 nobody's lover,
nobody's god nobody's wake up in the morning, kiss sought nobody's angel nobody's light nobody's desirous, of me hold them tight nobody's last thought before drifting into dreams nobody's "most wanted" pin up guy, poster boy to take to heights of heaven unforeseen... all the things I've died, felt for others over ten lifetimes of "fallen knees", lovers to be ones' self here and be it, true dangerous, "destroy me then", apparently the lesson, time and karma have proved who knows why, who knows when in private, deep down we all pay prices, well practiced our sins and not some kind, based religion, or "righteous" just all the little things accumulated, amassed over lost days and lifetimes tiny, shitty selfish gains and subtle "shouldn't do to them" shames but "fuck it", right? no evidence it matters those twice used and "couldn't resist", left here shattered their fault, my fault, your fault, ours to each his own compass navigation system, how to get, reach for stars and those "didn't make it" well that's then, on them we, "the people", problematic pawns to each other's self gaining whims but screw me for "speak to me" of that light, mysterious, within that ray, so gentle, clean, razor thin that somehow ignites, beat of heart love begin... it exists here, in "yes" and with a little more vulnerability than we'd like to confess just as some of experience some exchange, souls, like sex when felt, fires flourish a real communion with another whether or not, clothes undressed problem is, it's acutely quite rare too many liars and loveless, aware too many takers, for the "uplift" themselves to many "sold offs", like cheap stocks brokered, hell "this for that", your tits, my tat my "welcome", your mat "let's be honest", what's that? so what's all this hiding, all this masking here, about? i can't tell you, I'm not yours you my "with" wish, without basis of fact. louder than words, your now caught, as in "act" actions severely more filled with a lack of anything remotely, real caring deck stacked... against me my blindness engulfed in the memory the "so touched" by your kindness kindness that vanished faded away, slow, the drip yet all i could see you, "the believed" with the most beautiful lips... ones i dreamed, be "the end all", your kiss but instead all i felt, was your deceptive doublespeak fist courage, it takes to be nobody's, and know it even more so, to live with it walk alone here, and own it nobody can help me out of my, "yours" abyss so with that, may i leave you, like you fooled me, with this... i may be "nobody's" and most, no "belong" now, found, you... but at least i am capable of knowing, what is lasting called truth something, you, so "everybody's" wanted has never had the strength to, of yourself, be confronted so please, play your game, as you've mastered it well but careful, the day it catches up with you, time will tell. and all the "played" that you cast out, fell, your spell somewhere inside, may it eat you alive all your lies, where they dwell... i know what i speak because mine caught up with me as well the day that i met you and didn't realize, the process of my undoing, fate the slow, aching "for you" i fell. and with that, you, the mirror, of all the lies of a lifetime I've been telling myself. we, the only two, in those rooms all those months, together but truly, it was just me, it seems my heart, my affection and nobody else. bowen hart roselli 23 october 2020 ringwald love
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 some strange ability to put you before me apparently this isn't any kind of life you are supposed to lead we become the beasts we feed break the soil, plant the seed believing you, so important to me i lived what i felt, overcome and now i see the damage is me not you, your fault we are all bound and tied to our destinies', called or, can we change our innate dna? that thing deep inside us that somehow lights the path we have paved motion and energy function and synergy so many strangely boring devoid of anything like the mesmerizing, mystery that demands inner insight most prefer just to fuck and fight and it's only each projecting what's behind our hello's and "have a good night's"... i've no idea the prosper propulsion but I've seen the look, eyes, utter disgust and revulsion so much so that i can barely live with myself "aah, it's no wonder, I'm not one of great wealth"... it takes a lot, of talent, "win the game" and too many "fall aparts" have left be, in afterwards never quite again, the same so what I'm good at unseen, unacknowledged mostly, just a survival technique unaware if i have any real power, mystique... that would be up to you to so feel me, I'm the