Emaciation Proclamation

I
am
a red
balloon
and I
float
all
d
a
y.
w
a
i
t
i
n
g

for
my
prince
to
come.

i am tied by the base strings
&
i have seen bad weather
at its worst.
i have seen the
hails snows rains bolts cracks
whips and sneers.
&
;
its been mocking
and disappointing.


i
a
m
a
n
c
h
o
r
e
d

by the
%knots%
that whet
my stirs to revenge.

the cold raindrops,
they tickle me as i am tied to my
safe&&steady lifestyle,
rankling my disdain for the
emaciated and free
red
balloons.

and sometimes,
there will be:
purples greens oranges and blues
scattered around the lawn
in the sky,
in the cars,
in the lakes
and they hopelessly flounder
in sardonic jest,
on their wild escapades
with the wind
and the tiny frolicking cats and bees.

that is,
until they

l

o

s

e

i

t

,

madly, violently, outrageously, wantonly
parading on the grass,
impaled by the green, with envy,
plants that wish that they could fly,
too.

i
am
stuck.

i can be free,
but i have no choice
but to float in my pre-determined
Calvinistic
doom.

but when i see you have your fun,
and when i see you glide and stride
to your demise,
lonely and withering on the floor
that you used to taunt
so gaily,


i guess i'm not meant
to live that way.

Criminal

The more we separate,
the more I retaliate
from myself.

Weak feelings begin to manifest
like the sun's rays seeping
from the seed of the Earth.

Mortification transfigures into relief,
insecurities become auspicious possibilities,
first prejudices transcend into first prides.

Sinfully&slowly, my heart melts
at the thought of you.
But as I realize this, I scoop up the drippings
and place my heart promptly into a
refrigerator.

Where, do I think I'm going with this?

The sun sinks sullenly back into its grave,
the moon shines only half-wise, with its illusory half-radiance,
and the seasons whittle away knowingly,
UNDERSTANDING the secrets of
the Universe
which are disclosed to the guild of Believers,
in that weary sense.

Abashed and timidly,
I am left in vertigo,
spiraling onto the cold sand floor
to feel the weight of the world crunching beneath me.

Feigned emotions can trick the fool.
Oh, I've been the Artful Dodger,
and the butt of the joke.
I've done the trickery and caused the foolery.
Now here's my sorry punishment.

What Child Is This.

I meant for this to be done by a girl, but I left Irvine before I could find someone, and I'm really not interested in asking anyone here in Bakersfield (where I currently am). Other than that, enjoy.

What Child is This (Cover) - Mark Sescon