I am a waste of life
life is wasted on me
they called me friend
yet I would see them bend
break their rules and heads
for someone who wets the bed
in the midst of chaos I lose their grip
this hand from left excuses me a slip
oh sweet pain! you return at last

I like to bleed
the sear of a wound
dripping crimson ink
lightens the burden
absolves my guilt
or so I feel it drain
my sins silently, along with memories
under showers where no one will see
I lie still, remembering why
it makes perfect sense in the moment
the incision will be subtle, but deep
enough to hurt and spill from

I will disguise my face
so no one can know
the obvious truth that lurks
beneath this skin of glee
I should have been accustomed
to losing what I love and care about
even if they mean nothing, I'd still want them around
It's harder than it looks to let go
wound around my fingers, the strings, cutting into them
and I pull, I still pull, till the bleeding is a norm
but eventually they'll take my fingers along
and I will fall, not from pride, or high
but gall, against myself
into pity and apathy
sneakily creeping through the silences
I'll look for resolve in darker things
and wither in the light of regret
until the next string breaks
and the cycle begins again.

reading his work always puts me in a good mood  

reminds me  
of how simple words  
can bear  
complex meanings  

how insignificant  
ambitions  
in the grand  
yet not  
scheme of things  
mean nothing  

the endless cycle  
repeating  
mistake after mistake  
until the lesson  
eradicates itself  

making excuses  
telling lies  
self medicating  
as though  
vitality depends on it  
/it doesn’t/

leaving
infectious afterthoughts  
before you can draw conclusions  
but not after  
you have already submitted  
to the beautiful mind  
that made you wonder  
why nobody listened  
not enough, anyway.

It has laid patiently in the recesses of my phone waiting for its day of glory. And 7 months of gestation has finally birthed diligence.
Besides it’s high time I tell this story otherwise I’m just going to (intentionally) forget and never write about it.

   * 11th Feb 2014 - 20th Feb 2014.

This isn’t merely an account of my journey to the beautiful south (my native) but also a personal record of my thoughts during my stay there. If things don’t seem to fit, you’re making the mistake to trying to make sense.

[raw/unedited - start of log]


!) *Getting there: Last night I opened the compartment door to an old man wetting himself with his lungi lying at his feet. Like a busted tap, trickling down his draws, he stood there in a decadent mix of ecstasy and shame.
I held open the door to let him pass.
I can’t say for sure if he saw my disgust seeping from the lines on my face, but I tried my level best to act indifferent. I am good at it.
Incapable of relieving oneself in one’s hour of need? I’d rather be dead. My stupid pride wouldn’t let me live another day.
The next morning we happened to get off closer to our destination than we intended. So did gramps. The stubborn mule, despite his aged regression and insanity wanted to get to the next platform by walking over the tracks. And like a Saturday night drunk he fell and laughed and drooled until he got what he wanted. **** me to hell if I see the day that I walk in those shoes.
There is nothing else I’d hate more.

@) There is where?: Welcome, this is day one. Boredom.
Stuck somewhere in the middle of ignorance and bliss. Con-*******-fused about my place here. It’s slow. Things are slow here. That much I know.

#) Blend: Sleepless smelly nights with the things that should not be. Asleep at last, half past 3. Awake again within 6 hours, no less, to a breakfast late enough to be breaking bad on me. Ants bit me, indigestion ****** me. Noises haunted, I was daunted.
Literally, everything is coconut oil. Last night it felt like a coconut took a crap in my mouth and its byproducts came out my rear end—or did they?

$) Relate: So I have a cousin sister here. Two actually and a handful of brothers too. I finally know something of the other side. I’m strangely liking this. Just knowing is enough it seems. I’m not a good brother.

%) Drift: A dead, calm, quiet night. The silence is almost overwhelming. Even the crickets can’t break through the static. [Sitting under a waxing moon on a lush green lawn surrounded by trees and vibrant silhouettes of the night sky] Such natural beauty freely available without demand. Who wouldn’t be lazy? The mosquitoes.
During the rains, the visual quality of this place reaches heavenly heights. And that should give you a fairly good idea of how stunning this place is the rest of the time. It’s only February.
If I lived here I’d never be the same. Good or bad? I choose not to wonder. But while I’m here, I’m going to soak all that I can in. I suddenly see so many different ways life could go by stepping out of my own comfort zone. It’s Ironic. But then all good wisdom is wasted upon amateur blabber that only soothes the soul momentarily. Nothing profound or earth shattering comes from the realization. Ah, there’s that comfort zone.

