ADULTING

Where do i start it from, where -
We Spill Secrets In front of green bottles
with a Madness On Cue

I watch bleakly with my heart buried under
While My love marries another 

the only human thing to do
Looks Like a Premeditated Sabotage
With an overwhelming feeling of loss
We sit and do nothing and walk aimlessly altogether
We regret and regret and regret and regret
Treadle machine all around us to fuel
A thousand tricycle for a hundred passengers
At the sight of a back turned a  question that goes unanswered
A god Unfair
A boy unfettered Tell him that to want is to strife
And I want so much
No one suffers like a shy man who is afraid of the world in front of him
With lives he cannot live, deaths he cannot die
Obsequiousness indifference and a pain only a midnight lamp and a pen know about 

this pen sieve out, longings and emotions into words that constrain thought in twenty six letters
Confusion denial and abnegation from trust issue and traumas imagine 

if every stupid greeting ended with sex
Who would the lonely man greet

Sometimes the body hangs on your mind and suffocates every atom of reasoning 

and you remind it that you have done all this before, 

every dream every aspiration and you wonder why the hell it intoxicates you still,

Every rejection is new every morning no matter how inured you claim to be, 

there Is a jab into the very essence of your self when you have got lots of love to 

give but the person don’t seem to want it.

When expectations becomes hopes old poor soul will not return home
When expectation become hope Young boys trekking might get stolen
Taught to kill for what is theirs
Shining baubles seem so far to attain
And the just can’t live by faith

still battle with an addiction we feel a need to own and a need to clean our prison better with lime almonds milk and vegetables while the prostitution continues an endless catwalk, a denial and abnegation of the passion walls and its echo guilty pleasure and nice toys peeled pallets tacked for the free fall rubs on abyss realer than a God In heaven
Just like you the Vermin gather in the wake of a great lethargy
And sniff each other nether regions through a

Tiring peace to a silent grave-ward march
While they bicker and quarrel to patient maggots

Who will you tell that you have been called by the ink,  the one singular paint of reasoning
What can one do about the white clouds
And how they go dark again
We can’t change whats written in the barometer
Even if your uncle name gets carried with
since the mirror paints the lonely homosexual the frugal elite

paints fulfillment where there is none
No one can be a prophet or profit in this country 

only prophet profit in this cunt tree
A monkey came and shook my hand or was it me
holding my left hand asking myself
Do your parents understand how you feel
How do old parents deal with modern day depression
What if there was no religion how would you cope
Letting out your Id is it bad
Are you sure you are OK?


It took my miracle away, my miracle pronounce in with words and smiles

 involuntary actions burdened with so much a younger male took away my illusion of

 perfect and I saw it coming all along
Saw my lover admire another
Where is that victor and his little peccadilloes sorry to put you to guile it 

was the me I thought  I was too

feigning unique until I was found out, who do I think I am?

You too,
From where you stood,
Even if I did what will come of you,

I am used to not getting what I want

What is this assurance you are giving me
When you don’t know what you give me


Muttering is a beacon of thoughtless silence a dream within lips 

that pours back into our hopeless faces
Filaments of feelings strands at the empty space between every packed bus
Tried tires tires us with underneath spinning in the heat that break sighs into our fears
And I wonder why I walk a bloat across the mirror every morning with my index in my navel
All to touch this uncaring grave with my leg, and prove to the next corpse beside me how good I must look, from now to the uncertain future goal or gaol
All along swinging a noose in search of death.
Aside every gore, is a celebration of sex, perversion, and feminism fads
Thirsty goofs to create the necessary fog through which this cactus farm is ploughed
Even when we get pricked we laugh at our threshold for pain because of the herd
But we never truly cry, like we should

Ready your coffin
Ready your eulogy ready your dirge
Plan for your greed, ill for your food
Think for yourself tell nobody that your are so bored
An inappropriate love

Needs a revenge a girl needs her father
Even if it is an older male to spank and feed her
Life is and full of chores
The turmoil that spurs, few short and far in between

