T-kun Unusual Wordsmith III

I can’t say much as why it’s badly done.

I know it can hurt if you’re the one being the target for it.

Might come a time,

Where you’re life be on the line.

If the odds are eight to one, you better scream for help.

If comes a chance where you can only see the world half for what it is,

Better than seeing it as nothing.

If walking becomes a chore,

Take each step as a goal,

Limps and all,

For you’re almost there.

Words come in slurres for the hits,

Keep talking,

The words will start making sence soon.

If your body bares scars of the past,

And your still here,

You did something right.

You kept living,

Even when the world didn’t when want you too.

If have come to a place where,

Everything is just right,

And it feels like your own little world.

You hold onto it,

Care for it,

Tend to it and love it,

For that is something,

That not bully can take from you.

How should I know,

If I never bare quite a pain,

Suck as yours.

Maybe for that,

All pain is different and we take it different.

Hell has knocked me down enough,

And a few times,

I knocked back.

If you kept going beyond what life did,

And see life still has left.

You did better than them.

And that’s all I can say for from target to the next.

On the twelve days of Christmas’s, I didn’t know what, to give to, my dear and close loved ones? Well, expect stall.

I know on the first day it had to be quick, and distract them.

Second day was coming fast, that damn clock kept reminded me, another distraction and two bad jokes.

What really?  Third day here’s already? Bad I for giving not but a distraction, two bad jokes, and three shout of hellos.

Another day has come by, the fourth this time. Time again, for a distraction, two bad jokes, three shout of hellos, and four white lies.

And what a shock, fifth day is here. Distraction . . . two bad jokes . . . three shout of hellos . . . four white lies . . . and five golden ideas!

Yeah, I know, number six, what of it? Is the devil near or something? Can’t be it’s the wrong holiday for him. So, demon spawn, come kill me another day.

It’s the seventh day; time to some cheering up and fast, for that Christmas is coming. Yes! Which the jolly old man is watching . . . SHIT! I need to go work my good deeds! Later!

Hey, look a figure eight. Cool. I did my good deeds; send my two pound list to the North Pole. Last second, as always. Mark the day off and be ready for the next to come.

WHAT? It’s the sixth again . . . waits . . . oh the calendar felled. Oops. Ah, the ninth . . . aw, I got to spend time with family for last minute shopping. No amount of cussing and screaming can describe my inner rage at this moment.

The big ONE ZERO. Oh, we’re nearing. Joy, oh, joy. Screw the rest of day, I got to hang with the little ones and plan a “trap” for Santa. We are so getting him this year.

Eleventh day is here. The trap is ready. Bait is set. Got to rip open at least one gift today. Sweet! The next, Volume II of the endless insight of myths and legends of monsters! Score!

Last day is here, I see that Christmas has come and gone. I did my best for this year, no doubt making an ass of myself . . .  again. Really, girl, learn! To those who I might have disappointed, can stick a firework right up my . . . oh never mind.

Holidays are that of the strangest kind, bringing the weird sides out of all. I know this is nothing, with it being the biggest day ever. But what you do, but go with flow, making to news year. And with the widest, toothiest, shit-eaten grin you can muster.

From one to another, happy holidays!

Living with something you had no,
Control of,
Means not able to have a hand hold yours.

An ear that will listen.

A shoulder to lean on.

You don’t have to live with this alone.

If you want that’s your choice.

But knows,
even those who have never met you.

Will have this weight on their shoulder.

A sign that your gone.

For you didn’t voice it out.

Even at this very second,
You choose to walk away,
You’ll be miss.

So here’s the chance to speak.

For a listener I am.

It’s okay to tell them.

You want wants best for them.

Don’t leave them in the dark.

Speak now, or the next you see, it’ll be too late.

Don’t shelter them, telling lies that this isn’t real.

Far too real to call it fake.

Tell them.

It’s okay.

Let them know.

No child should follow victim to this in later years to come.

You got the chance, do it.

Many arts form through a person.
Medias of all kinds.
Pleasing and angering with every turn.

For that it’s our reason to let others hear.
For who else will.
If we blindly only pick a selected few to hear, see, smell, feel, taste it.

