Stuck in a straight jacket
That detaches from humanities
That disables civilized thinking
It strangles your insides
And steals compassion
And your breath of life
Withers inside this chasten

In this rubber room
Who’s pads make up your apathetical existence
You rot here like the ***** you take
You die here
Unless you bleed yourself of disrespect
Unless you bleed yourself of disinterest
Unless you bleed yourself of narcissism

Who cares
Your worthless in this state anyway
Find purpose in empathy

Or die here
Exist out of the minds of others
Others who have collective respect
Collective understanding
Collective empathy
And open mindedness

You’re locked here cause you prejudge
Guarded by your own stubbornness
You don’t accept
That you don’t know everyone’s story
You can’t know
You judge anyway

That hippie over there
He’s not a ***** loser
He has a family he loves
Worked hard in construction
And overcame a destructive alcohol and drug abuse
He’s better than you
He’s empathetic
Loving
Understanding
And embraces everyone

They profit on your silence, and foster insanity
To reef your identity, and fade you to normality

Control is an abortion of instinctual fundamentality
They blind us with a bleach of hypocrisy to fade us to their normality

Gather once in number, to support the dismantling
Fate of compassionate and empathetic rationality, is threatened by a lie of social justice in pronouns and prejudice

This is an infection of our political mentality,
to allow other views to be heard only if they align within sheepish bounds of radicality

Neo-**** Ideology. What insanity
Can’t let it fester, or our dignity will be the fatality

Disgusting to muzzle those who believe differently
As long as it’s not hate, preach what you practice

It’s another day, the sun’s left a twisted mess of vigor-less dreams and wishes faintly seen.

I’d lay down and cry if I saw any meaning to anything, but UV bleaches my guts and everything.

By now you would’ve realized, the sort of world, cruel and curious, we seek to sow.

But how can anyone walk around stating what they know?

And the pain seeps cold at night.
Aspirations, lies I hold tight.
Maybe not tonight.

Days bleed by, numb and opaque it heeds and blinds.

The pain seeps cold at night.
Aspirations, dreams I hold tight.
Not tonight.
Not tonight.

I’m triple smoked.
Inundated in a cloud.
Guda, salmon, and a cigarette.
Lay me down. Come be with me.
Something simple. I need warm skin, nothing put in.
It’s slow now. Even with death in my lips, lungs, and mouth. Violation at my fingertips, comfort at your hips.
This cuddle in mist, as sand slips from ancestral vas. Can’t be more tonic. Not even a clean breath from my stacked haze does compare.
Your presence is softer than a compliment, warmer than a gaze fair.
Your hair on my chest or my head on your breast seal a lair.
We swap the feeding hand.
Weakness is a virtue. A face unmasked in rare.
Among a stage smooth, soft skin, slick like ice, warm like loath.
Sticky with sweat, and with a low foggy stench that creeps in your nose. A familiar one, an intimate one.
A vapor that flames when you care.
This addictive fetor to foe.
Of nicotine, sweat, and lewdness.
Is a muse to you and I.
That cigarette set the mood, and you set me in.

I’m nothing coming through.
A ******, a let down.
I’m a plan turned mistake.
I slipped out into a world to be forgotten in it.
Cold, slimy, smelly, and stupid.

I’m the putty they use to fill the gaps of history.
The time between now and when.
A time where something, anything happens.
Walk on me, I’m here to move you on.

It feels as though we’re nearing the end.
Centuries before, fate was branded.
In its burned flesh we made our mark.
It’s come time to slaughter.
But we’ll be the squealers.

I’m coming through into nothing.
A mother abused by her young.
******* dry and sagged from their greed.
Fat, weak, and stupid now from gluttony.
Next winter will bring their snuffing.

So pull me out.
This pink portal.
Into somewhere I belong.
The nowhere we are right now.
The nothing we’re going to be.

This.
Stimuli.
It depletes me.
Turn, turn around.
And complete me.

I, lost all control.
And this sense of lament is visceral.
I bleed, from the outside.
Numb death, turning, becoming inside.

I.
Just need one thing.
A child’s toy, nostalgic and stuffed.
A somnambulant hymn.
To remove me.
Disassociate, please.

Your hand is soft.
Placed places that comfort.
I miss your scent, that congeals.
I wish I didn’t have to feel nothing.
Emptiness is so guttural and potent.

