The pen was looking for the pencil.

A paper has been filled missing by the image office.

Captain Black said to the yellow press.

The author has been investigated and he has been seen with the shredder.



®Artsydhude 97-19



. . Oo,

alam ko naging brutal at grabe ang aking mata.

.. alam ko.

nanyari na, 

kaso pa ulit ulit na lan at di mawala araw araw.

How am I to be. . 

a good person,

a loving parent,

loyal companion.

When a mountain of comparison

never stops only to flow

from your waterfall.

yes it does overflow when I hit

those bricks of assumption not of you,

only the history I partake and eat all of my shit.



®Artsydhude 97-19


Whee hours of 3.

There are certain values do keep,

all of us who see it as a woe and yes in terms of weep.

This crept in as a new Monday’s revelation

while I took in a 3 hour sketching perforation,

of my knees locked incarceration of the love of food.

Do bring in the swollen inflammation.

Y is the love of the letter, yet Z doesn’t given 

any of this insane quatrain of lines 

will not even pertain on a single note.

Aah the dawn beckons.

While I wait for a loving embrace of rain.



®Artsydhude 97-19


Fair is not unfair.

You are born into a world 

that will not tolerate you.

We can not complain while all 

of us never do try not be as them;

It is karma of an ouroborous bite 

not of my bum.

It bites,

It strikes to where it wants,

. . . and needs to see of its



and the balance it implies.



®Artsydhude 97-19



. . Is it just when the ice does melt; whereas the fire fire do melt

my tempered attitude willingly deny the truth when your fact is an act

towards not to me.

But you will never admit your mistakes because you still make your egocentric self-defense as,

the one who put me here in this world. 

Here’s Megatron,

use it well let’s see,

so please don’t ever tell me,

I was any Soundwave whom never spoke.

I am not your Decepticon.



®Artsydhude 97-19


To me,

My Brunhilde.

To me,

My loveliest


The one who left

My irish lass,

Loved me the same.

As the years of our sleep

remains upon not of my name.

Crept and slept of the memory

of enamored moments of

Companionship loves us,

With his grace in my life.

Stages of ages.

Here I come to be,

not of my doing,

none of my being.

Does all my madness of my anger

yet never to give aggression an excuse.

To give in to that place,

where my fist can never be,

where my emotional love of misery.

Sure I am to have it all,

on a whim of my own

 revenge that never avenge.

Likely to be involved,

only my mind and heart do tell,

I can never get  into my own,

rebel yell.



®Artsydhude 2019



Verily I am to shiver,

all of this arrows quiver

of my epidermic walls.

Chill my ice,

never went nice

then You,

ask me twice.

I do love your nagging voice,

coz at least my cold skin

begins to boil to a crisp.

Enough to know you can love me as the same,

to keep my mind aflame.



®Artsydhude 2019


. . . in the absence of my pen,

I am to be. 

not of my hand.

not of my intellect.

none of what I know.

Yes to then,

that was never than,

No to myself,

coz my ego blew you,

and mine last summer.

When Jean met my eye,

never my mouth to say.

Aisle of oooh.



®Artsydhude 2019