one born to so worship and kneel at the alter of things, "seem so easy" for most, but guess not me a train wreck is as an afterthought sees... but my god (guess i have one?) the love i lived as my grand gift, undone just an emotionally intense, by product, bent in every way, shape, form for you because my heart, fallen, for you the one. who was, yet, then wasn't or were you? just as lost here, far from it... the place, the space can we please be ourselves? some of us, starting gate "just not that simple", so it's just a little setback, called hell but who am i not to wish you well so stuffed here inside with all the secrets, laid upon me can't tell.. or, yes i could but do be barely loved i then question my "should" and so i walk, a prisoner of me you, this life sweet illusion the lies, they are so much easier to believe bowen hart roselli 22 october 2020 ringwald love  ....to see such beauty, to feel such love... does it matter, make a difference? i have no idea, but at least i know myself enough.... to feel and breathe, gush, bleed like heaven amounts of things most don't seem much concerned with at least not in realms beyond the frustrating "norms" of "my little world only" how we fall in line and conform to perfect little minions by millions pat backs, like champs of the hearts, we so steal them little trophies, collected, in mind we are capable of magic but we destroy it so casually so carelessly, to find we, ourselves, alone, deep inside comforted by all the lies of love we abide the ones that say it doesn't really matter, what we did just "live in the moment" deluding true self, as we move on ever faster, who to kid and con with our games the ones about deflection, avoidance and blame "it's you, not me and me not you" unable to conquer the cruelty, untamed the kind that permeates every sector, every floor every hallway of our "human" rarely accessed, we, such self aggrandizing, self promoting peddling whores of "hollywood talk", the infinite stalk like little creepers, crawling pretending to walk taller, prouder than really, we are its the maul of the heart and the murder of stars for profit, for power for the draining, depletion of meaningful hours time spent communing with voice attached to soul what good are we now if not entrenched in our roles distant, detached. what came first, the key or the latch? the plan or the hatch? the dick or the snatch? the caught or the catch? you tell me man of lies and woman of disguise behind easy lyrics, as epitaphs we hide share to the world, the one, most, truly not listening as we diminish, in daily each other, our importance, our glistening value and treasure replacing connections like coats, jackets, all weather "take one off, put one on".. land of little lasting, if at all, very long... what's another body before us, so trampled what's another heart for the easy play, sampled.. eaten and swallowed, with barely a mind present just maybe my hell, or yours for some, heaven... the slaughter, the succulent murder of stars still, your face unforgettable work of art, left in shards... my mind, my memories of you, held and cradled as some kind of magic that befell me once, labeled as heaven on earth by "someone like me" now the murder of stars by you i can't believe. you did, but you did. and "the why" is that which now haunts me, perceived.. as in part, your pathology man of "universe", astrology man of so many, bleeding, beautiful things left in me to sort through walk amongst the aftermath the loss of you, the drowning sadness that brings like the murder of stars you committed for a reason and i hope one day you realize the hurt and the haunt yes, it stings. in a way never expected because it came from you those eyes, how they shined of something truly remarkable moving, not murderous, beyond belief. bowen hart roselli 22 october 2020 ringwald love  I've been walking alone,
on my own with the presence of angels cassette player speakers, then headphones since the beginning walking forever in search some safe place, a home the songs, voices as company as the only ever-present friends, faraway I've ever and only always had, could depend human love confusing. unreliable. undeniably hurtful. wounding. self-deluding differences. always wanting to make a difference as a result of me how i hate what i see in/of the mirror and surroundings, planet earth packed with so many, too many subtly, scathingly selfishly awful, "but that's just normal" society of people. not the animals' fault not nature's fault. now... i think, i feel I'd really just like to walk away and forward to nowhere, not back I'd like to walk to the end of the earth never stop walking lose all sense of my body, of time of