Well Well.

No honestly. Wow. Well well, I'm overthrown a game I so know back forth my hand to win it. How can I lose this? I guess it takes mad skills for this to work and mad skills exist all right. I'm smiling and I know it'd be a good night. There's nothing left. Congratulations is all I must say. I have finally gone through the grinder and have survived being here on the other side. What do I want now? To pretend I can play or just stage my defeat or a better idea, one I am ever so fond of, to bring back that tsunami of two oh my gosh four. Somebody mentioned road trip and a road trip I must take to see if I've still got it within me. That capability to draw and doodle shapes of circles and triangle. I need strength and my feet flat on this ground. I have gone what the Alaskans would say, "We're so used to it, I'm afraid to think it would change." I think this is the end of all bedtime stories and fairy tales. Congratulations once more my friend for the roller coaster ride I designed but cannot stop, and to which you halted. For the umpteen times that cyclone of romance caught me off guard and threw me seven heaven up above the universe of lust and reasons you know of but lest you understand. For the bone that has left you and all of you. I laugh.

Start, It Wouldn't.

I don't know how I shall even begin describing how I feel. It's a mixture of pain and so much of pain, and the greatest pressure points of pain felt right here in my heart. I do not understand what I want. I can't live with you, yet I can't live without you. Living without you feels worst than living with you. God why can't I just stop having these feelings for you and just move on already. It is driving me insane thinking of the million and one things that don't stop hurting my insides. Please, I beg you God one million times to release me from this wretched state. Be my savior and heal me of this heartache. I will admit defeat and come to recognize that perfection is not within me but within the relationship of myself and everything else. Grant me God, one more, just one more chance in this affair and I'd forever live with it. I can not go on for I feel so weak at the giggle of death. I feel tired. Please.

Something Special.

Girl: I'm having my operation now. I love you.


Girl lays on the operation bed.
Boy stands there with watery eyes without saying I love you too.
Girl finishes heart transplant.


Girl: Where is he?
Nurse: They didn't tell you who's heart they gave you, did they?


Nurse hands the girl a note from Boy.


Note says "I told you it was yours."

Do Add Dots.

Dear me. A heck I've been through. I'm on the verge of feeling almost everything. I'm overwhelmed! Everything does happen for a reason. But reasons be reasons lest them be explanations to unruly settlement. I can never allow the what ifs and don'ts of doings and wrongs of the immoral. It is simply unacceptable for me to pretend everything is to be agreed but my heart screams the insensitivity of the idea. I cannot blame the crabs for their soft inner parts neither can they be judged being hard out. It's just the way they are and so is the way I am. A choice is given and two can always be half of each. A choice is made to determine the path one should take. A choice can be given to be made, or can be taken in consideration of it's outcome. A choice is unfair. Be it me or be it you, my choice you, your choice me. Happiness then floods the occasion like doves stringing peace with their flight trails. But my, who would have thought another piece of information could be delivered as swiftly as the first was delivered and the latter brought forth. Amazing how the idea of exploration tickles my insides. Nay, tickles me with fury and despair. Just when birds fly, the wolves claw their way through. I am speechless but in an awe mode to see what comes next. Think acronym and figure my heart longs for.

Let's Rush This.

Building it slow leaves the excitement lingering at the border of all the energy. What good does that do? People need to feel all they can feel at any given moment of time before the moment ends. For all things will have no say in when they end, but they have a knowing that they'd end. Everything ends. Nothing last forever. So the race is on, the rush is felt. Things have to be completed quickly yet profoundly so that no moment goes in waste to the idea of losing time. They say time is gold, but gold is the idea and the pursue of many. The conversion has been made. People have less appreciation for time as gold is focused more but the same applies when the terms are switched. It starts to show it's true colors this Life. True, through it all is an amazing manifestation of an experience that is worth 'living' for. But if you get tired halfway, then you don't seem to have the push, the motivation or the wanting, God forbid, the willing to carry on. What point is there then... The older generation would laugh and mock this thought but they deserve to do so. They've had the harder times, and for that, kudos. Let's rush this shit then.

Never True.

You said;

-you'd accompany me, but you were no where when I needed you.
-you'd share my pain, but here I'm in this dark room bearing them alone.
-you'd care for me when I'm sick, but here I am and you aren't here.
-you'd love me, but, but your love is much of words alone.

Many things have you said but none come to pass. You never chase. I'm not worth it I understand. Far too long have your needs been placed first before the rest of humanity. That's the primary attitude I'm keen of staying away from, a selfish heart. You aren't here. I need you. I need you badly but you aren't here. You're just not here. Writing this over again would help sink the fact in eventually, which is what I'm hoping to happen. I need you here with me holding me as I cry these tears I long to shed. Be here for me. But you aren't here.

A Bliss.