Where would it lead us?
Smack down in the corner with a dream?

If that’s is the outcome.
For a fool of any not to reach out.

We only get one chance to be us, before another takes our place.
And it will be wasted.

Dreams may be so silly, that they are nothing a but joke.
But it’s our inside joke.
A little laugh that we will, not only prove them wrong, but carry on.

For that is how a dream works.
A joke.
But it becomes real, the more we smile, knowing it will become real.

So laugh now.
Cheer those who try.
We’ll you’ll all next time, when tides finally change.

And when you have a dream.
Laughter will come.
But on better terms.

Wave bye for now.
Speak hello later.

Many arts form through a person.
Medias of all kinds.
Pleasing and angering with every turn.

For that it’s our reason to let others hear.
For who else will.
If we blindly only pick a selected few to hear, see, smell, feel, taste it.

Where would it lead us?
Smack down in the corner with a dream?

If that’s is the outcome.
For a fool of any not to reach out.

We only get one chance to be us, before another takes our place.
And it will be wasted.

Dreams may be so silly, that they are nothing a but joke.
But it’s our inside joke.
A little laugh that we will, not only prove them wrong, but carry on.

For that is how a dream works.
A joke.
But it becomes real, the more we smile, knowing it will become real.

So laugh now.
Cheer those who try.
We’ll you’ll all next time, when tides finally change.

And when you have a dream.
Laughter will come.
But on better terms.

Wave bye for now.
Speak hello later.

Around this time a year,
A grand meal is made for all,
To where we can only be thankful . . .
But what is there to speak of thy thanks?

There is the ability to keep pushing forward,
For when time becomes much to cold,
We end up pausing and missing out of future things to come.

To where even the smaller things,
Everything I see,
Hear,
Smell,
Taste,
Feel and dream,
No matter if it’s good or bad,
For they all combine to make me who I am,
This also goes to you.

It’s then where we reach for friends and family,
To be by our sides,

Be that they made online or not,
Without them we wouldn’t be doing what we’re doing right now,
Carrying us in that warm feeling,
That makes even the sun blush.

Not only are the matters of others we must hold dear,
But ourselves as well,
Thanking moments of many kinds to remind us,
That,
We are forever alive.

For there might come a time,
Where being able to wake up,
Becomes,
More like a chore.

And we miss out on,
Every friend,
Enemy,
And experiences;
Good and bad throughout this life time.

Some of few places to find a handful of thanks,
Can be from,
A caring community of goodhearted folks.

We all just sit down and enjoy a cool drink,
Whatever it could be,
We just simply named it,
Life.

But life isn’t over,
When this day is,
Nor at the end of the year,
But we’re not just breathing.

Though some might get sidetrack,
When eyeing that fine baked bird,
Made for kings.

Many would never want to forget,
The simple things,
Such,
Are our minds.

There are our jobs,
Able to feed not just ourselves,
But those we care for.

Never letting the bigger man,
Bring us down,
For,
We are stubborn lot.

Second chances are far apart,
But so are those we care for.

Laughter is something,
One person can’t keep themselves.

To be able to make someone,
Anyone,
Laugh for the pure enjoyment.

Beating of our hearts,
Sounding loud and proud,
Like drums.

Having surprises to,
Keep us on our toes.

Getting to know that our past,
Doesn’t control us,
But form us into what we are.

There is a cheer to imagination,
Keeping us,
From being bland and boring.

Humble to reach out.

Holding hands with family,
As we gives thanks,
For the now and later days.

For even the best,
Not being able to see the future,
And that’s the best part.

For there is also trust.

Holding hand in hand,
With our heads up high,
Taking everything at is known at us.

Knowing the seven ways of sins and virtues,
Guide us,
Blindly but,
Honestly.

You can’t help but be thankful,
And smile,
With,
Everything,
That there is.

To that, there is only one thing left to say,
Happy Thanksgiving,
Everyone.

Cut deeply into the skin, pulling you closer and closer.
Able to feel safe and cold.
Coming down as a heavy gale.

Near the end of time, seasons soon standing still.
Solid as a rock.

Camping with flames of roar melting the cold away.