worry, who is the next to attack.. me, you, each other our minds, our limbs, our belongings our beings the onslaught everywhere everyone wants something or even worse, nothing at all you figure this out, when no one but destiny calls in the form of a blind man. irony, he sees, intuits more than most yet he's blind to himself sorrowfully lost he, a reflection of me rejects all the beautiful within him, i see his choice, his fight his "one day here, then gone" lived plight "you cannot be, what you cannot see" no wonder, i am no one child of split straying spectrums schizo illuminate displays of light so i would like to walk, keep walking no more giving, love expressing talking, trying, chasing, wishing just walk past, in, amongst the trees until i am drained, depleted and drop thoroughly emptied of every last fear, hope, regret remembrance all the displacements, damaged drownings within that make the chaos, seek calm all the torment in palm of the hand, held, that's me and i envision lying lifeless starved and storied some little pocket of dirt, earth somewhere i am staring up at the true gorgeous glory a group of towering, tall majestically magical, silent stand trees and here there is nothing left to want nothing left to try to search for, long for bleed for, pray for i fall, i wait for my last breath last heartbeat, a whimper, a jolt a tear i am no one, nothing but humbled as i leave here (was i ever really here?) and dissolve, disintegrate back into the earth i would like to be one of those incredible trees and watch over you be finally, the perfect kiss something magical that "something" you could touch, embrace and need no ego no pain no guilt, complex no past remembrance, love slain no failure no fall apart anymore i have walked til i dropped and do not care what you or anyone thinks anymore i arrived at the place i was meant, all along naked and nourished by the natural I'm at end and i await, in the envelopment of the earth, the universe on the other side, silently for my real life, to begin....... bowen hart roselli 19 october 2020 ringwald love  branded at birth whistled at one tried at two throttled at three fondled at four fucked at five soaked at six starred at seven ate at eight nibbled at nine turned out at ten felt like life was already over by then... i guess not being into it, but looked at like gold this is how the toys feel, when sold doubled digit meant I was too old so, sent to the corner, pimped and primed, "do as your told" bought and sold, so many times is this what they meant, for whom the bell chimes? ass sagging by sixteen, done see, getting old, washed up, it's no fun another choice another day another trick, is this one bi, straight or gay? doesn't matter, as long as they pay and keep their psychotic tendencies at bay tired of beatings, without paying more no college degree for a prop-positioned whore future, please tell me, what's in store? does "DP" mean, they will love me more? I'm not sure, but of this, I implore this might sound glamorous, but it's work, and a bore another cock, another tit in my face it can't be a "fall" if there was never any grace can of mace and an extra pair of heels walking the streets, the cops are the weirdest, cop the most perverted of "feels" so says the one who prays and kneels before gods, so disgusted by the children "mested and musted" gotta go, i've been busted in the van, to "the can" but at least I'll get rest before the "get back out", again, work, my best.. impressed? I hope so... from one who don't know the meaning of "no" born to suck and fuck and blow go with every fondle and flow whoa. is me and away is you. as in gone now, ok I get it, I'm through...  "a love for you will be decided by the gods donnie" - scotty - dream sweet babe man of gentle and soulful - 1997 he spent his life enslaved to a vision embedded in his head, implanted in his heart by the gods of love and poetic, long before he even knew what being simultaneously saved and scarred by his poetic soul even meant. He dreamed of love. Deep love. Divine love. Real love. Human love. Love with and from a man whose inner war of dueling forces, light/dark, like a knife cutting a split down the center of his psyche mirrored his, someone who understood him, saw him, from the realm of the opposite. Opposite meaning, he, the man, the guy, to his bitch. The puppy kind, not the feminine two steps away from "cunt" kind. Thats all he was, that's just how his heart was wired. Give your all, give your everything, when the forces of fate found him in the presence of a man who kinetically, somehow magically moved him, held the key to open that labyrinth like doorway into the deepest center of his being. This, a