^) Halt: I can see why they call Kerala ‘God’s own country’, Because everything stays the same as though that’s how it was meant to be. 40 years or 50, makes no difference. The natural order of things here stays unchanged. It’s the opposite of how Bombay works. You can’t turn a blind eye for two seconds in fear of losing something that won’t alter your life inconsequentially. Yes.
Here, I could leave all my valuables outside the house for a week and no one would even bother. I may have exaggerated but not by much.

&) Eggo: This ‘person’ I’m with is insufferable. Good, great and jolly when HE chooses to be but a first class ******* the rest of the time. Makes me wish I wasn’t born to choke on his arrogance and idiocy. Whoever stuck that tree trunk up his *** must have had reasons I could relate with. This is all the love I can express. It’s hard to admire someone so narrow minded and primitive. I won’t lead, neither will I follow. Ego will meet eggo.

) No excuse: So I can be left at the table alone for as ******* long as it takes for me to finish, but for this man’s tantrums, for the impolicy his *lonely dinner creates (which he prefers, DAILY, back home) I have to oblige and start when he says so, only to have him leave when my plate isn’t even half empty, with a casual, “take your time” mental punch to the back of my head as though there’s nothing wrong with this whole ******* scenario.
Thankfully, all of this was succeeded by a full, beautifully bronze tinted moon floating in a cloudless ocean of sparkling diamonds and weeping crickets still struggling to overpower the silence; failing miserably.
I wouldn’t mind sitting here alone forever but alas, not all things are this easy. And this night will again wilt into day and the sad fight will spoil or be forgotten, conveniently. Eventually you learn, they all fester.

() Sugamano? (how are you?): My bowel movements have yet to reach an agreement with my diet. My cousin is going to teach me Malayalam through mail. Somehow I approve of this despite the several offers that I have declined from my friends in the past. Maybe I’m glad that my family just got bigger. It’s very important that I realize and cherish my ties. Who knows? I might end up being a nobody and moving here when I’m all withered and choked up with regret as a failure in denial.

!)) BAA BAA BOO BOO: My cousin’s kid. He looks a bit like me when I was that age. Wait, he isn’t even of age. He’s freaking 9 months and he’s crawling, rolling, slapping, pulling, strangling, screaming and imitating words people say around him that he can barely pronounce. I want to eat him. He’s cuter than anything I’ve ever seen. He’s gonna be a lady killer if he doesn’t go black (like most mallus do).

!!) Bliss: Classical night sky… Twinkles dance to the grand tune. Fireflies fall like stars, confusing senses to enthrall with exquisite precision. Feel the cosmos swallow thoughts and words as they mean nothing at all. If the sky shifted now, gravity would take a hike. And sooner than it takes for realization to set in, this world would become peaceful again.

!@) Role playing: The elephants are sight seeing on the backs of trucks. Humans are the escorts for these mammoths here. No more show business for these executives. They make sure the men serve as the slaves they own.

!#) Saving memories: I am a man who has forgotten how to smile. Even my tears can throw on a better performance for the mirror that breaks me. I have to force and instant’s glee to burst one out. I cannot hold joy as tightly as I do hatred or sadness. Family photos are the worst. I have to conjure a series of mental comical disasters only to maintain a smile that is fit for a *******. And that is on my best day. Every other day, however, it seems as though I’m constipated.
I spent the most awesome day today with my cousins who I barely knew 5 days ago. Although I haven’t spoken to them freely due to the language barrier it nevertheless feels like home. They’ve been thinking about me all the years we’ve been apart. Now it’s my turn to think about them. And it’s going to take quite a strong blow to the head to erase these wonderful memories I’ve had the pleasure of creating with them in my short stay here.

