One cannot underestimate the importance of conviction.

This is a creed to which I always have found truth,
it guides me along my chosen path, quite nicely.
Why is it so true, you may ask? The answer is simple.
Conviction is the salesman of deception.

When you have conviction in the words you say,
the majority of people will believe your every way.
You can sell steaks to vegetarians, milk to vegans,
welfare to conservatives, and to conservationists, fracking.

More often than not, people do not, in truth, care
about things like honesty and nobility, and other 'tys.
They desire the things they want to hear, the comfort
of a beautiful, loving lie whispered in their ear.

If you would, perchance, inquire an example,
consider a family I met on a trip in Iowa.
Through simple conviction of my words,
I convinced them I needed a brain transplant.

Little did their feeble minds make the connection,
a transplant of sorts did indeed occur then.
But not from brain to brain was this operation,
it was from their weighty wallet to mine.

Believe you me, conviction is the key to all.
So, if you wish to make the skies rain for you
practice your speech, bellow your voice,
gesticulate your motions, mind your expressions.

This last tip, of this is most import, is to believe.
Believe in the words you know to be false,
as if they were the last words your mother ever said,
and the common, simple man will you make believe.

Now, you perhaps may be questioning my creed,
whether or not it is truly 'right' to make pockets bleed.
Dispose your silly questions of morality petty,
but if it comforts your bleeding heart, then consider this.

As I said, people do not want to hear the truth.
It is a poison to the ears, and a toxin to the heart,
it can pain one ceaselessly with grief ever pouring
like some sort of grim faucet of running tears.

The truth stings worst, and people like ourselves,
we are the doctors of deceptions who prescribe
placebos that comfort and heal those emotional wounds.
Like a comforting static, we tell them what they want to hear.

Luckily for men such as myself, the line between telling
and selling is thinner than ice. All it takes is some
faint hint of manipulation, along with a good dose
of conviction, and the mark is had, the sale is made.

So when you find yourself feeling somehow guilty,
just remember that what we provide is a noble service.
And if you, still, feel the pangs of shame stabbing you,
just stop and check your pocket stabbing you with wealth.

There is but one warning I would be most remiss,
if I were to not dispense, and you're the fool, if you miss.
There exists a certain breed of people who will see
through your pretty words and sweet deception.

They are the minority of those who seek Truth,
that fleeting fool, and will try to debunk you through.
When placed as equals, Truth will always defeat Lie,
but this, do not fear, for we possess a certain weapon.

We possess a strength in numbers, that mob mentality.
If a job well you've done, then you should have a flock
to fight their logic with loudness, to strike their honesty with hate,
to stab their reason with rakes, to slice their knowing with noise.

If all goes according to the stated plan of attack,
then you should not have to fight or argue at all,
to dismiss those pesky gnats of truth who would
try and illumine our vile fraudulence clear.

And so, we are free to continue leading and deceiving,
the very ones who for us they fight at our side.
It is an agreeable arrangement we have found,
and one that you will soon enough warm up to.

I know this will be a phrase I have repeated,
but it is a most mighty maxim that bears to be said.
Never underestimate the importance of conviction,
when you seeks to practice the art of deception.

Ever since I was young,
I dreamed a prince would come,
and take me away from my life
of boredom and weariness.

I always wanted someone perfect,
someone on a white steed, and a
kind heart who'd love me forever.
Yet, I never knew what forever was,
nor did I know what love really was.

And so I always found myself,
in a state of perpetual longing.

I thought it was the end of a novel,
the closing of every drama and play,
it wasn't a thing that you felt or were,
it was instead an event that happened
when you somehow earned it.

Now that I have grown and grown,
I find it impossible to find that goal.
No one I meet fits my bill.
Not handsome enough, not
strong enough, not gallant enough.

Not perfect enough for me.
They all have awful flaws,
not like the books I read at all.
They complain, they burp, they fight,
and not alone for my love.

It's so strange, and so bizarre.
I can't connect with anyone
who I know will take away me
from my dreadful life into a
world of pure imagination.

