Stolen Smiles.

I bet you think,
that you got me,
you think,
some rinky-dink,
cheap hoodwink,
can shock me?
You need to,
see a shrink,
exclusively,
immediately,
can you say,
“shock therapy”?
You like to think,
your shit don’t stink,
stupidly,
not shocking,
You think you’re,
the only geek,
with a nod and wink,
who’s rocking?
You think like,
a cracked-out tweak,
on a shopping spree,
heart stopping,
shit talking,
You think a,
decryption key,
means shit to me?
unlocking,
You think it,
doesn’t wreak,
of thievery,
such mockery,
call blocking,
You think you’re,
the only freak,
the only skumbag thief,
who’s stalked me?
You think,
the doublespeak,
the hyperlinks,
the subtleties,
cock-blocking,
You think me,
mild and meek,
words I speak,
empty miscellany,
just squawking,
You think you,
can hinder me,
in my stepping,
or render me,
unsuspecting,
of your indecency,
insolently,
emptily,
keep thinking,
keep trying,
quit weaseling,
quit lying,
You’re unforgiven,
how unforeseen,
was the dying,
of a beloved king,
the defying of,
defaming of,
decomposing of,
love’s creamy dreams,
reinforcing of,
sharpened,
hardened,
darkened things,
broken wings,
Screams curdling,
frozen hearted,
cement-shoed,
bound to settle in,
down you go again,
unthinkably,
unspeakably,
Reactively,
you’re scaly,
snakeskinny,
filthy to your DNA,
How ya like me now?
Please sink and drown,
Or swim away,
into yesterday,
on your back belly up,
Contentedly,
Complacently,
Away from me,
I’ll steal
what’s left of,
your smile,
while you cry,
like a child in your sleep.





Scoreboard.

It’s a human process,

that I familiarly understand,

everything becomes meaningless,

through a swift wave of a hand,

then it’s onward and upward,

back in the game once again,

no respect for the scoreboard,

because it’s clear that I won’t win;

It’s a human dialect,

that the shallow comprehend,

a minimal level of intellect,

the keen ability to pretend,

then it’s deluded illusions,

and the seclusion it presents,

blown way out of proportion,

by a bullshit circumstance.

 

 

Time.

A perfect example of what I mean when I say that “Father Time’s not on my side” is today’s fucked up tangle with The Opportunist.
The Opportunist was obviously feeling lonely in the rain at home and decided that he’d try me. The reason why he felt like it was okay to contact me (despite my crystal clear instructions in the past on this issue; as in, I told him to flat out lose my number the last time he tried to text me, six + months ago) is simple: Time.
The Opportunist apparently feels that enough time has passed now for me to have forgotten who he turned out to be – how shit ended between us – and the fact that he trampled my super-high-risk heart knowingly. The Opportunist was someone SO VERY CLOSE TO ME, that he knew all of the intricacies that have molded ME – everything. And still, in order to climb his way higher up, he stepped on my head and kicked me off the ladder in the end. He really fucked with my head there for a while, really hurt me on a human level. And…I can’t even get myself started when it comes to the abandonment attached to this man (thing)…the vulnerabilities I endured to get close to him, to let him in…he fucked me up, yes.
But the thing is, that Father Time hates me…and doesn’t give me the comforts that he affords most people in terms of his nature, no; he doesn’t heal me; never has and never will. Father Time and I don’t get along so well, little does The Opportunist realize. I forget nothing. He sent me a slew of text messages all throughout the afternoon today, obviously in the grips of some manic episode of his own; but that’s not my problem either. I finally replied… once, and his texts abruptly ceased to come through.

The last one he sent was,

“Hopefully, you’ll let me put a smile back into your life without any extra stress…”

To which, I simply replied,

“You stole my smile.”

And that was that.

Clues and Hints

get itBody language gives so much away – that’s why everyone online is so clueless.

The words spelled out all over the screen have become so meaningless.

…’Cause they can’t see that I’m chewing my cheeks and doing the ADHD purse shuffle from near-spontaneous-combustion while they tell lies to me.

They don’t know how intelligent I am because I have a sailor’s mouth and I prefer not to be meek.

They each think that they have something better –  a leg up on me.

Two can keep a secret when one is headed downstream.