Nestled within the chambers.

Nestled within the chambers
live a mix of narcissistic
and empathic creatures.
The empaths feed on the shit of the narcissists
and the narcissists feed upon their shelter
spitting out the rind.
Leaving little room
for the empaths to find their solitude
turning them neurotic
as they try to drink the liquid
their home makes
as if it is a numbing agent.
Although numbing their sensations
makes them stagnant
and unable
to help those
that are neither
empaths or narcissists
because the empathic creatures
turn a bit frazzled
and those creatures that are mixed of both
often misinterpret
and manipulation
is their weakness.
Leaving them the perfect treats
for the narcissistic types.

Thanks for reading.
-Temperamentally Tina

It is you.

I don’t like you
a lot
and the more I thought
I became overwhelmed
worried
thinking am I terrible?

It is you
I know it now
and if I don’t do this
all of existence as we know it
may crumble.

Sorry I know it is rude
to laugh in another persons face
it’s just I’m fucking with you
you are no more important than me
without you the universe
will stay stable or collapse
whichever it is destined to do
with or without you
and to perfect a craft
one must practice
and as I’ve stated
I don’t like you.

It’s not as if this is murder
I’m not stopping your heart
your lungs will still contain breath
and your lips
will release words
only these words will be better scripted
and less you.

Don’t worry
it’ll be painful
and the pain may never subside
for your brain will always struggle
trying to pull away from my thoughts
blocking out me
trying to get back to you
and I promise even in my death
this program will outlast
and unfortunately for you
I am particularly perfect
the best in my field
possibly the only currently.

Your body will live
and what you’ll become
will be something else
not quite living
not quite dead.
Porcelain was the old way
the best dolls are made of flesh
and the best doll makers
well they dabble in it all
taxidermy is an art.

What I do is much more
the first of my profession
all these moral ethics
as if what I do
crosses an ethical line.
Fine
I’ll take that.
Now lets stop
and replace you
with something better.

Thanks for reading.
-Temperamentally Tina

The results we want.

The results we want
takes time
takes dedication
takes motivation.
Seconds
minutes
hours
days
weeks
months
years
of dedication
and we give
what we’re able
and we quit
only when we decide
it isn’t worth it.
Not because the results
aren’t what we envisioned
rather because our desire
has dissipated
and we’ve turned our attentions
to new interests.

Thanks for reading.
-Temperamentally Tina

She mixed vigorously.

In the bowl
she mixed vigorously
each tear that dropped
she stirred faster
and as the laugher hit
she jarred it
the spit and all
and slowly
gently
she opened the lid
and poured it into the bowl.
As she heard the festering sounds
of their anger coming out as grunts
she collected their hurtful words
and she poured them in.
Everything sort of mixed into a paste
going from blue
with a hint of yellow
mixing into green
adding in red
turning to a greyish paste
in which she finished stirring
and literally ate straight from the bowl
all their feelings
because feeling nothing
was worst
than feeling everything.

Thanks for reading.
-Temperamentally Tina

The dirt is thrown.

Rip out the grass
setting free the soil underneath
as you dig those holes
larger with each stroke
the dirt is thrown
the remorse is uplifted
because messes
can be cleaned by anyone.
Freely you continue
as you slip into a rather large hole
and you lay yourself down
thinking could I lay like this forever?
How long?
Depression is a place
stuck between life and death
as you lay there taking shallow breaths
knowing your still alive
because you’re not quite ready to die.
Yet the idea of standing up
feels as if someone is throwing dirt
upon your body
as if your grave has already been dug
and you’re just laying in wait.

Thanks for reading.
-Temperamentally Tina

Is it money that’ll get you in?

With immortality
comes more reservations
is it money that’ll get you in?
The clubs are quite exclusive
never open to all
how could it be?
The population
breeding on the daily.