Leaving nothing but something.
What it is, who will never know.

Pushing lacking eyes away from all.
Selling what all have, yet still having everything.
With a bitter smile.

In a world that is falling.
We stand tall.
Inner body falls.
Yet, still railing over it.

Till nothing is blank.

Following the river bed for the next few miles, seemed to be an easy task, from what the boy took notice of. Until seeing that the farther he trek on, the thinner the river became. With only, having a lone of a sliver of speeding clear blue water scaring its way through, the dark woods. Barks of the tree bending towards the ground like claws, waiting to strike, knowing whoever was caught wouldn’t be missed. The boy, finally, was feeling for maybe the first time alone. Until, the snap of a twig broke him back to reality.

Without another thought, turned to face where the sound came from, pausing in pure fear. A tall figure, skinned black as night, long limbs, of many grazed dirt, wood, rock. Its face, unable, to be seen, with slow motions, of the thing’s body faded, in and out, becoming one with the woods. Though this thing gave off the signs of evil, it was leaning more on behaving as an animal, watching something that was clearly not from its world. To only cock its slim-like head, to the side. Soon a pointed tooth smile was seen. Having only one arm point to where, a new path was given. The boy looked towards it for only a moment and back, to see he was alone once more. Having, no choice, but to use, the ghastly winds, now as his new guide, down his new path.

Mindlessly went down his path, upon finding a rundown home, lost forever in the everlasting time slots of the woods. Windows broken, door ripped from its hinges, though it was made of stone . . . it was set ablaze, coating it a soot of black from the rooftop to the level of the house’s four corners. The boy could have gone back, and face the faceless demon, but the winds wouldn’t have that. Almost, as pushing him, shoving, him straight through the hole, that lacks the door. The boy landed face first, scrapping himself good, using one free hand to rub some blood away from his bottom lip. A small hiss was heard from him, echoing endlessly through the house. Taking short moment, to get back on, his bare feet to brush off the boy’s, once dusty body. Having, that eerie feeling to come back.

The boy glanced to where the feeling came from, ready to see if it was that demon again, it wasn’t. It was a staircase. Rotten; from age, but that feeling was pulling him to follow it. And so he did. Careful with each step, not wanting to find that one lone broad that could be his end, but that sudden push from the blasted wind, got to the last steps. Pulling him, harshly, but comforting at the same time. So ending, with the boy nearing, the last room at the end of the hall. Not wanting to anger the wind entered the room. It was bare just as the rest of the house, belong to a child no doubt around his age at some point in time, knowing well of the fire that burnt the house, started here. Saddening as it was, the moment was over when something caught his eye. Dashing over to it, finding it was a mirror made of bass and gold, braided with a toad-like animal style with some kind of flower etched throughout the design. Using part of his thin-worn out shirt to clean it, found a name of ownership, faded but still just barely able to read. “Vajrakaya?” With soon unknowing the mirror began to glow, in shock, the boy dropped it, stepping away from it, only to have his back bump into something. The boy hardly got a chance to see what it was, only that of a lone, bony, thin, black skin hand, clamping onto his shoulder. It was that demon, but before the boy could speak to it, the demon spoke first. “Good luck.” Having, the boy shoved towards the mirror. Once the blinding light was over, the boy was nowhere to be seen, leaving the woods alone with lack of life, once more.

Deep bellow screams heard within nothing and something. Louder they became as they reach more to what is only known as realism. Brightness came and went. Leaving the boy once more, in a place not what of his world. Buildings towered over him, stretching far as the eye could see. Wires of copper and iron webbed the area. A tangible sun lit down on the boy, with thin clouds in the sky, far different from his land. Smooth land of stone lay before him, where white iron bars scared the about. A rail track as old scrolls once talked about. But there was no faint sound of a whistle or bell from any train. Nor, a soul of any kind, speaking weirdly of, boundlessly mindlessness throughout the empty town. The boy shouted for any signs of life. Any besides that damn demon. He would take anything but that. Not long seeing something in the distance. Two bone-reedy lone, figures that copy of what he was. Gladly happy to find some kind of life, he ran to them, asking questions of all kinds, but not getting answers back.

