I have a friend I haven't spoken to in a while
Who, as it happens, is/was a sociopath--(w/e)
And I just wanna text him one day and say:
"Hey, man: are you still a sociopath?"
But what's he supposed to say to that?
"Nah man, I gave all of that up."
I mean, of course he's still a fucking sociopath.
What else would he be?
--Perhaps a wet pocket?
I sometimes hide inside myself
A place where no one sees
An empty wrong looking for right
Among a barren disease
I prick my soul to feel alive
It brings no pain nor tears
An indifferent stain, out of touch
It's been this way for years
No echos feed my screams for help
For emotion is just a lie
I see the world in black and black
My eyes, too dead to cry
The smile I wear is my disguise
Although it's never real
It lets me hide the emptiness
And the darkness I conceal
I sometimes hide inside myself
Thank God that you're not there
For you feel pain, joy and love
But I simply cannot care
doesn't care who he hurts
only that he gets his way
fighting dirty is the only way
for the sociopath
not a second thought
about the pain and hurt
you cause your own child
to achieve your own ends
full of fear
you attempt to control and dominate
causing a mile wide path of destruction
how do you live with yourself I think
then I remember
if you don't have a conscience
you do just fine
this leaves my heart cold
for the people
who are so into their own pain
that causing other people pain is the name of the game
just another day of destruction for the sociopath
again and again I forget
that you don't have a heart
you only have one when it suits your purpose
and if I look closely enough
inside of the heart
is absolutely nothing
I fall for your lines
professing you are my friend
and as one hand shakes mine
the other twists the knife in my back
The strapping young boys
Will play with their toys
And cause harm to er'one around.
They'll make lots of noise,
Colluded with poise,
Among them not a soul to be found.
It wasn't too long
Before they were turned on
To firm over in Illinois,
Where collusion has proven
A blooming conclusion
For all whom they choose to employ.
"Is this an illusion?"
Said one in confusion.
"I'm successful and happy and paid.
"I'm a millionaire
With brilliant hair,
And a beautiful dame of a maid!"
"Pardon my intrusion,
You've chosen profusion
O'er doing the world some good.
"Prepare for seclusion-
A lonely conclusion
Is knocking beneath your hood."
I sing you lies
The guilt slides off me
And you'll never realize
That these wise eyes
Are a prized guise
Fashioned to capitalize
Off all shapes and size.
Cries for blood
Cries of pain
Cries for God
Cries in vain
Once you catch on
We'll label you insane.
In the meantime...
I'll be planning the next Holocaust
Miles above you on my
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.
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.
Your psychopathic sleep hours tick by slowly,
dreamless time, unconscious to the world -
a temporary death each night. Do you know
how much you hurt me? I suppose you do.
I crumbled like the flaky leaves in autumn
underneath your feet, and fell for another boy
eventually. You moved away, and now sleep undisturbed
with another girl. She must sleep soundly too,
oblivious to your reputation, the way you once ate
fields of girls as though you were a swarm of summer locusts.