!$) Reasons: Valappad beach. If there is any place I would love to go to relax, to party, to be lost in thought and marvelous beauty for hours, to ******* OD and die, that would be the place. The beach stretches on forever. Horizon to horizon of clean white sand and foamy water. You could build castles as tall as skyscrapers in this sand. Gorgeous plantations just before on the shore line. Goa fails in comparison. With an enormous sky looming overhead and the ocean that appears to fall off the horizon you can’t help but wonder how such a natural work of art sustains itself. It doesn’t. The locals here do. All the trash from the beach is brought back inland so that there are no compromises with respect to visual ******. The ****** grains hug your feet and as soon as you hit the water you’re done for. It brings back a surge of euphoria that only your first spliff of hash would give you otherwise. I would give up the stash in a heartbeat for this fix. I wouldn’t mind being this high for the rest of my life.

[end of log]

Now is not the best time to explain things
I've only just started piecing it together and I'm already growing impatient to let it out.
We all dream, keep your defenses.
It doesn't matter if you can't remember, or you simply choose not to, your mind works while you're asleep whether you want it to or not.
Monks are lying *******.
They dream of more **** women than Hugh Hefner dreads to.
It's a cognitive world within your own. You control its limits, you rule its boundaries... you bend reason. Your very own simulator. A poetic response to your inner turmoil and imbalance. Capable of flow, direction and evaluation. Something to teach you while you're sleeping or entertain you while you're easing.
But more often than not I end up on the dark edges of my mind's shriveling synapses, desperately trying to make sense of the erupting chaos within. A strategic backlash of reality with grim undertones. Void of logic or pertinence to anything even remotely related to my life. Almost senseless.
Dreams are for the innocent. Nightmares are reserved for the wicked, or so my elders said. But when you grow up, your nightmares grow with you becoming darker and bleaker with experience and knowledge that you've consciously or sub consciously gained with age. A cacophony of thought igniting every mental nerve until the shock reels you from your hell.

Lately, my dreams have been lucidly obscure. Irrationally dim.
Two, three, sometimes even seven, one after another. Within the span of a couple of hours my mind is thrashed by the recurrent horrors of imagination. Uncontrolled and violently debilitating, I lie weak and drained in bed every afternoon. There is no mourning in my day. Enveloped by its melancholy I am forced to reset my train of thought. The overture of this madness spits on the spark that would otherwise lighten up a new day. It's become a chore to wake up and lie staring into space trying to recollect reality and separate newly forged memories, that shouldn't even exist, from those that should remain. I'm unsure if my eyes are even closed when I am fighting this sub conscious war. Fever dreams are a walk in the park. This is the real deal. A reverie on acid in the river Styx, and Charon is Jesus.

What follows after the liberation is a mess of things. Disorientation and apathy subtly set in. A million questions with no answers and no one to ask but the mind. A mind who's whim even I myself can't fathom. So my tasteless day is decorated with deja vus I shouldn't feel and nostalgia I can't. If I don't pull myself out sooner than I do, I'd be lost in limbo til dusk. Then in the dark I will find more demons running astray. Some at the bottom of a glass bickering away, some in the crevices of the walls preying on consorts and others in the harsher solitude of unsought company wearing smiles to their dismay.

Whatever be the case, I will ultimately find my way back to the bed and into my head, and once again, this motion picture preview I will dread. Another page from the book of agony will then be read leaving nothing unsaid.

Ah deceit, you wicked *******
creeping up uninvited, as always
no one sees you coming
none will know when you’re gone
your delicious lies stay but for an instant
and here still, you find a cue
to salt the exposed wounds.

You were never missed
your many forms, vibrant faces
the infamy and calumny
stories unchecked and forgotten
buried under the moniker of bygones.
Yet the scars remain,
deep cuts betrayal, but never fills.

The entrusted deceiver
your snake in the grass
silence is deadlier than a sharp tongue
this venom cannot drown a writhing heart
hope, kindling another tragedy
the reasons are always above par
emotions run amuck behind bars.

The tongue blackens every time
you sever the threads which bind loyalty
leaving the void to **** away the remains
into a crushing dark abyss
the face carries a smile that never fades
the heart has long since withered to naught
now, it cheats itself to bitter death.

It consists of this,
all of it and none
I found solace in that
which I could not hold
but only cherish as fond memoirs
of a terrible moment in time

Never full, never empty
it turned into an addiction
derogation of the unwise, with no premise
bawls and shrieks have no place here
this is silent lucidity capsized
hundreds of expressions explaining one thing
one thing that explains it all

Destination: lost
with no means to propel the self
into a promising new day,
pray tell, what will break down the wall
self loathing and misanthropy creates
alone in a crowd, here, but far away
none of it is that important anyway

The smile stealer, grin eater
mood killer, running short of edification
It's never alone; in bed with misery
the smallest things distress
the grandest of thoughts
wanting reprieve, searching escape
as if you could
die and stain pride?

