What is this life
of overwhelming
cognitive dissonance
denial
and outright hypocrisy
that comes with living
as a human being?
How is it that we
get so caught up
on agenda and ideology
when the very concept
of consciousness
and reality
is something we are
unable to fully articulate?
I have set myself apart
with thoughts forming murky
impressionist fluctuations
of ever spiraling brain chemistry
to where sometimes
existence
feels all at once
like an absurd joke
and a sacred and mysterious gift.
So many people seem so certain
as if they are pointed in the exact direction
they should be
Waving flags
and preaching their truths
and killing in the name
of a thousand other fictions.
In comparison to them
I am so lost
and defeated by the vastness of it all
And right now
the only thing
I know
I'm sure about
is you.

Although no longer
entangled
we will always be entwined
Not only through the things
we are obliged
but something unmarred
something subtle
something deeper
Two souls on the same plane
still moving across
undaunted by hurt
and hardship
and loss

-Not gone
Not apart
Not broken
Only changed-

Although these things
have been set in motion
and we may move
In different ways
To different rhythms
And time may find us
In different places
We will always be
something special
and something graceful

-Never gone
Never apart
Never broken
Only changed -

My dearest friend
Although it is time
For things to change
we will always have
those things
no one can take
or fully understand
We will always
be timeless
And always
on each other's side

-It is all only change-

This bitter endgame theory
is the remnant of us
tightly clutched in a loose collection
of dulled hidden blades I kept in
empty sugar pill bottles
for moments such as these
My shallow breath slowing
showing
nothing left but hesitation marks manifesto readings
to stave off never lasting mob stompers
losing control of thought criminal empires
All is lost with wounds swabbed in hopes of growing cultures
not inundated by murderland vultures
cackling that doomsday clock apocalyptic-talk
as they pick apart failed crop circles
The past is in the past but remains so tense
as you stand revolted by wretched plans
while wrenching cold calculating razors from my hand
because being allowed to touch seemed so unattainable to me
in the first place
and now that you're gone
I
am
so
scar struck.

And like an enveloping
transmission
with increasing frequency
you have become the only
thing I want to hear
You have always been
best in show
for mixed media
and messages
and now
I can't help but wonder
where this path you
are leading me down
ends?
Will this develop beyond
an ethereal blur wisping
through my everything and
anything?
And how was I to know
you would become
the brightest part
of my day?

Looking back I wonder if
I was a silent player
looking on while you were
held down and tortured in those
abduct taped conman confessionals
he was so fond of
Because the way I remember it
you and I were always standing
on the same corner slinging hope
while the smog encroached
but maybe you were disgusted with me then
like I am when I think back to watching
the scar strangled manner you were
loyally subjected to
I stand captured
Resigned to billowing abstractions
brought forth in my less callous moments
Looking out at these slurred flickers  
shackled and swinging in a nine to five iron cage
wondering if you would even let me out
if you held that key
in those perfect imperfect hands
I always longed to hold.

At first glance
the fight or flight flash trash light of the strip
appears to be a breathtaking rapid burst
of coming distractions
But after a few hours slinking and pulsating
with the grid pulling at your heartstrings-
Trudging through one closed door
where another creaks open
I realize it's really a slow burn disaster
coaxing me backsliding to where I belong
That is to say
that the past few years have been borrowed time
with little to no interest
All I've been doing is settling my accounts
and lack of accountability
Fulfilling obligations
closing out friendships and lost loves
with the efficient sorrow
one usually only sees on
the last leg of death row
Two approaches prominent in my desire for absolution-
Slamming cheap shots and begging for changed minds
depending on how much I wanted or took from you
in the first place
I am selfish
and I did hurt you
and I am even more selfish for trying to get you
to forgive me so I can check out and leave a mess
for you to clean up
But I am only here on someone else's dime
and all I have left to do is settle my accounts.

Blotched botched
word failures spewing forth
from defective machinery
subtracted from
popularity conquests
showing youngbloods
how to write up
this tragedy thing right
Mouthless voiceless
shapeless formless
avoidance and mockery
creeping like carbon monoxide admissions scrawled out
in digitized assault
and crying out
What kind of democracy is this?
What kind of freedom is this?
When torn from those clutched
analytical political land mines
I have to ask  
Before revolutionary words are mistaken and reduced
to stripped inspirational drivel
adorning office drone strike stationery
What makes you think
your
words can hurt someone
who wants to ******
themself
daily?