Psychology, Poetry, Science Fiction, Drugs @vincecarre
As shes gripping me,
Sweet fingers turn to spiders,
Warm laughter turns to pain,
And trust deformed,
Mutant,
As she wonders in the garden,
The flowers sink,
And whats left is soil,
As the figment of flowery heaven,
Once stood,
The delusion ever so in her mind,
She waters the flowers,
She fertilizes,
Her utopia.
My glass mind,
Fogged,
Then depleted in fog,
The thoughts splat on the glass,
Particles of flowers,
Flow in around,
The leaf’s, stems etc,
Build up,
The flowery woman begins,
To walk,
The grass comes apart,
And create her legs,
She walks,
Lights shine towards her,
Theyre ran on the brain,
The mid portion to the front,
Is shown thru the glass,
As this theatre,
Is built thru the lady of dreams,
She lives as her thoughts run circle,
Around her little head,
My pulses construct her thoughts,
To double energy,
A chemical reaction is drawn,
Each thought is of her and i,
Blooming as an end reaction.
She the perfect match;
Im not heightening a white flag.
To blow in the breeze of our past, waring love.
invisible bombs dropping in our heads as thoughts,
Tankful actions to betray me…
May the land minds of our words,
Self destruct, may the tank lose course,
May the spiralling bombs around us, to cease.
The end of our war, belongs to future loves.
May they be more understanding, less prideful.
May the war cease, the flag to hover whilst blue jay’s pass nearby;
May the sun set whilst you’re smiling in-front of him.
May your smile stay bold and flawless,
You deserve to be content, i do know.
I love you…
To lose your massive pride,
Would mean to me, that I’m worth it too, am i?
@vincecarre My writing instagram
Vincentsthoughts.com
As the rose tells me of the struggles it faced, yet succeeded.
The rain dripping, the wind challenging; as she blow’s in the wind,
Her root’s, her family of flowers. never cease development;
always amounting to success, strength. She appears the strongest,
Her root system, strengthens those from “beneath”. and the pedals one day, will reach the heavens.
As a well guided team, under the commandment of the “largest” head of the rose; within the traditional themed garden.
Bringing the less strong up, with nutrition. They’re bringing the ground with the team. Nothing gets left behind. As the ground lift’s,
It spirals with the rooting system attached. The angel’s shine the sun, to lift, the mass of soil.
The ground, shall never be without its beauty. They need one-another, the humbleness of the “grounding”
needs the beauty of the rose garden – they’re as a separate society, within the mass of society.
The diamond of the eye sparkles. The sparkles tell a story, of survival, hope…
i watch the show… only to discover, the projection of sparkles, are of a “red” light; transferring to white under-the-surface; The white lighting is of an illusion, what stands below are the fires of hell, lighting a false sense of hope.
As her mind manipulates the fiery lighting i’m in awe; of the angelic eyes i’m witnessing, within my mind, i know it can not continue, it mustn’t, but for now… i’m enjoying the film.
She’s the sunlight, the moon and the star’s, too me she’s every kind of beautiful, perspective; complete, together.
She warms alike the sun, casts light in the darkness, and she’s my little star, bringing hope to myself. The mountains ive climbed to see the mix of completness. Was completely worth it, as i watch the scene, im stunned. How is she able?
The pipe warm’s; dream’s half dreamt, take ahold – What they’re shooting for became what they’ve cried about – a sea of empty dreams flow from out the eyes. In the pursuit of money, to fill their habit, but the habit had taken hostage of the mind. Their empty chest, containing their blackened heart pumps, but for how long? For the white – they’ll lose sight – a snowy winter day, chasing eurphoria. They’ve chased a dream; their “dreams”, firing from a handgun, strikes their throat, and within the hand, holds a rocky ounce. Once proud wolves, taken by the pipe of regret – their heart was a rock, attached to their mind – Redirecting the strings, to play out, an unfulfilled life and an early grave. Their negative memories play within their parents mind’s.
Spring time ‘come growth, wild flower’s grow in field’s. They’re heightening with strength, with beauty; they’re racing; The “mind” contains, the essence. it may blossom, one day – may become full – It shall grow somewhat, they must all compete for freedom, for dominance and ultimately nutrition. As i walk the field, i notice one particularly heightened, one strong enough to grow past the rest. One that’s head, is large. I walk over, noticing this plants fullness, it’s freeness of environmental conditioning – That shall be the one i take home. As the rain drips, we go along the path, towards home. As the sky blackens, those who couldn’t withstand, the rain… Became another’s. But mine shall be cherished…. As i am, the man who….
Ego soar’s incredibly, happiness circles the body, and i feel the warmth exiting… The shell becomes punctured to the other side… My old self dies off – my soul releases – i’m reborn – a cloudy-spirit ascends, i begin gravitating, over my body. I look in every direction, notice every detail. I look upon my old self – my body appears projecting a painting of everything i went through And the end is freedom, from the past destructiveness. It feels surreal, overwhelming my spirt, I begin to “hover” away from the scene of the crime….
Vincent Carre’s Thoughts 