And so I find myself again
in a state of listlessly wanting.

Is it something wrong with me,
am I not pretty enough to win love?
The fair maidens in those books I've read,
and those films I've cried over are always
so lovely and well-dressed, from toe to head.

It just doesn't seem fair
that I should be so lost and lonely.
I want love too, and don't I deserve it?
I think and I ponder, and I think and I wonder,
and yet cannot come to one true answer.

And so I find myself again
in a state of restlessly pondering.

Would I know what to do with love,
if I did earn it somehow? I've
never had a lover all my own.
As far as I have read and studied,
all they do is kiss and declare their passion.

It certainly sounds nice, I admit,
but what comes after that, I wonder,
well, they get married, I assume,
but what comes next then, I ponder.
What would I do also comes to mind.

Perhaps that is the problem then.
Because it seems so easier to wait
and think about what could be,
and what would be to have love,
rather than going out and actually
finding someone you can truly love.

For so long, I have fantasized, and
let my mind fall into flights of fancy,
of horses and knights, and white
picket fences and all manner of whimsy
Without deciding what I truly wanted,
and who I truly wanted for me.

Actually meeting a person I could love
was too hard and too fraught with fright,
so I found reasons to hide behind lies,
and set my standards impossibly high,
so no person would ever make me happy,
and I would never have to try hard
and risk the fear of falling apart.

I put the very thought of falling
in love onto some holy pedestal,
let it fester as some high ideal,
without ever stopping to consider,
what love in of itself actually means.

As I continue to speculate,
I realize I don't know that answer.
But now that I do know what
was preventing me from climbing
that summit before, I can now
go and find out for myself, and myself alone
the answer to that one immutable truth.

No more will I find myself
in a state of perpetual longing.

I am becoming something more,
something better than I was before.
I am ascending above, to a place
few have ever happened to reach.

The me that once you knew
is no longer the me that is
here now. He is here to stay
forever, and ever, and evermore.

I had to **** the coward I used to be,
so that I could ascend and become
the man you see before you now.
Had to rip that ******* in two.

You may want to turn and run,
since you fear what you can't understand,
but my words are true when I tell you
that the me that I am now is the best me.

The me of days past was fraught with fear,
and let the world at large push him around,
This brand new, shiny me that you now see
is a person who's not afraid to proudly be.

Now I am loud, and I am proud,
not afraid to push back when pushed,
not afraid to yell and scream at those
who dare to stand in my way

You can call me scary and scream,
you can call me strange and walk away,
but realize that this me is something higher,
a being that has found the means to ascension.

I find myself rotting away,
into something different,
something stranger still,
something worse than,
what I once was.
I am descending into
a deep, dark depth,
and I don't know,
if I can find my way
back to the surface,
or if I even want to.

these demons they haunting me,
they ******* won't stop bugging me,
they screaming in my ear, 'do it now'.
won't leave me alone, won't leave me alone,
why won't everyone just leave me the **** alone?

****, what am I saying? Am I ******* stupid?
I don't wanna be alone, this loneliness drives me mad,
but I push them away, pushing people away,
cause why? Cause I'm angry, cause I'm mad?
What the **** does it matter, why do I care?
Why am I this way, so weird and insecure?
When I look in that mirror, and I see that
face looking back at me, I just want to *******
grab it and slit its ******* throat.
Why am I so ugly? I don't ******* know.

these demons they haunting me,
they keep on stalking me, day and night,
they keep on leading me astray, oh,
won't I ever find my way back to where I was.
They won't let me alone, can't you feel my plight?
why do they do these things to me, why won't
they just leave me alone?

Demons, are they real, the **** should I know?
they may just be something sick like my head,
something dark and twisted brought to life,
by these worries and these fears that I made up my mind.
whether they be real or just ******* fake,
I know they make me wanna curl up and die.

these demons they haunting me,
in my dreams, they stopping me,
won't let me be, won't leave me alone,
won't let me be the person I know I can be,
won't let me be free to be what I know I can be.

