aidsyouinthinking

[aidsyouinthinking]

The bratty shower: BDSM basics

From warm to frozen, the shower toys. No chance to acclimate, it enjoys. Mind melts from chase to inure. This ride, alas -- best just endure; Breath inhibited by blast of cold, gulp of air between those stole. In flood warmth, turned, to scold; between Hel and Hell be the soul. Such a pleasant form of being lost, Such is why, unpaid goes, the repair cost.

[aidsyouinthinking]

"I'm jealous of cups"

-Hank green Pissing Out Cancer

"My mom is a Roman Stoic And my dog is doing chores And the flight attendant is crying [...] uh, I'm a bunch of ants [...] and one of my ants is named Trent and he's a real dick hole, speaking of dick holes my penis hurts [...] Is that what you wanted to know when you asked: 'how am I really doing?' "

[aidsyouinthinking]

"My mom is a Roman Stoic And my dog is doing chores And the flight attendant is crying [...] uh, I'm a bunch of ants [...] and one of my ants is named Trent and he's a real dick hole, speaking of dick holes my penis hurts [...] Is that what you wanted to know when you asked: 'how am I really doing?' "

-Hank green Pissing Out Cancer

[aidsyouinthinking]

I have so much hate and anger and vitriol and bloodthirst, but all that surround; all whom I can change; are so woefully innocent, I wish to even scratch the ones at fault … and it boils my blood to see all who hurt themselves and us, that think the fault lies solely on those who walk with us and not the ones who paved the road.

[aidsyouinthinking]

A Ras(p)cal

That gamey plague,

It twists and turns, a river of blood full of needles,

As if the winter air's tyranny abases, even on a summer morn.

Where to breathe enough feels like stretched blisters;

It's due to pop and cave with scabs, echoing the blunt cry of scowled pain that chokes all to a whisper.

It Inforcening silence by damning breath Reinforcing sedentary weariness And tricking those possessed, of their eluding it

All to feed its own ego All to trip up those into pre-dug grave

The demon: Az-ma

... [sigh] [flutters script]

And our saviour: Vlad the inhaler

[Ugh]

Had to ruin it...

[aidsyouinthinking]

2020 poem, to go to and fro

The days are exhausting, but the nights are worse. 

The sun sinks with a sting, the moon appears like a curse. 

Only the shivering weak  gain some sleep. 

I, like a roaming corpse go to and fro. 

With my withered fingers and rotten toe. 

Preparing for day as my heart falls low. 

Readying myself for the guns to blow. 

The dawn breaks warming my body and my soul. 

Time to throw death's dice and see what I roll. 

[aidsyouinthinking]

Resting in the passgner seat seeing the queue of cars crawl soon filtering to a highways speed.

My hand twitchs to the handle, as my mind dreams:

Twist wrist and hips in turn to turn handle to see what you can handle.

Joust with metal shield in another automaton, and as shrapneled carnage smatter, take foot full of what's the matter down to skidding floor for more fun.

Reverse 3d printing, layer by layer, streaking red to foot now dead till but it the head of a stump.

Clamber up high as corners of mouth pitch, and lounge on top of the world, such a little world.

Will you fall? How will father slow? Where will he go? Is there another car around... and and.

The cars bend into round about as their density gives added weight, slowing like the thoughts all about.

My hand rests across from the door, griping wrist.

My leg hums passionately, a cry of opertunity.

And I exhale my 12,900nth breath,

I'm just kidding... of course, I lost count.

[aidsyouinthinking]

"I couldn't hear you over the knives"

"I think... ... ... ..."

"In this world, the worst thing you can do is... make someone think they're not wanted or loved."

Kinger is spitting objective facts. I relate too hard.

[aidsyouinthinking]

Poem: Holding hands with mortality

Is It Not a joyous occasion when death's welcome is at hand?

The skeletal embrace, a distinct reminder of such a lingering promise?

