So far, in all the vehement
And the trash and waste
Of what my Life has been destined,
And written into uncontrollable parables,
And choices and acts and rigs in the broom closet
Only seemed like another set of ties
To the doom
Of Honesty.
The Hopeful Burden,
That I have been anticipating disappointing.
Public remediation
And there was no hope.
A closed deal and a signed signature.
Preying on my downfall.
Broken dreams.
No pity in mite for the might of what-could-be
If I didn’t let my nightmares inspire me.
And Trauma, my dark passenger.
Emptiness, my wholesome friend.
Rounds in gold, and beads were a promise
That there is no circumvent servitude.
An immortal-entail
And all details were lost in obsession.
Sick vindication.
Fucked-my-syndication.
I didn’t choose abandonment – I write contracts.
I bailed you out.
While I lived in fear at the consent of closure.
I wasn’t allowed.
Allotted.
Freaked-out.
Schizo recruit in cuckoo and all I do is inspire.
And the meek whittled down starlet
Only hopes for saccharine to stop tasting sweet.
The dismal lack of fruit and coffee.
The compost has more protein that’s left in a banana peel
Trash.
And the raccoon was something more wiser.
To move underground.
I rather sigh.
I rather lament.
I rather wistfully, give up.
And somehow my pursuit continues.
Not in the likes of your regards.
Fire me, fuck it. And firetrucks and boats
That I can’t hop.
The tickets weren’t allowed.
And I can’t live where I want to.
Service-or-bust.
Burn a tarot card, and hope palo santo brings gentle rain.
And I dream of deluge.
And I ache for destruction of a tyranny so hollow.
The vast of void of space and coldness of a colony
Where I the only Ant,
Can be prepared for Doom and only
The FM can seem like the tune –
Is all I really want.
Dismal pictures.
Stupid rats.
And I rather close quacks.
And be hated.
I’ve been intolerated all my life.
And my eyes – a dismal blight.
In the reckoning.
I think I look ugly and fat today.
And I cower away.
And you ridicule me with – that’s not true.
Validate or vent-the-gate.
I got insecurities too.
Sustenance lacking.
I don’t want your fucking poison drugs.
And Sober is what left me craving B’s
And Side and Poetry.
And I all I couldn’t say or tell you.
I’ve repeated myself so much.
And all you say is,
Something vulgar.
I pray to a God that does not hear me.
I look for the Chaos and it’s not consumed me.
Boring.
Flat.
Broke.
And I can’t get up to get water without being choked.
And in all my Love,
And my sways.
There was no faking.
I really tried,
To be happy.
And it’s not like that.
And the familiar broken figure form childhood
Has been testing and repping and counting the days.
I can be open, to my own voidness or lack-there-of.
Below the bottom top and even Dante
Would know
I sweat more when I’m frozen.
Cold, bare.
Turned on is all clowny-townie
And I chose to let down my hair.
Mistakes.
Seen me.
Heard me.
Shadey-shades and broken lens.
I am the sojourn that chooses no-end.
It just keeps rattling on.
And the only silence.
Is the floorboard I ripped out.
Knowing that Time will not bend,
And my existence sits here in a dull pain.
Of the Aural structure.
Word-rhymes and trys- again I told you,
I’m not comfortable with this.
AO-oxiloctal.
And I rather skip the song than hear
Some stupid forgiveness policy
And I am the asshole that chose silence.
And the Quiet, was forgiving.
And my happiness deemed in hypocrisy.
Whittled unwittled ramblings
And monologues
Where there’s no stare left in me.
A spark and no flame.
And the flint just breaks.
To crumble to slate.
And in the prison-of-the-mine.
I choose a heart with no shine.
It was barely there to begin with.
Eroded and rotted – I told you this long ago.
I don’t have what it takes to acknowledge myself, my pain.
And the irrecoverable begging.
The distance.
The twitch on my arm.
And I don’t want to lay naked.
I’ve never felt divine.
Craving Legal Vitamin B high.
And negating the shouts form clarescent scopes.
And I think of Watchtowers and it’s been the same ever since.
Not proud.
Talented.
Award.
A boat I can’t ride on.
And a tent I don’t want to pitch.
Frozen ground and hail-bound.
Why blame?
I don’t choose that.
I dispel your fame.
And the moderator quipped in riches and digress.
You taught people – how to do this.
And on you quip – it’s beautiful!
And I see the scars and strayed black blood of every other victim
And the missing persons crumbled in suitcase.
And all my heaven, and I delegate no hell.
I see your face in mine.
And that’s all I’ve been ever since.
And in minor-excursion to any emotions left than this.
I don’t know what to tell you.
You ignored my chime on your list.
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