I can’t help but see.
Everything slip by.

This time please don’t feel sad.
I’ve tried to fade away.
Stretch thin to reach me.
Gone un-scratched for an eon.
As a breath on a death bed.
Can’t be savored for too long.

It’d feel nice to know who I am.
I’m pressed to find a way.
Dressed in his slime and his slop.
It’d feel good to know who I’m not.
Bottle up and conceal.

It’s all moved away this time.
I can feel.
No Fawkes whisper to reveal.
It’s all been changed.
But for me.
I feel the same.

I’m broken and poured.
All vivid, but defamed.
The color I had in my fingers.
Is distant on a tether.
I just coil it back in.
Before I grow numb in taste.

The Spoon

I’m a spoon.
I turn concoctions
I poor innocence into a caldron of imbibe, *******, and violence.
I’m rusted from acidic negligence.
I burn the hand that Weals me.

When I make her bleed, truth crunches between my mandibles.
It’s cruel and scrumptious. I drool over its potential.
But the sheets don’t touch father sun before I leave.
She cries alone.
I cry alone.

I scoop the unknowing up. I throw them into a world of trouble and confusion.
My tongue passes my name, vowels never remembered.
My lips **** hope and maintain an emotional facade.

I like to push it in.
It hurts and I feel nothing.
But I move on.

Jesus Christ.
I blame it on my personality
ENTP
funny, but romantically inept in using it
Smart, but overbearing
Curious, but boundless in exploration
All of these are virtues I have but cannot manipulate.
It haunts me. I hate myself.

Reality
Hurts
Introspection invites pain
Introspection invites healing

I am a gutless fool.
I wallow in excuses.
“I never have the opportunity to talk to her”
Make them.
“I’m not good enough for her”
She stares at you in class.

I love that feeling.
Whenever our eyes meet.
My heart drops. And so does my stomach.
It feels like the floor beneath me.
For that split second. Falls away. It scares me.
Inviting us both into our own world of benevolence.
A flash I wish could be eternity.
Then our gazes dash away just as quickly as they collided.
“Did she notice?”
“Did he notice?”

We “flirted” a lot in 7th grade.
Then we’re separated by schedule.

Didn’t matter.
My pea sized mind...
It couldn’t fathom or even comprehend love.
I didn’t know what I wanted.
I hope you still might want me.

English assignment: write a soliloquy about a personal decision.
I write one about my in complacence and unsureness of sharing my opinion.
You write one about dying your hair blue.
Through your short work you’re funny and shy.

Oh my ******* god. I adore you to death.

At the end you show a stick figure drawing of you next to a college with blue hair.
Labeled: me in college with blue hair.
******* goofy.
I absolutely love it.

If you had blue hair I wouldn’t care.
You’d still be jaw dropping.
Though it would match your eyes.
You have the most gorgeous blue eyes in the entire world.
I literally could get lost in them forever.
They’re so...
Deep.
Deep like I try to make my poems.
cough
cough

Anyway.

Anything I create though could not be as exquisite.
An ecstasy one could die from.

I feel so creepy reflecting on your looks without you knowing. Like I’m stalking you in my mind?

I haven’t flirted since that math class we shared.
I’m afraid I’m rusty. Dilapidated.
I would say something that would push you away.

Or.

I tap your shoulder.
Be hypnotized by your eyes and stand there.
Mute.

Oh...

And the sweat.
My palms would be moister than an oyster.
I’d be beet red.
My voice would quiver.
And boom. It’s awkward for both of us.

Awkward can be nice. Just.
At appropriate times.

I’m so weak.
I have no map to a reservoir of strength.
I have no courage to confront you.
I desperately want it.
I need assistance in acquiring it.

Funny.
I’m a curious guy.
Always looking for adventure in books etc.
But I’m haunted by adventuring toward you.
I see a treacherous path that with one mistake.
I die.

If I make no mistakes.
I win a prize I see myself as undeserving of.

So excuses I make.
And withering inside I drool over you.

We both never talk to the other ***.
I want to talk to you.
And I think you might want to talk to me.
But I block our mingling through fear I cannot control even if it might benefit us both.

I need help.
I’m afraid of getting help.
Then I’d try something and mess up.

Oh my god. Help me.