No

Cowardice is lower than this
not worse, just pathetic
but please, ignore my terrible advocacy,
everything is half off today
I'm feeling generous.

the time for wallowing has passed
there’s always a time for everything. we’re all but nothing
so watch me throw smiles upon frowns and mutate them erratically
wait for the ticking to stop, that means go.
go grab what little courage you have left and get ready to fight
to recover that lot you’ve lost; courage.

then go make jokes about the guy who’s always scared to stand up for himself
because he doesn’t know better and you know better than most.
*******
scratch that itch until you strike bone
excavating yourself is a good hobby, maybe it’ll help you get over the fact that you’re powerless when you discover you have a spine.

*** that makes so much sense! lets all grab spoons and dig into each others heads to find out who’s got none.
I got some. some wisdom to impart into the weeping hollows
to finally try and dry their tears. and help them catch the eye of that not so noticeable maiden that’s eying them.
yeah, I noticed.

make it a point to stay happy and distracted
there’s very little you can do but at least its not killing you
or better, sit there and count ants while I’m nailing that sweetheart you’re so afraid to talk to
she is a wonderful distraction, I’ll tell you that.
*******
you could have been hitting that. but then you thought
maybe, now is the time for wallowing.

'What ifs' and 'why nots' why do you exist?
You’ve grown ever so cumbersome
Please cease and desist.
Your wants, no more virtuous than your promises, superfluous
Enslaved by your whims
We’d never be remiss.
Dancing in the shadows, stepping on toes
A million different reasons to watch ambitions run.
Depriving, contriving, playing with hope
Becoming the moon of a forlorn sun.
Fueling contrition, admonished shame
Created an ego unlike none
Alive beneath despondent veins
Ruining what’s left, and then some.

Your abhorrent fallacies, your coherent lies
Bending truths that seem hopelessly divine
Spurring tongues to whats and whys.
Still, silence speaks louder than the wine.
Doubt destroys everything it clings to
And therefore, so will you.
Simplify our misery into love and hate, we insist
Scribbled upon a clean slate, why do you persist?
Running short of derision for your provision
Regrets live as apparitions
Behind the veil of your cajoling voice.
Convince me that joy is merely mistaken sorrow,
That everything I’ve said up till now is hollow,
And maybe your words just won’t be errant noise.

Let’s cut away the ******* for once.
Honesty may not have it’s reward but it sure as hell feels good to the ears it falls on.
More often than not, we’re selfish for others.
And more so for ourselves.
It’s not as though we find the day when all cheery bright things would miraculously weave their way into our dull lives something to look forward to.
But paper cuts and medical buffs might take you there sooner.
We’re professional liars for our own companies.
We get paid with insolence and envy, which we spend on the ones we truly love.
Look, laugh and pity the fool who gripes and moans.
But let’s not forgive him for being wretched and miserable, and not completely insensitive.
Don’t ever realize how much mass ****** has helped you balance your daily routine or how easy your life has become since the fall of justice.
Cherish these moments of obstinacy and revel in the fall of man to mere beast, you might never know such disgrace, cloaked in pride, again.
The definitions given to our own villainous deeds are such elaborate deceptions that sometimes I wonder if the one they call God was just a man who thought to prank this world with a promise of salvation so that other men could **** each other over a system of faith that has no foundation.
I would bake a cake for that guy.
So, these long sentences putting you to sleep yet,
or am I too pig headed to get through to your blooming pride?
Maybe you find this funny, maybe you’re a terrible friend.
Maybe I don’t care about you and your perfect life.
There’s a chance none of that is true and you think we’re all good of heart inside.
Ahh, that mystical hidden power within everyone!
Makes me wish I was a non-gay looking He-Man.
Makes me wish for a lot of things that you would find offensive (so I’d hope) and enthralling (so I’d doubt it).
You collect high horses for prancing ponies and jewellery boxes full of ring fingers, alongside cushions and compliments so tight that not even gangsta-wrapped truth could split open.
Minds full of right wing liberalism and perks full of questions that exonerate reason, lead you to believe that ending friendship is a walk in the park.
Years of trust and respect lost in an instant, but that doesn’t affect you. It won’t now, nor ever.
This will all be forgotten like a really bad book that reminded you of your child abuse days.
Because, accepting hardship is a waste of time.
Acknowledging pain and moving past it is a bad decision.
Let’s keep one day apart from our indifferently vehement, opportunistically coherent and beautifully disconcerting lives to make all the bad decisions we love to.
At least on that day, no madman would feel alone.

