Questions to Answers pt 6Going on to what questions some will ask;
there is a chance for maybe of how many tattoos do you have?
In answering that is simple enough that of none,
never like needles,
for our relationship has taken odd turns in the past,
and I have the mind an ADD hummingbird-sparrow hybrid,
within a week,
I would dislike the tattoo so much,
I could never do it.
Water proof ones that come off when user wants to . . .
4,327 tattoos and counting . . .
for I go through them like mad!
Now moving onto that only on the imagination,
that if you don’t have any,
have you ever thought of getting one?
Leaving on nothing else for just a permanent one,
when I am close to dying,
no one can see less than six feet of dirt,
It’s a win-win for everyone . . .
for how little it means anything,
for others to understand.
In memory sake,
there could be that,
of what did you for your last birthday?
only getting a wee bit plastered and able to remember,
just enough that came with it,
Thy One Fear Is . . . (No.14)A spouting moment it can be, at whatever turn, it could happen.
Even just a slip of the mind, proof there it is.
At whatever turn.
Don’t think it.
Don’t act it.
Don’t speak of it.
Must stay abound to the rules, which the holy being, from above has given!
One shall show no weakness.
They are nothing but petty feels, of an animistic person.
Within embryonic skin.
Meaningless urges will not break down the mind.
Do not react in weakness.
Don’t let weakness break one self.
There is no reason for it.
Memoires of it, hold nothing, of any promise.
Contain it, contain!
They are nonentity but unwanted pleasures.
Don’t go near them.
Let the wills of endurance be what holds one life line.
There is nothing to jump to it. Nothing.
There will be nothing to bend to it.
Don’t let ways of negative thoughts be it, which breaks the bones.
Harsh no let it comes, nothing of it, will come from it.
Here lies of this, the dar
Gift to MraspiringactorIf there something to enjoying about people,
that are likely to never meant in person,
are the hints about them,
on this little site of ours.
Small moments like this,
in straight out benefit from,
for of how people:
want to be seen by others,
or surpass what others think beyond that.
A little touch like that is just something to just be in awe about.
For how an icon gives a detail of one person,
so does their username.
With such interest;
in living up to the username,
and going even farther than that!
What courage a person can have!
There is always something to look forward,
within snippets as days go by.
for what little is given about you,
there is a lot,
to be held by it,
and never let go of.
there is the understanding,
which a goal doesn’t always play out for others,
so if even you end up in just,
B-rated cult films,
you’re just as aspiring.
Keep up and press on,
that lime light only gets closer.
Take a bow now;
award wining to
Whimper's ScreamIt stares,
vacant in hallow madness,
those colors once know meant as that,
is only the one born of those yes in wear,
A face so blank,
that broken the fairness and strangest eyes that once were.
All gone of so if this wasn't clear of what it could have been.
Left by nothing in so.
Lie is how it came to be.
Becomes the itch of the memory,
a-passing on years ago.
Of the raven with demonic wings that mock,
the wingspread of an angel.
Loose in matters long,
madness takes place,
as in always,
of how fables drown the brain,
acid burn in smoking puffs,
that's all it ends in a world,
that never makes sense,
but that's how the world is.
Unsure madness that only can,
for just a moment,
lead to an unknown answer,
that is dying to be spoken,
even if no will hear it,
not even a whimper.
but always echoing in the fields of white noise,
at the end of the eardrums,
Thy One Fear Is . . . (No.13)There is nothing else to know.
But to dread that day.
Some will say, it’s just a day.
Yet, why are so many fascinated by that day.
What is there so much, care, in kindness of that day, when so much can happen to anyone, on that day!
Really in mind of it all, it comes in so of it.
It happens just so is it of it.
It’s just a day.
Yet, why does it hold so tight, it’s chocking at times.
To try in ways to stray from those that, make this day . . . this number, an honorable toll to have.
It’s a lie, covered in blood and madness, that’s all what this day is.
Why can’t others see it?
Why must they give joyful cries, when they should have, run, run to the hills and never look back?
Why can’t they?
A fearful day is all what it is, why they can’t see it.
With nothing else, but a blade is thick and strife.
In nothing, it’s a day . . . a rueful that will end all, much more than left for dead.
End it, before it ends everyone els
Last StrollTo always in this day, in was smiles with glee, with no fear of what could have been, seeing as it always be. Chances of be, lack in seen, vastly in by of a lie that never in so become. Mesh on the walls, displace on those before, find of memory those be only unwritten past only for one to know. Knew by on that is.
Chances in be that only so? Come on so, on lie, on high rises that as be. Shadows only being the friend and foe in passing nights and they rest at day. Branches of trees, fingers they be bony oh so, gliding the glass with a tiny, creak that bleed ears, but only to the hearing. As over, too over played, pleaded to eyes of fiction sights to follow and rest in be . . . for how long, only for the eyes to know when the light flicked off.
Lie in cold, rest in layers of soft flesh, which was ribbons bows that played about the ground, ratted and bleak only to be a tone color. Sweat in bear that falls from the walls. Swallow calls of an echo that only, and be only, a whimper a
Golden Fleece LieEverything radioactive decay
Found less pluck fruit of the poisonous tree
By sight lone by liquid crystal display
Loss of that European olive tree
Sense sexually transmitted disease
Plays off as an economies of scale
But that must be a light freshly tease
Kissed only by that winter swallow gale
Living only for that wonderful soft touch
Like the Mediterranean fruit fly
Yet in so it be nothing else too much
Lacking in the small water supply
Embrace in nothing else but Golden Fleece
In forth known as an conversation piece
Dream OnThe dungeon,
where fools live and die,
since the lacking and ever changing interface ways keep going,
are nothing but earth freckles that clutter and choke the breathing,
a game some would say it is,
but from the little content of it,
that would crash in a ball of flames,
willing enough put by jail ringers in seeing nothing at the end of their noses,
and force fire on the misunderstood and weak.
O’ in forth of the phase that slices through hardest of metals of silver and copper,
forthcoming distance in the future for the all time upgrade,
left in vast bleak and spiteful space,
as a cloud rolls in to cover the fleeting starts in a thick and deadly virus . . .
the file stack away to state the past,
lack the important notice,
leaving the world as thus . . .
empty and hopeless.
Leak the fakes of intelligent beings,
forming into native lives they thought were never theirs from the start,
and start over,
in this spider web that drips salty rain from it,
Let It SoakThe temple o’ sand gleam . . .
Seemed only a bit sandy enough with a light golden tan,
cheeky smiles upon larks,
watching the sun glisten of the slaves as they build,
bleeding blisters resting on their hands with tears,
streaking their faces raw.
The sun finally goes down like a respite from torture,
through of what comes long days,
it’s never over as The Obey forth it.
The meal is near,
all are excited only to know the rations,
will never be enough for all.
Freedom a far off dream that will come,
from a being that is solid and real,
and holds only the truth and promise.
Little of enough,
they’ll push onward,
even if the work could hold little,
goes just far sufficient,
as the rations low,
the high spirits remain.
To some eyes that means nothing,
but to others,
does the job . . .
so let that soak in.