cruel, not much thought given to anyone or anything, land. That's how the gentle, sensitively vulnerable hearts can be turned out to become someone like him. A bitch. This, a world that takes the good, twists it up, turns it around and makes it bad. Vulnerability = weakness, not what it really is, strength. Loyalty, Devotion = insanity, not nobility, in this disposable, "out for self" wasteland. Heart/Passion/Love = Psycho Freakishness, not heroic hues of a great/good human, let alone a man the skinless ability to admit, show, speak of flaws, fractures, fires within = forgotten, rejected, cast away, cast out. not the sign of someone honest, deep, able and capable of truly accepting, loving another as they are in all their fullness and foibles, wounds and maladies that mark, scar all of the truly awake and alive here. God forbid any of us are truly loved beyond the masks, the parts we project, like thick skin, to protect ourselves in a dangerous world of the ever raping beauty of real living by all the fake, the polite, the fraudulent, forced in our quest of self, to survive here. This, how a well meaning, hearts in his eyes, ever romantically impassioned empathic giver, not full of huff, puff and hubris, arrogance, confidence, became what he was, somehow learned to surrender to it, a bitch. a doormat. that made him sad. loving, devoted puppy, yes. doormat, the unfortunate side effect by a world, men who pulled him in but couldn't understand him, as if compelled to see his best as his worst. It wore him down over time. "At least being used, taken advantage of is having something done with, something wanted from me," he thought. One thing he was not, a victim. He despised that word, and took full ownership of who he was, the fact it seemed, no matter how much he gave or how hard he tried, his beautiful was reduced to bitch in the eyes of his drawn to men in time. As if they couldn't resist, to the point he learned, maybe, he too, really wanted this, needed this. This bent we can become, from the repetition of bruises over time. But yes, of course, deep down he still wished, wanted to be loved, to belong to one man in the most soulful, deeply bonded, maybe a bit crazy, but lovingly way possible. Problem was, he was now 48. When he turned 40, his best friend, a straight man, called and said, "Happy 40th, 80 in gay years"... He loved it, that his beloved friend new him, the evil truth of the gay culture, world, so well, so brutally, from being around him for so long. So if 40 was 80....what was 48, basically 50?.... He guessed there was no number, it didn't matter anymore. He was simply now, the portrait of an aged out bitch. Yet he refused to give up, completely give in, let the many, but few, before "him's" win. "Fight the good fight, misunderstood forever, aged out bitch or passionately giving, when so touchingly inspired, love fool or not" He thought...and prayed and lived to carry on, carry forward another day. He knew how ugly, how heartless this world was, could be, hiding behind all the status, the materialism, the ego centric labels, definitions, the lies, the excuses, covering up so many casual, numb abuses. He would find his true love, bent, warped, a bit lovingly twisted or not. "If not here, then in the next life", he comforted himself. He knew, could feel it, he was out there. Some are just more lucky than others, and often, sadly, take it for granted. He knew and had lived with this truth all too well. And who knows, maybe he had already met, found his true love, stumbled upon him somewhere, but both too blind, too bruised, too belligerently stuck in old patterns, old grooves, old fears, old wounds, to recognize "the one" in each other. Land of too many bodies, easy sex, shallow faces, strangers as "someone's", now so quickly, anxiously attached to the phrase "my person".. He hated that stupid phrase and it's variant uses. "i found my person, you are my person". Another trend, another soon to become forgotten, shallow end, gone the way of the verbal pet rock. "Where do these stupid trends start, and who starts them, to spread like sheep fed wildfire", he wondered. "They sure as fuck don't start with you", he scolded himself. When the oddball becomes the outsider, becomes the rebel, becomes misunderstood, becomes the maimed, becomes the maddened, becomes the lonely man, becomes himself. becomes the seeker, becomes the sought... That's the part he forgot. To be a seeker is to let yourself, in turn, be sought. aged out bitch boy or not. To live to give, as in to experience the unadulterated joy, love and art of giving beyond ones "self" just for the transcendent state of that incredibly beautiful, "heaven like" feeling