Panting lightly from his run, he saw for what the two lone figures were, one fact known . . . they weren’t human. Nor that what is called demons. Monsters, a finer tune of what these were. Ribcages moved with vibrating breathing, heavily, and hungrily. But they made no move towards the boy, only staring at him with blank eye sockets. The largest one, growled for the smaller one to back away, when seeing it snapped at the boy. “World seems to be out to get you, boy?” A whisper said, coming from where the monster stood. The boy nodded, finding that all this was crazy and pointless, what could he do? “Pure heart that lives within the cold world, is that not you?” The boy only gave a laugh to the airy speaker, seeing that is far from what the boy was. “Life within life comes in many forms. Like us, like you and those who are you but not you.” The boy said nothing, seeing lack of any point of finding this gateway to the gods, all he knew was gone thanks to the keeper of fire, looking away from the monsters, wanting to go home, even if it was in ashes. “What not close to what the fire speak then?” The boy only a shrug, not understand of what he and that unholy being have in a common thread, only wanting now this to be over. “You’re that a mule, yes? Once mind is set, must go through. Even die if that’s the outcome?” The boy only gave a smile to the taller monster, having the smaller groan of a lost meal. When having no choice but to lead him, to where his stubborn destiny lied, that left him with an unsteady mind. Having, heard the first and last words from the smaller monster. “Watch thy fire burn ones skin. For, I like mine fresh.” To that, the boy quickens his footing, knowing in a way, he had over stayed his welcome in the forgotten town.

The boy followed through the ways the monsters lead to go. Much less annoyance of that monkey he ran into long before. Which reminding, felt like years from then. Only soon an entrance, leading into a maze, sunflower petals formed each open pathway of endless rocky pillars. Etches all of kinds found deep within the maze’s walls. The boy read each, in hopes to understand more this so-called destiny he was set on. Maybe find another way to stop the keeper of fire. Only finding those of what walks the realm of fantasy. Some recalled from fables as old as the tellers of it.

A strong, beast that lived in nothing but frost. Close to what the barer of Water could do. For some say it was his form to travel into the human world. Fear to all, none bothered to try knowing more what it was, but only that it treated everything, as they were his children.

Then, that beast of what crosses all walks of life. But so is what makes earth. How else would the commander of Earth be like? With a grand body of a lion, tail of a snake, front claws of an eagle, and back legs of a powerful ram. Strange as it was, so was the god who chooses that form. It was fitting in its own way.

A simple beast was found next, matching that of the waver of Air. Small and easy to hide, but not afraid, to be part, of the rest of, the world, only, seen as cat-like, with a dragon style, in body. Eerie that is was, but welcoming.

Of all how easy and welcoming these gods were. Why couldn’t that of how the keeper of Fire be like. For he makes no beast to blend-in. The god is nothing more than fire and nothing else. Lack there was, but still well known for what he can do. A temper is known but that is all.

With balance the gods have, they must work together, if forever the world to ever live through more years to come. The boy could tell, that this pure hearted thing could only be coded as something else, whatever it was, it have to be somewhere on the walls of the maze. Following only little he knew, knowing only of what he lost and little what he’ll get in return. But with, how life had treated him so far, would anything less of this, be better?

Confusing as it was for the boy, Fire destroy his world that only he knew. Leaving, him no choice to find to stop this god with a pure heart. But, now, lost in this maze, filled with boundless word of learn, is this really what the boy had in mind. Counting days and nights, taking notice of his change from he left home, none made sense. So little of it did, but what doesn’t seem better to understand. May the result of this be only from too much sun get the best of him, for all this had to be something? Even if only a little bit was taken a bite of and the rest to waste.

Unknowingly, the boy made it through the maze, eyes wide in some kind of shock. His head, pounding for some reason, was undeadening him to a state bilious. Taking steps to walk out the maze seem end like a chore for him. Having voices of his past, scream louder and louder into his ears, shouting a name he didn’t understand, nor did he want to. The boy only wanted it to stop; he shouted back, covering his ears, blocking his body from eyes that only lived in his head.