I'm happy but scared. A joy like water, held back by oily fear in this jar. I can't seem to have it all even though it feels like everything is mine already. I can't receive that last few dew dropping percentages before I receive a full hundred completion in being totally happy. So a question comes to mind on the existence of perfect happiness. Control is my goal. To see the outcome as to expectations, as expectations is merely the guide to the perfection of the plan. Hows and many whys had been asked repeatedly but to no availing answers. Where is this missing jigsaw piece? What is the cause of this emptiness. Could it be for a missing soul? The angel and her missing love loops in the calm air. I feel my tears have all dried up in the attempt of bringing the not-so-alive back. I still dare not use the more descriptive word. I will not move on. I simply will not because that life was all I had in hopes of the better future. I feel some anger quivering beneath my skin now. A break that would make it okay; to break so that a new better could be fixed. Simply because, everything ceases to live this existence. It's a reality made in fantasy which was never real in the first place. An empty wardrobe, a hope, a comb, a hungry fragrance, a tie, a coffin, a hole in the ground, in the universe, a fatherly shaped hole in the universe, a hole with a shape so rare and unique a replacement cannot be found, a longing. God, why?

An Invisible Dagger.

It hurts. So bad. Allow me death. Pa, take me.

Bastards; A Loaded Gun Part 2.

One fucking fine day, I'ma drill a bullet down your big pipe gap hole you motherfucking son of a bitch. The second of that some fucking day, you'd learn to leave what's not yours and go fuck with old age and die a miserable fat ass death. I hate the word hate right now because it doesn't accurately describe my level of anger. DIE YOU BASTARDS. ALL OF YOU. FUCK AND GO DIE.

Breathes. Pauses.

That's how uncivilized I can be. But nay (Rudolph), I shan't be such. Anger comes from the root of pain and fear. When you fear that the dreams you thought to be true had in reality be false, you hurt, and the pain felt turmoils these gargantuan amount of anger which can be so damaging to the soul/s. I'm hurt alright. I'm sad, I feel so sad. A promise had been made to me but it wasn't delivered. The justification of the cause hadn't been a satisfying one, in fact, it's an infuriating one. So infuriating I can lapse into another epilepsy of sailor white tongues. I'm sad okay, I say one more time. I cried, I screamed, I vandalized. All to what point, emptiness and scarce anything...

"Glow" & Honesty.

Lower down expectations and down the disappointments would be lowered too says a wonderful glow of light in a successful attempt of home-made recipe (not recorded). One gives more, says the one giving the most because only the more-over-giver would know who gives in excess. Hence the receiver tends to take in granted on the accord of his receives. At least an attempt was made but now, numbers before, couldn't match up to what was asked to lower down by and through the enlightenment. Twists and turns has to be made to a different named letter to avoid all the possible unwelcome emotions. Speak forth, and do forth in choice of words and actions. Make them parallel and not one mounting the other in a retarded confusion of what you said to be, an understatement! Please. My knees are not of wood presenting blood, have them be cut. Feel the presence of this performance and understand that it is impossible to find a hiding place after this mess. Why can't the circular karmic expression apply in these equations... Why can't treated be how treatment feels back given? A choice has been taken away, I believe. I appreciate your light, Glow.

Victimized, BC.

Sad stories have their own way of projecting themselves dramatically after a short simmer of collected moments. It's the short-cake of how a man orgasms, not a lady. Because I have read before that a woman's orgasm may last for a whole 2 minutes but that isn't the point honestly. A man would just have his most loved tingle sensation before the moment of the waited volcanic outbreak; eruption. Again, isn't a point meant to be associated with purpose to this post. Sad stories. Many people have tried to stop seeing sad stories to be sad. Some succeed for just few stories short but the rest, nay (Rudolph). What should one do when the total amount of these unwelcome moments begin to exceed the point of handling capacity? Jumping off high floors don't seem to help in a moral sense so we won't start discussing water pollution of drowning theories. Maybe a drink or two but that doesn't help the long run, just the short. The argument here would be, many shorts make a long as how a little bit would become a hill eventually. Then again, that's not the point. I have once been victimized by those who dare not want to achieve a certain sense of corporate responsibility. They disagreed though have agreed in prior of the humiliation. To these people, do note that a crab never forgets though forgiveness might have been stamped out a post long before. Shame on you liars of sorts! This ramble may proceed further than it usually would,just a precaution forehand. You bitched me but I know you do so only because you have a very low sense of acceptance and attention. You put one down so you may for yourself, climb a certain ladder of recognition. Sorry to burst your bubble Ms. I-Queen-Bitch, but people listen to your stories just because they weren't given a choice to stuff the male's organ for reproduction into your gap hole, or for short, shut you up. I hate you for now in love, but I hope karma takes a bite at the shoes you leave by your kitchen.