The one who’s behind you is the one you love.
Something else calls you’re name, tickles your ear.
But what happened to the intuition of what was and is so true?
Ticks on your shoulders, did they wait for you?
Left you in corruption, an unsound view.

The trade is so strong, kills your brawn but what can you do? The pain never ends, when no one wins, you can only die in this life. The paper god on your tongue melts you into glue.

It’s agonizing as you bind the world.
Nothing splits you but your pulled by all.
Reality stretches your skin, your mind loses sight and you’re paranoid. It will never end.

And it never ends
And it never ends
And it never ends

A woman evolves from the colors on the wall.
Strange and hairy, lament grows as her fur.
Scintillating messages of life and death they call.
Who am I, and who are you?
I’m speaking in tenses contradictory to a single point of view.
I can hear her scream, as she shaves her pits.
So beautiful it serenades my mind and scars my eyes.

I’ll never have her, and she dissolves into the bars of this cell again. I’m coming down or I’m blasting off, so hard to tell when god digests so well. Release my mind. It will never end.

And it never ends
And it never ends
And it never ends

Pierced skin, stained skin, ripped skin, all over her.
She’s broken and odd, but so close to me, I can’t help but connect.
The cover of her book is blank and new.
Pages are torn and ******, nothing to awe but still novel inside.

It drains me as it’s end never finds an end.
I can’t belong here when I’m rinsed of life and I dry as glue.
Bound and confound I can’t decide what voice to choose.
You’re on the right and I’m on the left, in the middle is me and we are you.
The nurse draws a bath and I am rinsed.
Drooling in comatose they wipe your lip.
Who new god had a price and came in a sheet.
That little square is the key to become like me.
So free from what’s contrived when you can’t decide the difference in truth.

The days go by and the years turn to seconds.
The nurse whispers in our ear, your mother is here and we start to cry. She holds our hand.
And it ends.

And it ends
And it ends

It ends.

The pillow’s creased, and coffee cold.
Drops on the window, you seek console.
I’m not there to comfort, or elucidate.
We share a glance, although you may not know.

All the time you were beside me.
Continues to tomorrow and today.
Dissolution and irreverence cloud you.
But I beckon for a light to shine.
Just know I miss you.
You’re never absent in my mind.

Dig yourself a hole, pitiful and abysmal.
I can’t see you when you hide behind my sepulchral existence.
I pine to see you alive once again.
Life seems equivocal and anachronistic.
Anger swoons.
Please don’t tumble into rash being.
I cannot stand to see you apathetic, not tending to your wounds.

Someday you’ll find me.
My eyes in another.
Please let me hold you.
I’ve come so far to be here to solace.
Don’t question my new frame or figure.
Just accept the love I trudged with vigor.

Call me what you will.
I know what I am.
She says I’m cute,
while she builds with sand.

Red haired angel I’ll never smell.
Intimate relation to be withheld.

On her knees but not low,
Her hands cup that beige snow.
If I could spill my insides out,
I could paint it all red and yellow.

She deals in truth,
And sells lies.
But she did want me
Between her thighs.

Oh what a pleasure to pleasure.
I’d give anything to set her beauty off.
If only things were different,
Without this novel cough.

Might happen, I’m stupid.
What buffoon could swoon in.
She’s perched a top.
Between dragons breath and stairs.

To wish it was a fool.
To believe it was a fool.

I have more of any noun than sense.

I’m sick of watching them squirm on the floor.
But it never ends, I always want more.
Once the feeling seeds,
it’s put on the list of needs.

Is it shameful?
Or is it natural?
I have a needle I can’t get rid of.
It refills itself after each use for free.

It’s plunger is pulled back so easily.
Anything over the course of the day.
Can fill it’s tube with lives.

Can’t help but push it forward.
Release.

It ends not so clean,
Because I am ****** Machine.

The time numbs. I want it raw like it was.
Like ******* and ******.
Something powerful and honest.

I let lies continue.
Fantasies I tease myself with.
I never follow these potential trails.
I’m terrified of not having blissful reverie.
Closure haunts me. I’m scared of definition.

I live in a time that never ends.
I breath the exhaust we know but cannot see.
The world spins upon my shoulders, I pass it on without using my hands.
People die, it’s distant.
Life doesn’t mean much.

I live here in a puddle.
I love all the potential I have to waste.
I don’t know what I would slobber on without it.