How then will I say I love you, if i don't know "How i say"

The crease of life
The affection have been reduced to sheer insults

And beating each other as forms of hugs

Every man is a prisoner, from the umbilical cord
To grasp of a stranger in white, we stay tethered
To the hopes ad failures of a stranger who ingrain In us
Jargon for another prisoner
Everybody is somebody’s jailer as we put each other in prisms
Of love, envy and eye service

Adulting
I am my own loneliness till I deny it
Parent put their fears and greed into your own wrong decision
We are nothing without a thought process but every age
Comes a limit to the knowledge we have transcended

Plagued with the selfishness of personal happiness in a very intricate
And communal world
Instead of suicide do the world a discard
Sex is the central of our cores, in the mind of everyone who settle. More so,
In those who deny it
They prey on the basic form of our existence and punish every cell in out body that
Craves duplication, how then will we think when it is advertised at every shade
With junk food
And we that conform would form a spittle of ignorance and stupidity all for the
Sake of a laughing nipple brushing against your cheeks

You wake up feeling empty and sad all for your body craves another
Wickedness craves to your heart and loneliness make you think of world domination

Again it is fuhrer, futile all these thought are to naught at the sight of pounded round of flesh
Impeded by a funnel dress and sandwich in your hands is not enough
They portray the prostitution aloofly, why walk when you cannot walk properly
Why suffer at all, Why, Me and You
Victims of child worship and Munchhausen become alienated skeptics 

products of a flawed
Education system who fail to understand that all the human endeavor revolves
Around sorry and thank you 

Command with codes of prides and
Advertise when all you do is close your nose to eat the shit we all eat

the same shite we are made of
There is a madness for woman parts placated by the less dress of 

the venerable blessed saints, and constancy there of,

Noise making fools who grunt when they pass you by with perishable wares
The man becomes inured and domesticated a tool with phallus and tongue
Frustrated used and dumped judged for a phallus he did not create
Building prison upon prison and putting them a the edge of each other fences
Walking the very lean road that they poor their bath water on,
Washing at the same time, corpses and fish heads, animals innards and rotten rats

with gross indiscipline, greed and magnificent foolish
They dispose properly


Wait, Why aren't Christians communist? If God say love your neigh

nay lets keep Stunning sideways with exhibitionism cow heads and

old men which they display alike for people to inspect rub hands across smelly genitals and smell,

While muttering thoughts of vindictiveness for a vermin that has no control of his life alike.
Slumming out
All these songs about women all these books about women all these paintings about women
Still there are no insecure eyes


Who will tell us that glasses are form of aesthetics but an imminent blindness to the fact of our friends starve and kill each other, 

friends we shouldn't really have if mother had done abortion like she should

Utter foolishness

Vanity will be the only reason many of them will not make the prison in the sky
Why do your pastor put his face on the ticket of salvation
Why do your dead want me to see his rotting face
Why do pose your picture for an idea you didn’t invent
I am not far off but I have always been fascinate with fire an 

earthly element fueled by oxygen that the up above lack so much of
If the goal every religion is material why the folly call a business a business and treat it like one
Revenge and malice steel our minds, revenge and malice on our family, friends and relatives
And quietly accept things that require our rage, like our standard of living and the foolish who rule us
To cap it all we masturbate on their foolish and watch them pollute us with their greed, folly and pride
There are never any less pubic hairs, the shame the shame the shame I say
Of an ironically ignorant mind



I tell you thus
Nobody is home
When we reach into our loneliness and exhaust our suicidal thoughts
Sometimes a glimmer of home might send us running out in to the embrace of 

people just a lonely and confused in our desperation for a hug we reach into their 

bed sores and poke it

They grunt but smile still and guile us
They hear stories about us and we stomp jump and shake dust off

 in their own abyss of loneliness so they can’t take they under when
They have lost control and look around obsessively for things to de-clutter. you

 become that thing out of place they throw and cry, thinking:

 nobody is home

by

Carlos Mustlevi