I cried into oceans terrible and mysteries ravaging,
all speechless - mute.
A time to become aware, too late
where words might as well have been nails to step on,
if they can ever be called words.

The shivers don’t stop
the biting cold grips, clinging to my layers like a parasite
what is to be felt,
cant be.
There is no clear way I can explain this conundrum
this is happening because it just is
all the aches remind,
you belong here.

Remind the conscience that there’s more to this game
than mere words and images
it is something not even poetry can capture.
True art is truly fleeting,
just like this moment you’re in.

No no no, this isn’t one of those commendable confessional rants of redounded reality.
We all know where that goes and what it leads to.
This rhetoric comprises solely of the faulty intuitive comprehension and the ******* behaviour people have while under the influence of the poor man’s ****.
That could be mistaken for a typo.

Xeno-meph, would be what aliens are called if they did this too.
Extended warranty of your sinus cavity is a must.
And a mouth guard so you don’t churn away at the capricious calcium that are your teeth.
Smoke and dance till lungs and legs collapse.
Talk like you’re the spokesperson for an oil company that’s pillaging life and land.
Change your personality in a minute and become the ****** you always wanted to be.
That smart talking, **** wagging, ***** licking, *** *******, back stabbing, self serving, worthless ******* is now you, but it doesn’t feel like that to you.
Rational *******, your only reprieve.
Keep doing the same things over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over again hoping the outcome will change.
But you’re cool.
You’ve done this before, it’s solvable.
A break. That’s all there’s to it.
The itch in your nose has stopped. Your jaw doesn’t hurt.
You don’t feel like ****, but you know somehow that something is amiss.
Things are not what they seem. Sense doesn’t make itself.
The dark is your sanctum. Fast is your peace.
That’s not a typo.

The world cannot slow down for you.
You have to speed up. Another gram, another line, another lie.
Control is what you say it is.
Handles are what your stomach has.
Fast forward a few months and you don’t have a handle on anything.
You don’t feel down, you feel fine. Nothing’s wrong
But just another fall, and you’re straight out of line.
Justify! Justify! Justify!
Listen, keep listening… Talk! keep talking!
Everything makes sense. Everything is a sense.
The difference is that I’m faster, quicker, sharper.
I’m handicapped.
Leverage is my mind, broken and blind.
I wish that was a typo.

day time disaster drifting
disdainfully into nights dark-lit
by only the protrusion of the sky

skinned till thin
in pieces at my feet, once, I mourned
and now again before mystique fails mystery

I grow tall and directed
shifted and perfected
incomplete

do they trim the *****
after doing your chin?
doing that to me is not a sin?

The darkest chasms hold
secrets of my soul
in the shape of my-
coniferous cone

I lick your frivolous flames
douse them with my tongue
even so, you can’t stay
in a wooden box anymore

You discarded mine for those
growing fondly around us
better shaped
unlike mine

When days were miracles
we carried our hearts
as trophies

Hearts wither and fail with the passing of time
Wishes, hopes, faith, love all wither together

But not this
coniferous cone
the shape of my heart
which you replaced
with a forest of your own

the world is ablaze
with useless ****
I watched road signs for hours
like an angry nerve ready to pop
28 days later I judged perception
acutely tuned to the jargon of fools
******* away at the inklings of their soul
same **** different day
everything is a road sign.

I should start being serious for a change
it’s not everyday that I get the chance to make my mark-
an eruption of countless warts- figuratively of course
they’ll remember even if they don’t want to,
like the stye that wouldn’t die despite surgical excision.

then there’s you
who wants to forget me
my girl, who did you **** last night?
I know we agreed to stop seeing each other
but I would love to hear your stories, inside you.

