D.m.4. Lyn 


 “Where is the morning,

When all has gone into mourning,

Have I lost my own loving,

While I have none to take,

Only you can give a hand,

to make me triggered on every sense for me to be stressed.

Which one can do,

For me to invert and revert that which was negative,

Into a positive moment.”


©O.a.M , @rtsyDhude




Spring me a cutie.

 “Leave me a mark where your dimples

left a pimple at my smile,

from 9 am to 9 am”

©®Artsydhude 2019



Yellow is the sky

,after I read your eye.

Brown shall be

the one to make me

Love your “I’s”.

Black could be my heart,

Knowing only.

You can never touch,

The things I want for me.


The Gnome that went home.

Part 1.

Brome a snot lily livered and snot bellied gross Gnome,

got lost among the path of delayed stress syndrome.

He got so stressed his feet grew,

one feet per 10 square inch each time he yells from his mouth none but brew.



®artsydhude 97-18

™XENOphagz, XenoGrapx

Lamentations of lips

Let not autumn sing

when you whisper that fallen breeze

that mid october brings.

Let December bring what September could fathom,

but by Valentines, dont you dare tell me

and ask me why, she would cry.

Burn baby.

Consume m3 a fir3

of immense singe

on an incendiary stage,

i will make use of my rage

as would a gas on a flame.

But will it be lit,

again and again

if hear your shit ass motho effin name.