Lived in his head? That made sense. Little it was, but it didn’t matter, as he shocked himself in a sleep-like state. Crashing down harshly onto the ground, laying numbing, twitch of his left foot was the only sign giving that he was still alive. Even as the sun set once more, casting a long shadow down his back, for maybe what felt like years. “This marks the fourth years of this . . .” The boy gave his last words before, finally letting his body rest, even it was more of a short nap.

A nap it was, for not long later, the boy was back on his feet once more, going down the path that seem to be mocking him in some way. Yet, the boy thought back, seeing that so far, life was mocking him. Why be fair back, when the world wasn’t going to. Left to only to look around, seeing that the path lacks its reason to be around, as does himself. Thinking all back, nothing made sense, only feeling like that as a dream, a dream that was there, but not really. To that, if one was looking to a drawing, that the lines were fine enough to make it real, place the fingers on it, it was still flat. Still, a pointless drawing that would never, be real to the naked eye, what was point in showing the faults of it? No reason, no reason at all, faults are faults. Leave it at that and move on.

The boy soon found himself at a fork in the road, both painted paths of a red right and a blue left. The boy looked at both, glancing over his shoulder on the path he took before, only to find it gone, with nothing but a large wall moving closer to him. Trying to pry the boy, into, making a choice sooner. Yet, there was another choice that neither of the paths could have. With that he went straight down the fork in the road, heading into nothingness.

Nothingness is a fine balance to everything there is in this world, what more could one ask for, this was a bliss all on its own. It was only a matter of time, before this world choose to play with his mind, once more to make him crack. As if, he wasn’t already there.

As he thought, the paths of blue and red, found him once more. Leaving, the boy to only, finally make an unclear choose, against his will, as it would seem, with the cold wall up against his back pushing him. Only soon, the boy could the blazes of hell, somehow getting closer, thanks to the stalking wall, pushing him closer and closer. Then and there, having the flames warm his face in a somewhat kindly matter. Would the boy lean more on the blue or the red?

To Be Continued…?

Falling isn’t a choice that is given kindly. Understand of how the picks away at you, as what a normal road kill as living animals, bugs, and the elements withering you away. Leaving nothing but bones.

Sockets empty and clean. Faint lines of life lingers. Enough time soon. It will be gone. It’s how falling works, slowly and acute.

Can’t be worst than being eaten alive. Feeling the many forms of mouths, not of love or lust, but huger and rage. Screams covered by things that wanted moist and warmth. A tender meal as well to snack on well sleeping.

Flesh pecked away. Ripped apart like how sugar-high young children would do, mindlessly and quick as the wind, to wrapping paper hidden gifts.

Oh how the mighty of have fallen. Burying is the wise thing to do. But the main thing now is, just making sure you don’t get caught. For now you’re the mightier one. And that person is the fallen.

Ditch the gun and go home. Your day is done. Let the nature feast on its new meal. Goodbye, the fallen.

The End.

Alone . . .
it can’t be done,
if one does not learn to reach out,
and let it speak from another mind.

When I look up,
to the sky in the dead of night,
I see high noon on world’s other side.

Down deep within what the world is,
is something that can be happy and sad.

Far,
as eyes will lead,
oneself,
to see,
only then can be found to ever-so be,
as big as the open sea.

In the fields of life,
there are only signs that my life feels sincere.

Speak of what is truth,
not bitten of false honesty.

Sun glows of mother’s heart,
giving the warmth of the life for her children,
even miles apart.

Rain falls timeless,
soothingly and eerily,
that it washes clear my sense of time,
dreamless.

It only soon is becoming apparent.

Between, good and evil,
leaning more,
lack of balance . . .
only equilibrium.

Chances,
of coming clear,
are systematically indefinable,
on a scientific merit.

Standing high,
looking below,
and grinning of jesters,
teeth all aglow.

From side to side,
stuck, but can’t help that it’s stump.

Lean on not what is there,
but is real,
having you whisper your dreams and desires.

Run now and never see me again.

From here is goodbye,
but know it’s far from over,
when time passes,
I will find you again.

And in short of a poet to another,
be them masters or shaky chancers,
I bid you farewell.