I’ll be gone in a few weeks
all this talk of seriousness has condensed on me
like the cold sores you leave me with
eye sores for coke ****** with daddy issues
I’ll be your daddy, I’ll even be your brother if it gets you wet.

Don’t slit my wrists yet
I can still manage a compliment some days
give me a hundred reasons to abandon my ways
and you know I won’t do it
you know I won’t even try.

I want a good **** before I go
maybe a cigarette after that
I quit smoking, but I’ll bump the easy one without warning
and ***, I won’t settle for anything less
I want you to watch as I take shots off your *******.

Wasted days that count down
quicker than your menstrual cycle
have left me wanting for time
I wouldn’t waste any differently,
probably, worse.

Preparation is turning out to be quite a grinding ordeal
late nights, empty pipes, lungs dry and well past ripe
tendons screaming for respite, finger tips peeled
your tongue- lets me know it’s time to sleep
If I wasn’t serious, I’d be picking up where you left off.

Here we are, out of control  
eating our lips to keep us tame  
lodged in crevices  
waiting for the dark  
there are eyes spying from the skies  
when we look up they cry  

So now we are beyond control  
tying our wrists to keep us sane  
lest our hands play tricks again  
despite our frivolity, we are remembered  
as spineless worms of the under-world  
squirming here, in our own filth  

See, how we cradle hope  
sawing our ears to keep us dumb  
only lies fuel this furnace  
and yet, the congregation thrives  
lo witness, the second coming  
still only coming  

Finally control is lost
burning our legs to keep us here
in prisons with no steel or mortar
no guards or ghosts to haunt
yet we are gaunt when hope fails
nailing our knees to feed disgrace.

There’s a time and season for every reason
no cookie bakes itself
cherries don’t burst on their own
cherries don’t burst *******!
a bottle doesn’t empty itself to full/fill
breaking clocks is a wonderful way to **** time
ironic glory hole of blood and glass
running out of test tubes, the ****’s too tight
****… reason!
INVEST!

Admiration is the state furthest away from understanding
pawns don’t need details
******* with teeth make ******* meaningful
smashing the cow softens it, …digest it well
meaning is derived from screening STD g string
of a starry eyed jail-bait that drowns in a sea of ******
obtuse and absolute are the only submissions
failure to comprehend results in *******
cuckolds worth….
IMPROVE!

Lexicon laxative
this antipathy won’t last
stimulate thinking with cankerous drinking
***** ***** need no season or reason
to drown ****** who never show
the tears of heaven that understood
misled admiration and adolescent aberration
that silently candle deplorable fornication
time stays unchanged
counting doesn’t prove progress in this game
falling short… half beat hesitation
ITERATE!

To the one who hosts competitions…  
Which ******* gave you the right?  
I wouldn’t listen to your rules even if you paid me.  
Nor would I let you tell me how I would write my poem.  
I could write something totally not related to your competition and submit it.  
Maybe I’ll **** your girlfriend and let you read about how it went.  
She didn’t take your name when she came(just so you know)  

Who said you could take such liberties?  
I’m gonna bash your head in with an exhaust pipe  
And when it dents and gains a sharp edge I’ll scrape your eye with it  
Just one, because I want you to see…  
You wanna host competitions, do ya? Meet my little match  
Ever wondered how a lit match feels in your nostril?  
If I sparked it and let the gunpowder catch flame in your nose, how wonderful would that feel?  
Listen here Mr. you asked for this by hosting it… there’s no backing out now…  
I still have a few things to run you over with.  
**** umbrella? no splash guard? ugh… too messy…  
Ah my favorite! the serpent’s tongue.  
For that I’ll first have to break your jaw, then hold your tongue out  
Then I’ll stretch your tongue out with clamps and slice it right down the middle  
Such a fitting exercise. For you.  
You have become what you really are.  
I’ll leave your manny parts intact… I know how we are when It comes to those.  
I will tell you though, you won’t be able to use em ever again… sorry about the irony.  

Lets get down to business, shall we?  
I hate you. You know why.  
I’m gonna inject you with a pain enhancing serum.  
Then I will administer XXXX ***  
It’s an ancient technique of entertaining someone.  
Dating all the way back to almost 900 AD  
It was banned, sadly, in the last century.  
Anyway, you’re lucky I have knowledge of this  
It won’t spoil our fun… lets start with the obvious places  
Eye lids, lips, ears, finger tips, toes, arm pits, the *******, the wrists….etc….  
You shouldn’t bother keeping count, that’s my job  
But I highly doubt you’ll even live past number 233.