And when I set my mind to racing,
I can feel my arteries thumping, and my heart pacing.
I'm gonna need a ******* pacemaker, at this rate,
cause all these fears and these worries going to build,
and one of these days, I'm gonna ******* blow,
all over everything and everyone, and y'all
be left to pick up the pieces of my broken soul.

these demons they haunting me,
I can hear those ******* laughing now,
at me and my self-conscious bull-****,
knowing that all this is just another ego-stroke
as I feel sorry for myself and wait to be comforted
by those people that want to call me their friends,
but really, I just seem them as means to ends.

Call me corrupt, or just call me a ****,
but I know that machiavellian ****,
my means are always justified by my ends,
know that I'm always right, even when I know
that I'm wrong, I keep on fighting like it's a war,
and I'm the ******* 5-star general,
that earth-rattling, world shaker who
the universe rightly revolves around
I ain't no Prince, I'm the ******* King!

these demons they haunting me,
they egging me on, telling me I'm right,
even when I'm wronger than wrong.
I know it's wrong, but it feels so good,
and I can't find it in me to argue
when the promise of righteousness feels so good.

And so I keep on playing the game,
arguing and fighting over petty ****,
desperate to prove my point like it matters,
feeling that high when I prove someone wrong,
it fills me, it thrills me, it's like a spine-chiller.
It's a ******* drug and you, the dealer,
but the way I'm feeling, like a high-wheeler.
I won't complain or say things should be different.

these demons they haunting me,
I can hear their ***** singing along,
I can hear their voices ringing real soft,
it sounds so sweet, but I got this feeling
deep down that maybe it ain't as good
as it sounds and there's something deeper lurking.

All it takes is one word alone, and I'm
shattered like broken glass, like I just got
put out on my fat ***. Cause I know I'm
fat and ******* ugly, you don't got to remind me,
mirror, I'd rather hide the truth.
And just like that the circle is running again,
like it's done time and time again.
A cycle of loathing, then a cycle of loving,
then a cycle of loathing, a cycle of loving.

these demons they haunting me,
not even caring that I'm onto them,
and those games they play, they just
keep on grinning, keep on sinning,
these jackals, they wanna bleed me dry,
they wanna consume, wanna swallow my soul,
like an anaconda, they wanna swallow me whole
why won't they just leave me alone,
so I can find some kind of inner peace?

Instead I just keep on rolling on that
hill like I was Sisyphus, and my ego's
the boulder, and every time I push it up,
I know it's gonna come down even stronger
It's like I gotta just deal with the fact
that when I'm happy, the sadness'll
strike about 10 times harder than it ought to,
like it was giving me a special '*******'.

these demons they haunting me,
I think they ******* hate me, but
who can really blame them? I hate
me too, and the ******* I can be,
the ******* I can be, the ***** I can be
when I let my jealousy get the best of me,
treating my friends like they out to get me,
Sometimes when I think back on how I act,
I just want to kick my own *** just to teach
me a lesson.

I try to be good, and decent, and think good,
and think decent, but I can't find it in me
to feel that heart beat-beating for me,
I just look in the mirror and I hate what I see,
I hate what's there, and knowing I'm stuck where I am.
Why I gotta be me? Why can't I be you, or someone
new or someone better? Or just a person who I know
is better than me? Smarter than me, nicer than me?
Kinder than me, prettier than me?
Why I gotta be stuck in this ugly *** ******* shell?

these demons they haunting me,
they taunting me like *******,
I don't know if it's in my head,
my mind playing those tricks on me,
or if they're really there to steal my soul,
but I know they keep tripping me either way,
I think I hate them more than I hate me,
and that's something to be said since I despise me.
They test me, they trick me, they want to end me,
and all I want is for them to get off my throne.
My throne of **** and wallowed pride, that's all mine,
for better or worse, I still want to claim it as mine.
Everyone keeps on testing me lately, human contact,
and I just want to be left the **** alone.
Can't everyone just leave me the **** alone?

