Your pre-frontal cortex is delectably oral amidst this maze of psychological violence.
Oh, mistress of certain uncertainty, I cannot articulate the essence of ontology, as human language is inadequate. But, you truly capture the flow of irregularity in this mass mockery of societal fabric.
Therefore, I simply appeal to our mutual and primitive impulses. Let us be rough, despite the misguided assumptions of those who claim to have affiliation.
I like old school choppers, because they are not polished.
I wish I missed people.
I feel like by never missing anyone
I demean the relationships I have.
I just can't help it.
Sometimes I wish someone in particular was with me
But those feelings are always short
By never needing anyone
When I know how much the other person misses me
I feel like I'm not as committed to them as they are to me.
It's not on purpose.
I tell them I miss them when they say it first
but it's always a lie.
Maybe I'm just a sociopath.
"A Bad Case of Sisyphus..."
Strangers know when you
Are a bit South of Sanity...
Strangers eye you with a combination of fear, loathing, &
A morbid sense of curiosity...
But when all your life you were just
Looking for a little
Black Love and something which
Can pass for peace in this
World of circling darkness...
Sometimes I wonder if
I lost everyone if I'd turn into
Kernel Sanders, with the fryers hot
And the world my chickities...
I might even bet the Popes red shoes
If i indeed digressed to the plight of
Sisyphus, no screams, no please,
You'd have to reinvent
South of sanity i'd probably chatter
Chatter into a million different
Personalities, a million different me's
All a tortured man needs to fall is a
Bit like gravity, a little
Emotional Terrorism, you'll begin to
Bleed...a bit like gravity...
A lot of trauma, a little push, and
You'll end up like me...
A man evolving from a sociopathic
Oddity, into attempting at Understanding,
To love, to feel a little
- Johnny Raven ©March 31st 2014
(Will edit for spelling, flow, and such later...need sleep)
I live beyond morality, cloudy
Skies issue complaints, however
I hardly have the time.
I often catch myself
Staring at creatures.
Wondering where they
Wander, and why.
I want to fight dragons today.
I want to find a voice
That suits me. Grey skies
And frozen cranes, bother me.
The stone wet, and
Broken. Lifeless creatures
Can be neither evil nor
Broken Binaries. Broken
Machines. What glues
Our heads to our
Is there a separation?
Walk down the hall and
Interrupt my view
Through the window.
Focusing again I see
Opaque. Unable to
Look past the glass.
Only up to it.
A schizophrenic walks into a bar and orders 2 drinks.
The bartender pours him 4 drinks.
The schizophrenic says,
'Barkeep. What's with the 4 drinks? I only ordered 2.
The bartender says,
'Oh. They're for the other guy.'
When the schizophrenic is ready to leave,
the bartender presents him with a bill for 8 drinks.
The schizophrenic says,
'What the fuck is this. I only had 4 drinks.
The bartender says,
'Hey! You're not the only schizophrenic here.'
A sadistic outlook
I hide my fallacies and avarice in a sock drawer,
neatly placed next to my pill bottles
In the closet closest, I store the prospect of future casualties
Shuffled neatly undernearth media propaganda and the war in Uganda
I suffocate the tragedy of unknown victims in my display of malice
Muffled as they’re whimpering
My feelings of hate border on revulsion
Repulsion bordering on abhorrence,
Course through my veins
My blood is thick with ill will
Sociopathic thoughts fire my personal hatred
Hate is more powerful than love
Love hurts hate kills.
I've become so acquainted with my sociopathic thoughts
That I greet them like you would an old friend.
I've forgotten what it's like to think 'normal'
And when that strange happening occurs
I become worried.
"This is not you.
You are insane."
And some would prefer it be different,
But I wouldn't have it any other way.
Alright. Enough with the shitty writing. I need to get back on that horse, that mental state that allows me to write better because this thing we have here, in my head, it ain't working. (2013)
We talked about people dying last night
and how I watched them do so
and I couldn’t help but to laugh at the memory
and you were laughing too
and maybe that makes us kindred sociopathic spirits
or maybe it just makes us afraid to be vulnerable
so we look at death and then we laugh like we aren’t really scared
and you shoot animals from your bedroom window
and I have to admit youre a pretty good shot
I wrote this in 5 minutes. Maybe I'll revise it someday.
I sit by myself
My feet fit in the space
behind the rows
my boots feeling
the stick of leftover
residue of someone else's
when the blue and black
of this giant space
comes up and the
sound invades the air
around my shoulders
and let the thinness
of fake light
and the emotions
fix and fill
the holes and
the road of