For when you, near kiss, a truck; or rabid coughing fit grasp with rasph pulling air like rug beneath you; does thou not smile to see the curtain sweep across cheek down to feet?

When it raises again to the audience unseen, does that fake smile not grow tender, perhaps genuine?

It is odd to face the curtain. The toxic concoction of adrenaline flooding in preparation for such a stagnet subtle somber scene.

An inappropriate reaction for something so appropriate, so ubiqtious so, ... life. So welcome a bonechimes rattle at the door. for to walk, yes slow, but then open to more; is as life as it gets now lacking frets for else in store. Oh, mortality, I confide in thee; you, I adore.

[aidsyouinthinking]

One line poem:

A bountiful amount of bridges are bound to be burnt

[aidsyouinthinking]

Poem: It Wells The shimering portal between life and death

A flickering light from foamy reflection

Bob head between as limb-o' body lie

Cast and carried by blue basted sky

[aidsyouinthinking]

Poem: Accompanying Silence

No-one sees the boat adrift

No-one witnesses the form sink

The shifting silt sits As blanket over the cool riverbed No-one will hear the bubbles pop As form takes a deep, easy breath It cannot keep a smile from creaking large It cannot find better peace than this slumber No-one will witness the reeds bow. No-one will hear the silence howl. No-one will see such serenity as he.

[aidsyouinthinking]

Spilt poem: Z z z Often Slept On

Z z z, often slept on.

Take 'Xylophone!' Come on, throw Z a bone!

But Z has zest I must profess

Ride horse to victory is too tired Try Zebra instead, and I'd say you're hired!

Now worst of all are those Brits Removing Zs just for the shi-

-err-

-ly you see that one thing America's got right Is not to be so up tight about where to use me!

Brits took my Organization Even though I'm core to civilization.

Be my zealot, zip to zen, zany zymotic trend!

The Brits can't silence my claims of Zabernism Z-less zealous zombies zigzagging zingers for zilch

Razzmatazz isn't just for showbiz; add some zeal-filled zest to that vocab:

[aidsyouinthinking]

Poem: the scene unlived

Ivory white and pimple pink: Tent to inhabit all who think;

For the many have legs in droves,

Gleaming seen and further dream Of fretful regretful desolate scene.

Many beg the gift of galavanting personal groves...

But no.

We follow the hollow trade Of clownish cascade,

In suit and line following time

Of punch clock counting each tock,

As ring master sing what bring "Our" thing!

Property property,

Resource resource,

Costly costly,

Discourage discourse...

We are the least inanimate

We are no tarp, no trapeze to walk, no lion to tease. It is these inanimate shows that are freakish, the priorities it swallows brings us the bleakest. Even I shall note not, and tote like tot to see equity toward me finally,

For even my inner world has such disparity

and I've had enough of reflections.

[aidsyouinthinking]

The common utterance

Is not a ball of yarn one that yearns to be unravelled

For how else does one crochet such scratchy sweater

Let Us build on the detritus of brutalist cottage

All comes from something, all is remade, all will be better

No naive Ivory tower looking with others eyes

No bunker deep hidden from the scarred skys

The body be a temple to phoenix, where once dies

Grows a tree of willow variety from what of Us lies

[aidsyouinthinking]

That sweet rounded smell, powerful, wrapping, consoling, a blanket; pungent and evident, but welcoming. Most associate it with unclean, I? Intimacy, of all kinds: The willingness to be bare. They come in different flavours, the bacteria changing the scent, but almost like pheromones, I can tell when that smell is of whom I've loved. Though please still have showers!

[aidsyouinthinking]

Unfired project.

May my body be a temple to terrorize; for to fetch the eyes of whom it lies upon to resculpt me.

Pretty pottery: salted tears make cracks subside, though surgery shows inside, how much of me has died; such pompous poetry.

Too much burden to bear for lowly greenware. So lonely can't share I lost to the weather.

Sense of self not shown. Senseless selfless-ness is loan for lack of surface known, vicarious, yours I roam.