I Low-key (heh) Want Fractal-sherif

It's really not urgent

You have all the time in the world

Your last seconds

Will be the eternity

Inside a nibless

Fountain pen

FRAGMENTS

Fragments, oh fragments

Small pieces of brokenness

Time chiseled off moments

in detached consciousness

Shattered hope and dreams

In solitary confinement

Fear, in suppressed screams

Enforced early retirement

Retained disappointed feats

Trigger the onset of delusion

Unto bowing lowly in defeat

Reduced to utter confusion

Blasted, stripped of dignity

Unretrieved pieces of unity

Fragments of human sanity

©Johnny J P Lee

(Novelist, Author & Poet)

A Gogyoshiren Poem (15)

Photos, Unsplash Images

If You Give A Chicken Acid...

He’ll probably ask for a Xanax

a couple hours later

and tell you about a bad trip he had in ‘97

and you’ll nod along but you barely speak a bit of poultry.

If you give a chicken acid

he might want some nitrous

so you’ll have to find a balloon. 

He might forget where he is and won’t go home for breakfast.

If you give a chicken acid

he’ll go up to all your friends

and ask for their phone numbers and home address.

And he’ll most definitely stay out too long on the dance floor. 

If you give a chicken acid

he might tell you the truth about crossing the road

but then lie 

about where you can find the bathrooms. 

If you give a chicken acid

he’ll consider staying up with you to watch the sunrise

and maybe 

he’ll give you a line or two. 

If you give a chicken acid

you could wake up with a bad headache

and feathers in your hair

and not be able to drive home until the afternoon. 

I want to cry

for all my lives

I've missed to dive

beneath my

kisses not tried

moments unsmiled

tonight

first visible animal of dusk, whose antlers maim the stars, break off pieces of their longing shapes sends them scattering to earth, so full of omission no one is allowed to pass, there is no deep shelter there is only the ore-wear of hunger, time’s burrowing, the ways in which our desires beget us 

There is a poem scratched onto the walls of my throat. No one has ever heard it, but it is there.

Kai Cheng Thom

beneath the barren trees I am finally home

I'm going to asphyxiate xdddd

An authentic experience of me, reading the Silmarillion for the first time, trying to imagine what Melkor looks like:

Me: If the Ainur can choose how their fanar appear, then I bet he'd go for something physically intimidating... Tall, then. Most likely wierdly white-gray pale, too...

Me: Long, dark hair... Dressed in black robes, ooh! What if they pool at his feet when he stands, so it's kind of like he's emerging from a puddle of darkness... and... hmm.

Me: Why does this sound... familiar? W-who does it remind me of...?

Me: ...wait.

I am so sorry.

It ruins the flavour

her coffee was cold and so she placed it in the microwave to my bewilderment

otherwise, I'm of the belief that she's heaven sent.

Poems are just word structures, sometimes devoid of poetry. Poetry goes far beyond words. Images are words too... Poetry is how we use these images.