of wanting, hoping to raise another up, show them they are truly seen, heard, felt and loved here. Listened to. Valued. Cherished. Adored. To know in a heartbeat you can make someone's day, bring a burst of sweet sun amongst all the heart numbingly mundane, that's what he, with all his flaws and damage deluxe, lived for, knew what truly mattered, because it seemed to matter so little to most. Except for maybe at Christmas. Even that had become overly saturated with materialism and forced feeling, "going through the motions" garbage. "Think about it donnie, how many people go every day of their lives without anyone saying anything kind, doing anything kind for them" his goddess christy said, hauntingly, long ago. Such beautiful truth, words to want to live as a better, more caring human by. Truth of beautiful to match her paradoxical brutal.... "People don't care, they just dump their shit on you and leave." The beautiful and the brutal sides of the goddess spoken truth. Words to soak in and live by. To both be and not be. Kind of like the love he searched for, rare, with another "he". Love with an edge. Loving but not too easy, real affection with some good hearted abuse. Like a hug and then a "fuck off" for awhile or a deep loving kiss and then a good hard fuck, a grab by the neck and a slap, make it red, on the ass. Love is complicated. Anything real here with soul and depth of mind is. It's work and effort and allegiance and unwavering. Through all the storms and hurts, misunderstandings, magic, coming together and and giving space, respect, without coming apart. True love anything is like the deep fuck his hole, attached to his soul sought. "Making love is like naked tenderness, a hand grabbing your cheek, pulling you in, close, closer, closest as possible, lips joining, tasting, biting delicately, then exploding into the taste, the drench, divine of the tongue. Then a penetration so deep it pierces your walls, it fills you with the mind, the essence, the being of them. Making love is a tender, sweet, almost animalistic, lust for the soul, the divine and the dirty of each other, slow to build then on fire, thrust fuck." Sensual, intentional, purposeful, lasting. Something you can't get with a stranger or a glorified one, all those relationships more of shallow air than a deep, intense long stare. Portrait of an aged out bitch boy. A heaven of a lot, live to give. A hell of a lot of mistakes, lessons learned, lived. And so what if he wants to lick, worship the feet of the man he loves. Its the feet that haunt him the most, for some reason. That and the lips and the mesmerizingly soulful, soaked in silent, "so much inside" eyes. This is what haunts him, stirs him to sweat, the middle, darkness, of night. "If only he could see me, what inside i hold, hide, he the one out there, hiding all of his treasure, too, deep inside".. We've all got our twists, we've all got our ties. We've all got our secrets, we've all got our lies. Mostly the ones we tell ourselves, spilled onto others. Portrait of an aged out bitch boy. He was really a lover, but the world couldn't accept, understand him. The effect, another exceptionally rare masculine magic man, utterly just himself too, could have on him. So he adapted, but never adopted, the ability to play the game as anything but himself. And that's why and how, he sits, dreams, feels, still believes... and aged out now, walks alone. this time...with hope. as he feels, somehow, he is walking with someone, not yet here, but not, in heart, so alone. be it this life or the next, that man, that guy able to see, handle, embrace and accept, truly value, love him yes, he will, one day come home. bowen hart roselli 23 september 2020 ringwald love  so, sweetly kinda psycho on the good side, for you what was i supposed to be, do? hit me like a flood, unexpected cuz you're god damn divinity, detected no one else, as in ever, like you all your weird ass wonderful yeah, through all the bullshit, shined through your chill, your changes your sweet fuck deranges your troubles, your concerns stole my heart and made it burn all the stuff, you, so into so much knowledge, so beautiful, the view your electric eyes, so alive, so true sometimes sulky, sometimes sad often full of kindness, etched underneath, sweet rebel boy, bad bad in a way, so fucking good a recipe to make my fellow inner psycho swoon as it should... we were a team, together, yin, yang loved listening to your shit stories of the latest crazy chic that you banged i believed in you like no any, other so what if i dreamed i coulda been you're preferred psycho partner in crime, lover just a bent way of saying i love you like no ever, other cried