Demons, who the hell am I kidding?
Satan himself knows I'm full of ****,
I'm just using them as an excuse to justify,
the kind of guy I am deep down, and to victimize
myself so I can throw out a line for sympathy,
and get that ego-stroke needed to get back in line,
and start that same wicked cycle back again,
hell, that's what all this is, just another me whining,
and complaining before I get high on me again,
at least that's what I say to myself to feel like I win

A question, a query for you,
and a word for every writer
who ever penned a poem or
who wrote a rhyme, if you'll
permit me the time to ask.

Why do you write?

What compels you to put
pen to paper, put pencil
to parcel in such a way?
What drives you to do
these things or to
write these words that
may never be read?

It's a query, a quandary
that'll get a hundred
answers depending on
who you choose to ask,
but certain themes
will show their faces.

Whether it's to outpour pain,
or to try and bring joy,
a kind of temporary glee,
to someone who might need it,
or just as a way to tell
a story of the heart or mind,
you'll find a connecting bind.

People who write want to invoke.
They want to invoke emotions,
or invoke thoughts in minds,
or invoke inspiration in souls,
or invoke true love in heart.
The goal is to invoke, and
to connect with the words one writes.
It's an impulse universal,
a goal of us creatures social.

I know that would be my answer,
if I asked myself the same.
If just one word out of one poem
out of the hundreds to be written
could connect to just one person
in the entire world and inspire
them to write something greater
than I could ever hope to conspire,
then I'd know that I had made it,
and that I could retire and die young,
cause through the words I wrote,
I'd possess a life eternal.

For to write is to invoke is to connect is to inspire is to live,
is to be human.

Living with these demons in me,
these monsters keep on haunting me,
they go by many names, and wear
many faces as they try and test me.
They want to try and get the best
of me, they competing for my soul,
like it were a game of chess,
but this one ghoul, he just
likes to rage and roar and
ravage and rake me across the coals,
and he calls himself the Rage.

In my dreams, I seen him barking,
something like a man, but something
more still. He's tall as hell,
skin red like the raging fire,
eyes burning with rageful desire.
The fiend, he emanates heat from
every pore, just being around him
was like walking in an oven.

In this dream or maybe a vision,
I watched him for a while, before
he spotted me. He stood still like
a stone statue, not making a sound
or moving a muscle, but I could feel.
I could feel and sense that anger boiling,
like a dormant volcano rumbling, or
a teapot steaming about to blow over.

As far as I could tell, nothing had
made him angry, hell, he was just
standing there like a *****.
Just looking at him was making me
angry too. Something in his face,
the way of his gait, or something.
I couldn't begin to explain it,
but trust me, when I say I wanted
to give him something to be mad about.

I guess the anger got the best of me,
cause without even thinking, I just did,
my muscles clenched, and my teeth did grind,
and that was all that he needed to spot me.
Quicker than a neck snap, his head turned
back as he finally saw me staring him down.

For a minute, he just looked at me
and I looked back at him, both of
us with an expression that colored us red.

Then. He screamed.

He screamed an awful, abominable scream
that rang in my ears and made me recoil,
holding my head in my hands, something
so ugly uttered out of his mouth.
I could hardly look or hear or even think
straight anymore, but I barely saw the
Rage coming for me, running wildly.

Something was keeping my feet grounded,
like some kind of mental quicksand,
I couldn't run or fight or defend,
all I could was scream from within.
I screamed, as he was screaming, and
then something hit me right as he was
about to.

I woke up screaming, but soon stopped.
My skin was sweating, but not in cold ones,
just hot and grimy and smelly, like
I had just ran a marathon or something.
It didn't make no sense, I had just
been sleeping in my bed, but then.

I realized it. The Rage lived within
me. He was me, just another me that
made the me up that you all see.
Every flash of anger, every urge to hurt
every time I wanted to choke or punch
or kick or slap or yell or scream
someone or something, that was The Rage.
Even those days when I could hardly feel
a thing, that demon was still deep in me,
dormant yet dooming and downing me still.

I didn't sleep for the rest of the night.