poetic

Temptation(poem)

It is Saturday fife fifteen p.m and I´m bored
I feel the need to score
an outlet
something
going nuts inside this house
need something
happening
opening
boring
fuck

I just wrote like a ladder but backwards
always going the other side
against the tide
my mental tide that is
so be it in his, miss.

It´s been twenty days
of nothing and a lot of things
twenty days of constant beatings
on my writings
but temptation to go out
and scout
and go into the bar
give me another scar
but I need a fucking outlet.

Stay Frosty gents and gentesses.

Smoke and mirrors.(poem)

Three a.m, here we go again.

Some pain some gain.

You thought you knew something,

you really knew nothing.

You thought you knew someone,

your really didn´t  knew that one.

 

Disappointment

Shame…..then

Pride

so,

It´s now sex time!

 

Stay Frosty gents and gentesses.

 

Why I create art? Life.

At age thirty I have returned to walking through a house of hunted ghosts where people have been and now they are not, not to go anyplace, the place is the house where they have become the ghosts of mine the mind of mine in which they reside as if they feel they  have the privilege to reside in my mind, they don´t have the privilege to be in here in this mind of mine, in this house of mine, in this heart on mine. They hunt me and that is my destiny the destiny of a hunted mind. Why should I put up with them? I ask myself, but myself is unable or unwilling to answer that question a complicated question that can have a very simple answer which eludes my mind, my thoughts are blurred and un-blurred it´s a grey area in which I have to live. There is no white and black. Life.

Life is my house, it revolves around it it speaks to it. My house. The house where dreams where made and broken were people lived and died, where laughs where mixed with tears, where I was born and educated, where values and principles slipped into every pour of my body.

I look out and have stayed out of the hunted house seeing the green prairie of life as well as the soaked red prairie of war, the privilege of learning and un-learning the seeds that make up the wonderful prairie of life. Is not all war says my ex-soldier soul. I created my life based on what I learned in my house. I return back to my house, it is hunted I can feel it every day I wake up, they are there, I feel them as much as a hammer hitting my soul, my heart, my mind. But it is Life. The Life I chose to live and now I have to cope with.