a shit ton a buckets when you left, crazy brother cuz i hadn't felt so fucking happier, It's true than just getting to be, around, on the daily you, a real part of your life, so fuck you for taking off and going like cutting me in half and blowing outta here, off, and away, you did go and along with ya, you took a piece of my heart, my soul i don't want it back i just want you around, as in always cuz no one motherfucker holds a candle or compares to you so any other derick would just be some false flag, generic so don't gimme that shit "wouldn't have to change the shirt" I'm well aware, sometimes you're a jerk but that works for me, cuz all i care, just be you just know i can all take your blows that's my job, as the real thing whatever ya wanna call me cuz i know, can feel, holy help us.. in your own psycho way you kinda, sorta, bent, like/love me too doesn't mean anything defined, more than the words mean, matter to you I'm good with watcha got, as long as whatever it is, just feels right, rings as true and that's ok, cuz nobody cares it was just us, all those months you, poor bastard, driving us to god knows, "what now", where and all those people, they're now gone but who's fought to stick around, for you, the haul, long yeah, that's me cuz i know what i see the coolest, craziest, magic man around so just embrace it, and face it the fellow, good psycho bent love ya found... so I'll calm down or I'll pep up ya got the good shit with me cuz I'll do, and be, whatever you need, want not cuz I'm some phony ass fake cuz what ya don't seem to understand "the effect" is cuz there was a real give and take we just worked, and fit no forced, no feigned shit you struck me, didn't fuck me but who needs, that cuz ya still entered, plucked me of all my garbage, all my blind its rare, and ya know it two psycho's like us american, and meeting, through fate our own, one of a motherfucking "no one else like us", strange, sweet, beautifully removed kind. bowen hart roselli 23 september 2020 ringwald love  it's kind of amazing the things we survive a shrug of the shoulders, rear view mirror, look behind talking to ourselves, saying "i guess that's just life".. we are so terrible, borderline awful to each other awful, no not "traditional sense" just in the sheer succumbed to state utter, infinite selfishness ego first, it seems, last, always "gain for me", at the expense, faces fall aways... of anything, anyone "too present", "too there".. ask jesus, he knows greatest sin, "too much care".. for another, anointed by the broken, disjointed body tied mind, tied sensitive tied kind.. we, these, "the ones" most likely lost here as in out of our fucking "think, feel for ourselves" minds because who has the thought, who has the time when "self" is all one sees in the mirror, the camera, the image the illusion, now clearer than the blur of actual, factual reality those so loyal, present to you the first to be ripped apart, the last to be glued back together, this "now or never" place, little trace of continuity, grace upon the fragile, tender, of time it's stab, grab what you can and "it's all good" if all the good it is mine spotlight hoarded little to no realized, real remorse, this.. reality we all end up, the same place so few, true, remember us if not in your face, gone, little to no, romanticized trace and all of our bullshit what, exactly, the purpose of it? soundbites, detached nights "pathologically positive" more the frenzy, less the fight to maintain, sustain the soul, something real something, so damned then real fear is that which struck you sweet sided, to feel feeling reserved for the perfectly posed and placed, "next to no one" it's destroy the heart, hurry it up and drop the knife, flee, faster on the run... the road to nowhere, ruin, what have you... if amongst the no one's you can't see, the one, remained steadfast in their love for you, a "once in a lifetime" belief friend or foe can you tell the difference? does it matter, if it demands consideration and care the ability to be human, it's such a waste of time, a hindrance what with texts, returned, to avoid and games of gain to rejoice and phone calls to never make and so much "get and grab" for the take so are you my fate? or my fatal mistake can't get past you, can't give up because before, amongst you i felt something I'd never truly before experienced something in multitudes, layers of love, emotion, mysterious the weight of wind mixed with earth mixed with stars, soaked the skin and i heard a voice inside, unknown that whispered, "my god, i can't believe it... i can feel something so different now, this encounter with him".. (and how did this happen? in his torturous absence