage, That would both make and break a mother’s heart. Ne’er commanding the forces of culture To scatter the rebellious uncouth, and their art! I shan’t betray the tongue of my father, Nor affect my autochthonous voice. Tis true, my pen often modulates, - But this is a wilful choice!

It's a façade his socially awkward attitude. It's a mask to hide the arrogant bastard within.

I have heard people say many times how they want their lives to be fairytales, more specifically their romances. They want things to be a whirlwind of kisses and staring longingly into each other’s eyes until the perfect wedding and everyone lives happily ever after. It's all butterflies, rose colored glasses, unicorns and rainbows. However, do people who say such things really understand what exactly they are saying when they say they want a fairytale life? I don't think they do, or they would not say it. Disney is to blame for this. With their movies based on popular folk and fairytales, they always seem to follow a particular formu