I want something raw.
Something abrasive, without some sort of superficial veil.
If I brush back another thin facade just to uncover a clearer image of *******.
I’ll slump the world with my bear hands, and whatever blunt object is abreast.
The ensuing postlude or coattail if you will, is gruesome and redefines the word genocide.

Life passes by because it’s not cut with iron anymore. It’s chiseled away with fantastic stone and underlying hopeful chimes of music. A method to which leaves reality unclear, and insipid. Quite literally dull and un-vitriolic.

The time jingoes tore babies from teats, bounced sore bosoms, and buried John Doe’s in mass graves beside schools. Is long gone.

I live in a butterfly massacre.

Within this constriction
We define perfection

Perfection is subjection
Subjective is perfection

Dangerous is the definition
Disheartening is the caused segregation

Segregation then leads to dehumanization
Dehumanization brings a solution

A final solution

All from the definition
Of perfection
Of attraction

How beauty is the chaperon
For destruction

Is a cyclic maceration
Of the human condition

How repugnant and inane

Future and past is inundated by a dismal shroud

To be perfect is to accept those who possess your idea of imperfection

Stay open minded, avoid apathy, seek the uncomfortable

Let’s break the cycle

I’ve never actually been with another.

I have a close friend.

But I yearn for intimacy with a female.

Within extended pauses.

This lingering feeling.

Rises from its hole.

And finds me up through the undertow.

Bewildering me with a chasm of alienation.

And shrouding me in its dismal light.

I let myself foolishly steep in it.

Until I am saturated with my own self pity.

As pity rots away it turns to anger.

And I decay into a more disgusting person.

One who self loathes. The root of my problem.

How can one love if they don’t love themself.

Stagnant and thinking

Confused and blinking

Age draws on

Yet still a pawn

Standard and simple

Dull and wimple

Wrapped in indifference

Trapped warm desire

In need of deliverance

If I come un-strewn

May I be blessed in womb

Re-birthed and open

More accepting and woken

New insight could dislodge this anchor

Only I can treat my own lamer

Once in motion

Loneliness is in emaciation

Finding friends in exploration

Finding one for intimacy

Not based on elegancy

Venerate character

Each must love the other entire

Both exchanging devotion and tenderness

Only full of equality, truth, and openness

Nurture platonic love, beautiful and scarce

Defend it like a dove, only vicious and fierce

I am a bee
I’m flying around and can see

No one is searching for a mirrored perspective
Just buzzing like me, serving themselves busy like a bee.

Might as well just call them all id. Destructive.
No human in them to dehumanize. Just like me, cause I’m a bee.

They’re so abysmal, they **** the life from their surroundings. They become black holes, and **** me out of flight.

We’ve murdered platonic love in its housing.
We strive for coitus killing joyous. Sadly platonic love is too intense to fight.

Within this darkness they’ve absorbed me in, we rot together as equals as it should be. If only we could all help each other be in lightness.

Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. Drop acid. Bzzzzzzzzzz. **** each other. Bzzzzzzzzz. Care for no one. Bzzzzzzzzzz. Seek self fulfillment.

All of us buzzing. Uninterested in love, just *******.

We cannot advance leaving our siblings behind. We either grow and love together, or we rot in turgid avarice, apathy, and unsound complacence.

Halted and tainted.

Discoloration,

Derived from isolation.

Shameful resent, and painful lament, birth exploration of the intimate.


So...

Desperate to drown out the desolate.

Ethereal vitality, lonely and vestal.

Accept all without stall.


Vulnerable and platonic.

In need of deep loving clasp.

An invite to settle my weariness upon thy shoulder.

Someone to open my neck toward without smolder.


The moon reflects upon me.

Truth is intimacy.

If overpassed, you’re in infancy.

Simple and faded, adorable, but deplorable.

Let’s inundate our emptiness together.

Feel me

Branch out

You live

Apathetically

You’re a charlatan

Who dwells

One sidedly

Dark sidedly

Think you spew vitriolic criticism

Just abysmal blabber

You’re like an infant without wonder

You’re a void for joyousness

You’re incontinent of your blabber

Of your verbal feces

And vile thoughts

Read the room

We’re sick of your ****

The only depth you have

Is how low you make everyone

You’re so dismal

Break free

From your own restraints

And you can scintillate

Beauty can always root

Where horridness once dwelled

Spill your sickening contradictions.
Try to snow those you perceive as weak.
Distract us with your predictions.

