I read an article in the news this week,
It was about profiling corporate bigwigs
And the shocking conclusion,
That the vast majority of these pigs at the trough of good fortune
Are psychopaths, a statistically significant majority,
Like eighty percent,
This tweaked my curiosity and so I did a bit of research,
And I learned that a psychopath is someone
who experiences life differently,
they experience all of the positive emotions,
Love, happiness, comradery, all of it.
But they’re wired differently,
When it comes to the sad, bad, mad times.
They don’t feel the way most humans do,
They feel detached from these things
They tend to deal with things of this nature
From a logical and removed perspective,
And this is where the road forks.
Ethical, moral, love-based pychopaths
Release the tension, resulting from the conflict
That arises from this, (aka wow I’m a freak)
through healthy
Or at least, socially-acceptable methods
Others, unfortunately dispose of it,
through darker, more nefarious means
Today, I started to wonder if I’m a psychopath,
Not the hack them, slash them maniac you see on film
The ones that just don’t feel like other people.
I was reading a book about self-realization,
About dropping preconceived inhibitions
Quieting the mind,
And finding “the silence within the silence” as they say,
I started to consider this,
I thought back to my transformation in August of seventeen
I moved from subject to passive observer,
I substituted love for fear, in every corner of my life,
And I found the silence, perhaps just a glimpse,
But it was so beautiful, it impressed upon me
An entirely new disposition,
As a passive observer, I’ve been able
To see myself much more clearly
When you look at yourself from a standpoint,
That leads you to recognize that in fact
There is no you at all, only your perception
And in fact, even perception
Consciousness, the core of experience
Is an illusion in and of itself.
An illusion nurtured by
The confines of society
Because at the level of atoms and molecules
We really all are
Intertwined and indistinguishable
And these tiny points of perception
That we think of as us
Are actually one
As though a block of energy
Was slammed through a cheese grater
And from this perspective,
and the Fear/love paradigm,
I find myself alone,
Alone, and happy,
Possibly,
For
The first-time
Ever.
Today, I started to wonder if I’m a psychopath.
And though I’m not wishing for the way it was
I do wish
I had a friend,
a sounding-board so to speak
Who knows me as well
As the one that I have hurt, and who has hurt me
To really help me decide,
Is this an epiphany,
Or insanity
A middle-aged crazy man
Writing words no one will ever read
Either way, I suppose
You can look from one of two sides
From the loss, and the sadness
The love and respect for the past
Or from the perspective of freedom,
Growth,
And doing what you were put
In this crazy world to do
Today, I started to wonder if I’m a psychopath,
At one point this afternoon
I realized I hurt in my entirety
My body, head to toe
My heart, because I am alone
Self-chosen,
But still alone
And my soul because
I don’t feel the way other people do
I won’t hurt anyone else
At least not on purpose
But every inch of me hurts
Every,
Inch.
And yet, even the sadness I feel
In waves,
By no means all the time,
But when it hits,
It hits hard,
I realize this too is a bad habit at best,
And an illusion at worst
What growth can come,
From pining for the past
Or any attachment for that matter
Because those things
That we can’t stop ourselves from doing
That arise from mind
Such as regret, or loss
Or guilt
Are bad-habits,
illusions
That serve absolutely nothing
But to teach, and move on
To how you might
Make the reality that is now
The best it can be,
For everybody,
Even me!
Today, I started to wonder if I’m a psychopath.

I fell apart today.
The anchor from which I'd cut away
suddenly reattached, twice as heavy as it had been before.
And I was completely imprisoned,
a heavy weight pulling down on my weary heart.
Like a silent film it hit me,
in jerky flashing, singular grey images;
indiscernible but sad.
A birthday cake.
Shiny smiles reflected from
clear cool sandy beaches.
Warm, cuddles after Christmas dinner.
And these ghosts of us haunt me always
down every familiar street,
every memory, every story, every jewel
adorning the crown that is my life
is haunted with ghosts of us.
Not the us limping, and wounded, and beaten by life,
holding on to those beautiful images.
Eyesight fading, changing at least.
No, the wide-eyed kids who became one that first night
and ignited a fire that burned,
for a quarter century.
A beautiful, perfect, copy-read family.
Nobody forgetting their lines.
And one day I reached out to touch you
And your skin felt cold.   Still soft, but cold.
And I knew immediately that I need to cling
to those beautiful images.
And capture new ones,
sharper and more vibrant
with years of progress, and learning.
Loving and gentle with the images of the past
but steady and strong
against the unforgiving winds of time
from  every direction.
“We built her strong”,
I tell myself.
"We sure ******* did"
Perhaps, we built her too strong
She’ll never sink,
but she’s not fit to sail.
Leave her where she is, to the salt,
and the sea,
and the rust, the ******* rust.
The anchor, still fastened tightly
but choking my heart no more.
Instead holding me fast,
against the current, and the winds,
and the ghosts of us that haunt me
each and every day.

It’s a Perfect Day to Die
Can’t tell ground from sky.
A mist of cold cruelty breathes
Foul and unforgiving in my face.
And I feel peace,
Sad. Peace. Surrender
Sad for what could have been
Sad for gifts carelessly squandered
Like a child with too many toys
Sad for the legacy that should have been.
For the casualties I have left
In my wake of selfish insanity.
Sad to be stuck in this skin I can’t shake,
But perhaps I can break,
In a million pieces, so it is unrecognizable
From the whole it was
And a new whole becomes
With new gifts and opportunities
To appreciate, and cherish
And hold tightly this time
Surrounded by souls
That surrounded me here
In a circle of love and forgiveness
And second chance
It’s a Perfect Day to Die.

"Over here"...
but nothing.
The scene continues
unabated by my presence.
Plastic smiles and lustful eyes
bountiful but not for me..never me.
In the mirror' s unforgiving gaze
I am unrecognizable
Replaced with a crude rendering
of my previous likeness
fashioned by children
with lumpy imperfect clay.
Silence replaces loving laughter
that used to follow my witty banter.
Silence and stares.  Sympathetic stares
tinged with smugness and fear.
"Over here...over here..."
still nothing.