Countless screenshots, live messaging, emails, chat histories all collected.

Dummy was kind enough to message me repeatedly while they were here.

Walls are closing in on the groomer.

I’m continually being harassed by this person in both PM and on their page.

I’ve been instructed to stay quiet for the most part and let them do their job, so I am obliging. I can’t comment further but to say…

The FBI don’t ******* play

In stillness deep, where shadows bend,
I watch, unseen, the long world end.
One pale hand stirs the winds to sigh—
The breath is lost; the soul slips by.

The earth still shivers at my touch,
Yet none take heed, nor feel too much.
Faint whispers drift through moonlit air,
While ether shrugs, too still to care.

Most strive to unlearn my name,
Denying me through wealth and fame.
I am the law, life’s final thread—
The end will come, and all things wed.

If you don't wanna understand it, don't.
You're not held to comprehension.
If you don't want to agree, don't.
You're not held to a thing in discussion.
If you don't want to think, don't.
You're still liable for your actions.
If you don't want to speak, don't.
You're still liable for its consequences.

Personally? Don't have a fit,
I don't give a ****.
Smell the flowers!

His dry lips are smiling,
I see life in those eyes;
that died long ago
His vocals, always lying
Now talks about the truth of ages;
advice for times to go.

He is in joy;
This man who suffered alive,
Happily follows death's ploy.
As if his soul is gonna revive.

This man is not strange,
A profound reason, in his smile.
He will now meet her, of his age,
Whose demise, he rejected in denial.

How cruel she was
She left him in hurry;
Unable to mend death's laws,
Her hopes, he could only bury.

Low-born, lowly,
lumbered, plebian
mushrooms, steal and
take, their final gasp.
 Before, a fastly approaching,
 Babylonian Avalanche. Where, lined up, thinly, ivoried-blue, are petulant
       pigs. That, usually; sniff out, lick, arr-
             est and lock up; black, brown and
               white truffles. The unguilty

              are apprehended. For false,
             treasonous reasons. So, who
            can blame the fungis, for wanting
       to seize, the cult of vulturous swines?
     By; the scruff of the system, and br-
   eak their snouts, until, their peccaried
      feathers are ruffled? The champignon,
     were; hewed and chewed, aplenty. By;

    hoggish, gnarled teeth, curled trotters
    and lavish appetites. But, those that  
   fell, to the Babylonian Avalanche, will,
  eventually, become a Mushroom Cloud.
 They'll float over, the 50, fuzzy, boarish
 corpses, to stellar, toadstool plateaus. When, their; final, pixie dust; they bite.

© poormansdreams

Are we free anymore? I’ve asked myself lately,
Sure, it seems so, but a few things are shady,
Well, more than a few; in fact most of our lives
Are controlled and well-governed like dogs kept on lines.

Last week my own neighbor was caught and arrested
For owning plants curing her cancer, depression,
Science speaks truth but the Law doesn’t mind
Their care is your sentence, not the healing inside.

We’re ruled by fear, I’ve come to conclude
It’s limiting consciousness, limiting mood
Forced to pay off all those bills in the mail
Or they’ll haul you away to community jail.

It’s not always this way—look at it like this,
We do have a large sum of freedom as kids,
We can eat, speak, dress, and play how we please
Before the real world arrives, subjugating this ease.

“Get good grades in school, be quiet, and listen,
Better cut the tomfoolery or end up in prison,
Repent all your sins or you can’t go to Heaven”
...Are drilled in our heads by the time we reach seven.

Yes, it is fear; now much clearer to me,
Yet sadly too subtle for the masses to see,
Some of us hope that things will get better,
So we dogs may finally stray from our tether.

Four centuries pass, yet echoes remain,
A woman’s cry met with silence again.
Laws were written, inked with good grace,
Yet bruises still bloom in the same hidden place.

The chains are less visible, but still they confine,
A whisper, a threat—unwritten lines.
Justice pretends to be blind and fair,
But turns away when she’s gasping for air.

She flees, she pleads, but where can she go?
The system still asks what she should have known.
“Why did you stay?” they say with a sigh,
As if love was her crime, as if she chose to die.

Four hundred years, yet history repeats—
A woman still fights to stand on her feet.

I could never be a lawyer,
Not because I couldn't lie.
I can lie plenty,
Whether or not it's right.

But I couldn't stand to see,
When an innocent victim.
Gets blamed,
And there was nothing I could do,
Because the judge can't see.