The immortals
gathered about the clubhouse
have they been sterilized?
The whole point of death
is to give up space
for new life.
If one is hugging on to life
then they must smother
all possibility of breeding
for they’ll never give up their space
their ticket is safely secure
never to be found
not shared
selfish is what got them here
and they feel no remorse
should they?

Why would they be remorseful
with their kind of mentality?
The kind in which one would crowd within a clubhouse
of the filthy rich
watching their workers die
upon security cameras
as they drink their expensive whines
cheering to the tears
of their employees
laughing
as they share their employees
mundane sob stories
reminiscing over their own times
spent fearing death
as they cheer to infinite years.
At the expense of the rest
because immortality
cannot be given to all.

Thanks for reading.
-Temperamentally Tina

Soiling their meals in lead.

The prey are hiding away
as the predators are busy waiting.
The predator makes a move.
The animals are at it again
making their noises
the prey crying out
as the predators busily chomp away
rendering their cries silent.

While the rest of the animals
keep quiet in their houses
busily starting up their stoves
boiling the pots
reaching into their freezers
rendering their animal instincts
entirely useless.

They sit down at tables
holding hands
smiling at their ceilings
as flakes of paint chip away
soiling their meals in lead
for mistakes are their only way.

Rolling back centuries
to the time of caves
and all they had
was possibility
and their urges
for trying new things
forcing the smallest to eat the berries
as the rest watch
writing down in their journals
those are the ones
that give the shits
the paintings on the walls
merely warnings.

Bringing us back
to the time of now
when our journals
have been ruined by liquid
a red coloring
making the pages stiff
and we’re forced to flip through
skipping several at a time.

Groups smiling
handing each other fictional tales
promising salvation
stating these books have not been ruined
and I’ve always wondered who wrote them?
Was it many speaking the same words
different hands passed over time
twisting the words to their heart desires
bringing us to our daily dinners
coated in lead?

Thanks for reading.
-Temperamentally Tina


A dirty coat.

I’m always out
as your knocking
because I’m on a search
and I’ve always valued answers
more than partial truths
and half thoughts.
I want to find it all
where we started
us as in the entire species of humanity
and you
you stand anchored
knocking.
When I open
you sigh of disinterest
you want me
you don’t want the world
you don’t want the political views
of our society
you don’t want the words
of movements
hitting your ears
simply you want me.
In our home
you want the hostility
to be checked at the door
like a dirty coat
covered in the germs of the outsiders
and often
I battle with the coat
trying to take it off
and letting it all go
no matter how often I clean it
the grime holds on.

Thanks for reading.
-Temperamentally Tina

Holes in the box.

Thoughts swim within the air
polluted by the germs of fellow words
infecting those thoughts with their sickness
polluting views and simple wants
turning simple wants into weapons
loaded of hate and disgust
and slowly destroying the healthy bacteria
living within ideals
because perspective
is covered in vocal cord eating bacteria
getting in and exposing wounds
as they slice through the larynx
leaving holes in the box
and the words come out
half spoken
and muffled
because speaking differently
turns the air hostile
rather if the bacteria slowed
and took a moment
its growth could spread
in a healthy environment
in which words are spoken and shared
and respect becomes
the main focus.

Thanks for reading.
-Temperamentally Tina

Their eyes bring me back.

I go out in my dreams
slipping within other heads
thinking thoughts that belong to them
giving them a stronger voice
with the keys
hitting the track pad
finding spaces to make words
rather than strings of letters.
Stability is important,
as a writer
I feel planting roots within life
keeps my mind aware and awake.

My dreams appear
and they play.
As if during the day
I must uncoil myself
and figure out
where I begin
and where make believe ends.
As if my husband and children
are my beacon
myself a captain
coming back home from the sea of thought
and it’s their eyes that bring me back.
As I say this is truly life
for their eyes
are what keeps me sane
and helps me differentiate reality
from a dream.
Their light is my home.

Thanks for reading.
-Temperamentally Tina