Never ask me that question again.
Defying the body. Original sin.
Don't press the issue. Don't press your luck.
I would much sooner choose fight than choose ****.

Stacking the cards. Cooking the books.
Cry in the shower to cleanse ***** looks.
Slurp up your earnings. Feast on deceit.
Nibble on scraps while they're dining on meat.

Call out for help. Pity can save.
Swallow the fact that you're branded. Depraved.
**** for your honor. Fight for your life.
Take back what's yours by the edge of the knife.

Eat all the forces opposing your way.
Sometimes brutality's what saves the day.
Garnish their corpses with spite and rejoice.
Feed your desires like you had a choice.

In a word? Pretentious. Your presence stains the air.
Petty criticisms, as if anybody cared.
You think yourself an icon, and darling, ain't that darling.
To be completely honest though? I couldn't give a farthing.

Your lack of self-awareness paints your harlequin visage.
Your over-swollen ego? Nothing more than a mirage.
Your tacky two-cent romance leaves one little more than bored.
Precisely why is it that you think you should be adored?

Furthermore, diplomacy seems alien to you.
Assaulting inquisitions, implications, most untrue.
It does turn rather humorous, though, given your dull wit,
As oftentimes, you miss the point, for chomping at the bit.

Your eagerness to take offense makes conversation dreadful,
And seems to strip away any desire to be respectful.
Alas, I too indulge in pettiness from time to time,
So please, enjoy my grievance set facetiously to rhyme.

I just want to be set on fire.
I'm not asking for a funeral pyre,
or to burn like the sun, and light up the day,
or to shine like a fireworks display.

Just let me roast 'til I'm charred a deep black.
Let the smoke rise up in billowing stacks,
and once I'm burnt through, take hold of my ashes,
and toss me across wild vegetable patches.

Let me take root in the summertime haze.
Let me find peace in the cool autumn days.
Let me take shelter from winter's contempt.
Let me sprout new leaves as spring is redeem't.

I ask no forgiveness, no charity, mercy.
I don't wish for anything granted. Conversely,
I ask for two items, and if you're so keen;
A matchbox, and one gallon of gasoline.

Alcohol hanging on breath.
Going 90 in a 65,
High on speed, but not ****,
Finally feeling alive.

Sirens blare, heat following,
He called the cops, what a *****.
Yelling at her, hollering.
It'll take more than a snitch.

Takes a turn way too quickly --
You hate to see that happen.
Rolls over topsy-turvy,
Six flips, going on seven.

Vehicle gets located,
Bodies have yet to be found.
Seat belts inoperative.
Flung 'em bout 20 feet down.

Report: "One woman, one man,
Fatal car accident." Crushed.
"Female had bottle in hand,
Both suspects found dead in a bush."

tired. It feels like I'm one
step behind my own body. A fraction
of my potential at all times; none
of my muses remain, just distractions.

angry. All the time I spend
thinking about who I am, who
I'm not, what I do, to what end
are the goals I set mine to pursue?

disappointed. I was great
in the past, and suppose I still am
by metrics other people create,
but compared to me? I'm just a sham.

weak. Paradoxically, given
my stature. Erase that, and I'm nothing
more than a life. Hardly living,
with or without living for something.

But truly, above all else? I'm so
honored to be the star of the show.

Instinctively, I grabbed my arm.
But, grabbing wasn't so easy, and I think I messed up a little.
Because my hand passed right through.
And I realized it was happening again.

It takes a moment.
It always does. I have to,
y'know, realign myself to the right mental frequency.
But once I do, everything falls into place.

Well, "falls" is kind of an exaggeration.
I have to, well, snap the bones into place.
Oh, and the tendons have to be
stretched, which hurts a little bit.

And when I put my skin back on,
sometimes my lips catch on my teeth,
or I'll scratch the inside of my arms
with the tips of my fingers.

But, hey, at least it's better than the alternative.
I've been around the block. It's scary.
The worst part is when you hear the footsteps
that shake the house, and your doorknob jiggles.

That's why you lock the door.
But that's too much to think about. I much
prefer to leave my body in the wash.
It makes it so much easier to leave everything else behind.