I'm sorry but fact is fact.
Self absorbed, ignorant and arrogant products of a corrupt
and manipulative administration that promotes racism
on a level unseen before.
I speak, of course, of the "greatest" nation on the planet.
Don't get me wrong, there are so many among you who are truly
diamonds in coal or, rather I would say, ****.
And if reading this makes you angry then know
I am speaking to you, specifically.

So Asians are Arabs huh?
I guess the Russians, the Europeans, South Americans,
and even the Japanese are Arabs if that's the case.
Stereotyping has always been an American past time,
but to grow ***** big enough to **** on the world? That's new.
A **** stain on your own flag, yeah, that's you.
Open that gutter you call a mouth and show us all
just how civilized and cultured you can be.
Enlighten me with the values your wonderful tyrannical
government has embodied in you.
Do they have a special 'how to be a professional racist' period
in American schools?
Did you even go to school?
Were the teachers racial ***** just like you?
If you killed a foreigner would POTUS give you a medal?
I'm surprised nobody ever commended you for your behavior,
until now.
You can call me an Arab too.
I'm pitying you because you don't know better.
Cause if you did, you'd think before you compete for the crown of
Mr/Ms RACIST.
Catch my drift?

******* have ear holes too.
Isn't that what's going through your mind right now?
Okay okay, lets chill the **** out and be straight.
The next time you take a trip to a foreign country
(which you won't since, you think the world is full of Arabs and,
you're the ******* child of a nation that employed slaves longer
than the British ruled you while still claiming to be the land of the free)
I hope some local feels the same way you do, about you, and beats
the ******* derogation out of you while he's planting his uncircumcised dank
in your rear end.
I pray you remember my words AND YOUR OWN.
Reflect aptly while you're taking his dunk, on how you one day decided to
**** on a world full of diverse races
who are a million times worth the person you are.
The next time you fail to recognize propaganda,
or conveniently forget to think for yourself,
ask your commander-in-chief to do a press conference.
Bet you'll join the army simply to **** anyone who's not American.
This is a cordial '*******' to every condescending ******* out there.

You don't know the world,
but the world clearly knows you now.

This is a rant, a whine, a lackadaisical, lackluster, lamentable account of the mind’s log.
Past the brick wall of restraint, beyond the fields of tolerance, on the banks of instinct and affection, it erases itself every 2 weeks.
Rewrites memories and feelings as fickle as capricious rain.
Makes people sad, makes people happy. Leaves them unsatisfied, unwanted. Makes them whole.
Here, where troubles are also accounted for, heartbreaks, trials, emotional noise, psychological inconsistencies, all live under one roof. Imagine a chain reaction inside your head that won’t stop exploding.
Beautiful yet devastating.
But depression is the worst. Like a virus it infects all moods and modes.
Coax and calm are pins and needles. Persuasion is desertion and truths are lies.
Liberality becomes morbid and grim, while conservation craves death.
Breaking continuity for a moment of weakness, purging will and doubting strength.
Cling to the vines, their hands keep you afloat.
Above the sea of screams and cries the mind inflicts upon itself.
The damnation, the lunacy of being alone in your head when everything inside you is falling apart is worse than any prison.
Friends become enemies and goals become shackles.
Up is a little to the left of center’s right and down is where you are.
Welcome to capsized reality, where pain is exalted and peace is taboo.
Where the hands don’t reach to save but drown.
Then you know it is time to restart, until the system fails again.
Till the next time the levee breaks.

Methodical apathy, with exquisite precision.
It’s a sin if done intentionally, one of the deadliest.
If only the mind ran the body, inability would become a parody.
Gunpoint motivation.
If you fail that then you are truly exceptional.
You are the impossibility of reason, the magna carta of indolence.
Dust moves faster.

Synapses die, process is distress.
You may wittily reply, but your improvisation is a mess.
Follow through becomes a sporting term.
Creativity hopes to crash and burn.
Rhyming schemes fail to rhyme.
Like so.

Once a writer, now not.
Once unstoppable, now caught
Once an ocean, now a drought
Once a poet, now naught
Level of lethargy: A **** lot.