that question devours me daily all the self doubts and maybe's.. but...."maybe not's".. let time and patience prevail, no "forgot"... to say or do the things, "lived truth" fearless and fire blessed, it all begins and ends, here beyond me, become you...) bowen hart roselli 1 september 2020 ringwald love  care but don't care aware but unaware stop to love you stop to care, careful, whom your heart stripped bare... most are only casual, the "come on", "over here", "the rub", to rub on... one dimensional waters, rise say anything once, twice lacquered, slacker, "easy take" thighs it's all about "the smooth", and "the flow" as in who you choose to know and go with and to and forth, south, north "no regrets", so no remorse sentenced, "slick" think "salt lick", horse salivate soon, says "suck on this", source lemons, limes nickels, dimes chunks and hunks chanced, chosen time cocks and blocks so schooled, "hard knocks" better, "whatever-ed" bathed, "on the rocks" liquor, come quicker the thin of the thicker the bitch of the bicker the lick of the sticker stamped, so tramped and walked upon, "wow" it's live for the moment get what, and whom, you can now as in "get with the program" or "get lost", get going who is in front, manned the boat you are rowing? who is in charge? as you capsize, hit the barge breakdowns for breakthroughs show you "shit shows for shine throughs" ...what choice do i have? really, just the same as you.. nothing left to fear, so to lose nothing impassioned, left to say, so, to prove... so mean it all if you're willing, able, to fall and save your last dollar for when destiny calls you might need it, believe it you just never know which body, before you, can withstand all the blows whom, the piper, you will pay a tithing, a token a "yes, please", want to stay to gain "the get" to whom "have, hold" is your way uncompromised. more smile, less despise more pleasure, so prized more reveal, less disguise anymore what choice do i have? in the end, it begins when all you have to do is ask.... (or take, no mistake, maybe..."too honest", but nothing was it ever "half baked" or faked).... bowen hart roselli 30 august 2020 ringwald love  free the heaven trapped inside of me if only you could see, the things i see the remarkably beautiful amongst the destructive and dutiful ones without minds, inside their heads how they make me hate this world walk, wishing i was dead all the ones for whom words are almost, as in never, attached to their hearts all the shit speak and shit talk murdered, love, language as a cherished work of art all the endless bodies, people everywhere piled more and more on top of each other as daily, to extinction are the humans who care about the innocents, the animals trees, nature, real life things not digitized, filtered to frenzy cartooned, dumpster dived opinions and imbecility tossed and thrown everywhere as if most are listening, amongst all the "me, me, me", stop to care back to the brilliance, removed from the bull it's found, in mystery, the universe and in "the rare", that are full of passion and character, uniquely their own, the ones that slay you love struck, you are not here alone away from the ever growing technology onslaught and another fucking mall to sell all our souls, clearance sale pre-priced, bought there are some who are just...so... utterly gorgeous, in glow demand, you be stopped in your tracks, "need to know" be around them, sweet confound, them as in "how..in..the..world.. this gross society, they exist.." that's the magic, yes it is like the breath that you blew out the candle, didn't know them, the wish because once real love found is one really ever the same, in the after? glow and show and know, the divine actuality of state "give you mine"... my heart, my hope, my "anything you need"... this, the sweet, soul shine a sustenance no food can feed a succumb, remove the numb remove the skin and begin again believing, just maybe, beyond all the shit, "hmmm, there just might be, something to, the something to this".. thing called a journey, some call it a path and i walk with them, swell of love, locked inside of me their incredible, irreplaceable etch their is, without question no need, dare to ask.. the why? and what? and how? none to speak.. the most awe inspiring awareness.. the beautiful ones, things you never planned to find, did not dream, search their seek they just came, and appeared and for that, i kneel the profound, the endeared for a life i now cannot imagine stay here, without them... for 32 years there was only one guy, two girls and now... there is him. bowen hart roselli 4 september 2020 ringwald love |
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