Hide crucial evidence for “sterilization”.
To numb the populous and make them weep.
Spill your sickening contradictions.

Preach what you don’t practice, it’s just operations.
Invoke decree, and let it steep.
Distract us with your predictions.

The poor are there for your oppression.
Smile and wave, lock evil in your keep.
Spill your sickening contradictions.

You “speak for the weak”. What fiction!
We’ve been snowed by those who steep.
Distract us with your predictions.

You repugnant charlatans.
Snow is with your projections.
Spill your sickening contradictions.
Distract is with your predictions.

Numb, dead skin
Dumb, head in

Isolation withers you
Insecurity is idiotic

Find, yourself
Hiding, from health

Social interaction
Will give you traction

Swim, into
Dig, you fool

The undertow drowns you
Reincarnation awaits you

Lose, your shell
Binding, you in hell

Venture out of vacuum
And without presume

Shyness is repulsive

Enlightenment, awaits you
Selfless, and too true

Adhere, to the collective
Powerful, and perspective

Connect with others
Help without stutters

Samsara, is a chance
Not, a trance

So help each other
Venerate and gather

Moon, sits waiting
Her, confidant scintillating

She’ll tell her secrets
Without regrets

Only, if we conquer the three poisons
Tonic, clean, and pleasant, like soissons

Ohhhh you can lead a frown.
But don’t expect your crown.
For we’re not easily snowed.
Cause we know you’re  known.
Tough, you can pick a fight. Ha.
Weak, you are insecure.
We. Know. Who you are.

Please, be back soon.
Honesty. Awaits you.
Generous, we like to be.
So gracious, we should see.
You Lie, behind your back. Foolish.
We. Know. Who you are.

Ohhhh, you can lead a sin.
But all equal, and forgiven’
Seek, halfheartedly.
You’ll only exist, and die existentially.
For we know you’re known.
Feel, free to be.
Reality, you can’t see.
We. Know. Who you are.

Embrace, humanities.
Disgrace in your humanity.
But who are we to judge you?
And to say what we say is true?
Leave in distaste, find a new pace.
For who are we to strike you down?
You do that to yourself anyway.

Through my own tyrannical enforcement
I spew insipid scripted statements
I do not support nor enjoy.
Afraid to be aberrant
Oppressed I am pushed to lecture repugnant contradictions against my own disposition.
Turgid loathing of the fear of dropping the expected facade
Supported by ego and enforced by group-think to mold a homogenous majority.
I hate self pity.
Here marinating in my own self indulgent sorrow.
I am a hypocrite.
Another one of my enemies.
But weakened by forcing myself to state the opposite of what I value,
I open myself to further self destruction.
Through this introspection I might be able to reclaim my social autonomy.
Possibly at the cost of diminution of social impression.
That is held at such divine standards today.
I might become a social martyr.
But at least I’d die complete and confident in my own voice.
It would open me to ridicule.
But I’d rather understand myself and be subjected to hate than to live objectively in a self confined contrived reality.

I love it.
But grow trees to adumbrate it’s anima.

To force a mascaraed upon its glow.
Tarp my elation for it.
It’s guttural.
I feel my definition eave when I do it.

Alien cliques called societal norms.
Make such a scintillating activity, abnormal.
I hurt no one through such a cosmetic lust.
Fabric is not a great medium for harm.

I cringe at such struggles.
For gender roles and such.
One shouldn’t care of what other think.
God knows I’m a hypocrite to state that.

I want to share my “taboo” with someone dear.

I need to.

Anyone who struggles with personal enjoyment.
Doing things that are no harm to others, but are considered deviant.
I would love to leave you with a quote.

“I am human, nothing human is alien to me.”

Where whatever clothes you want to.
Love whoever you want to with their consent.

LEFT TO RIGHT       TOP TO BOTTOM
I.             Feel.            Sorrow.       And       Blame.

Live       Mundane,       Die           Insane.

Dumb    Head            To(o)          Lame   Truly.    ­              

And,      Too               Swelling.     I’m      Useless

Dull!       Insane.        Hollow:       My       Brain.
                                              
                                                       Blame.