Have you the gall to do it?
Have you the gall to end it?

You don't, you coward,
you wretch. You never had,
you never will. And if you wanna
prove me wrong, then just do it.

Make my day.

I am the Original,
the First One,
the Beginning,
and if I must, I
will be the End.

Long ago, in a sandy desert,
of time-past, I was born,
to a people that did
not want nor need me.
I was shunned for
what I could not control.
What was inherent in me.

I would have died
sickly and alone
were it not for that
man. That man who
took me in and told me
of the way of the world.

That strength and power
are what guide this earth.
The weak will die, as they should,
while the strong will thrive.
Survival of the Fittest
is the truth of the world.

I learned this most bluntly,
when a stronger tyrant, out of time,
came and slaughtered my
people for he knew what
I would one day become.

Looking back, I can only laugh,
for in his fear and panic,
his needless violence awoke
my true, peerless potential.

Yet, I was not complete
until I felt the sting of heart-ache.
It is as they say. Pressure
turns coals into diamonds,
and I was the finest of them all.

In my pain and fury,
I made that conqueror flee.
I became the new conqueror,
because I was stronger, and
the strongest will always thrive.

I lived for many centuries,
proving my power and
doing as I pleased. I was a God
to many, and to **** out the weak,
I pulled their strings and
and made them maim and ******.

But over the years eternal,
I came to see a truth.
My kind were inherently
stronger than mere humans.
My kind was the fittest,
and therefore, we deserved
to not just survive, but
to rule all over it all.

So I planned a grand plan
to get rid of humans,
so that my kind could reign
supreme. I had to wait
for others like me to emerge.

Centuries I slumbered,
biding my time and
growing ever-stronger
until the day my eyes
were forced ajar.

I sensed a trembling force,
of overwhelming energy,
and stupendous power.
With a grin, I knew
it was finally time to
begin my Apocalypse.

Blow backs left right,
flowing from the up-side
sphere of my down-facing
brain.

Cluttered pages of a book-mind,
the junk of thought-pages,
with doodles on the lined edges.
and the corners dog-eared.

Peering through the eyeglass
of the head, one finds a circus
of impulses, a parade of thought-beams
bouncing and pinging off the skull-wall.

Mindless and formless shapes,
of squares and circles, and
more strange formations begin
to come to a discombobulated life.

Shaped by stray desires,
and flaming envy-fires,
and raging dream-embers,
the circus is coming to town.

The clowns paint their faces,
the elephants don their dresses,
the trapezists prepare their rope,
the ringmasters ring their voice
the typewriters begin their dance.

The Parade of Impulses has commenced,
the ringing-pinging-tinging of the bells,
the clanging-banging-jangling of the drums,
the crashing-bashing-thrashing of the cymbals.

The Kingdom of Noise, of discordant sound,
and disjointed spasms proceeds, the
cats and rats and bats stepping out of tune,
the chairs, stairs, and the mares march
to the beat of a spastic, spastic thought-drum.

Gingerbread snaps skip the sweet fandango,
while tangerines and woodwinds play
their **** tunes and the dinosaurs of dixie
tap and sway from side to side.

Paperclips and staples sing Blue Velvet,
while the idol warbles with a Golden Flute,
and the bulldog grins widely and wildly,
playing his 8-bit accordion-tambourine.

Behold the procession of business-men
and cat-women as they are swept into
the noise-sounds, and the thought-images.
What draws them in? the feeling or the fire,
the lust or the raging desire?

The beat goes on, as does the noise,
the pitch rises on, as does the fervor,
soon the soundless static stacks,
buzzing-fuzzing-wuzzing slowly louder.

The marchers march, and the players play,
the steppers step, and the band bandies,
the parade parades, and the mind
snaps.

Talking to you is
like pulling out teeth.
Root by root making me
want to punch yours out.

I need a shot of gas
just to stand your face.
'Least I could laugh at
your ridiculous remarks.

You're deeper than the ocean,
you say, but I know the score.
More shallow than the lightest
puddle is far more accurate.

Why must you be so smug?
Why can't you just be nice?
Is it so hard to be humble?
Do you gotta be such a ****?

Maybe it's just something in you,
something in that brain that
makes you have to act superior,
but you won't get any pity for me.

A bully is a bully, and that's
you to a T. You're self-absorbed,
self-loving, and just plain selfish.
A guy like you won't make it far in life.

If you don't change your evil ways,
one day someone's going to put you
in your rightful place. So maybe
try a little kindness sometime, eh?

I'm so virtuous, it's practically a sin,
I'm pure of heart, better than all men.
I make Mother Theresa look like a Kuze,
I make Martin Luther look like Adolf ******
I'm so good, I might as well be King,
make 'em bow, make 'em kiss the ring.
But that's the thing about it, man,
I'm such a saint that I don't mind.
I made the angels fall before me in envy,
'Cause they jealous a mere mortal could be so more-than
Lucy himself had to bow his holy head
'cause he knew he weren't the most-loved.
Just look at me, man, you know I got it all,
I'm handsome and smart, and tall as tall.

I make good men look like murderers,
I make murderers look even worse than,
my light shines brighter than bright,
like a light lighter than light.
I make that saint, Peter, look so bad
he be more fit to judge who goes to hell.
Virgil and Dante alike would declare
I was the one true paradiso.
From my crown to my soles,
I'm built like a grand king, and this
earth be my gilded, golden throne.
Ever humble, though, I remain,
not one to doubt where I came from.
or what made me what I be.

I got a girl for every finger on my hand,
and y'all can best believe they know who the man.
Before you say I'm lusting, though, don't judge
I'm such a lover, I can't stick to one honey.
I don't beat 'em or hurt 'em or fuss 'em,
you know I don't yell 'em or cuss' em.
But let's be real, you know I be lovin'
them honies every day of the week.
They know they can't get no better,
cause I'm the greatest man they ever met.

Now some of them haters, they tell you
I got dat gluttony weighing me down,
but the hell do they know, it's not a crime
to enjoy a nice roasted turkey, downed with wine,
then capped with the finest chilled gelato,
along with caviar and baked alaska.
I won't lie to ya, I like to stuff my face,
but you know I always do it with grace.
I use the rarest silver, the flyest china.

And then I hear 'em say, oh man,
that guy is such a miser, oh so greedy,
but they just ain't true, I give to the needy.
Why, just last week, I gave 22 cents to a ***,
but not no more, cause I don't want to hold his hand,
dudes like him gotta stand on they own two feet.
And hey, I donated 5 dollars when the teller,
at the store asked me to, and felt like a saint.
How greedy can a guy like that really be,
even if he owns three benz, four boats, and a mountain goat?
Being wealthy ain't no crime, don't let 'em tell you
otherwise.
They just jealous cause they know I'm the
greatest man they ever gonna meet.

And don't you dare say, brother, that I'm lazy,
that I'm a sloth, cause that just ain't true.
Sure, I like to sit back, and relax, and think
about all those fat stacks I make back-to-back.
So what if I like to sleep in, when you fly like me,
time bows to you, not the other way around.
And hell, I go to work on time, and pay my bills,
and do what I gotta, even if I don't like it.
I get bored, I get listless, restless,
and wonder what the point of it all is,
but really, who among us doesn't?

When I think about those haters, it makes my
**** blood boil, but I ain't wrathful, or spiteful.
No, not one bit. If you want proof consider this.
When this idiot passed me in traffic, I was so
tempted to get a barbed wire bat and brain him,
but I didn't, cause I'm on that run, pacifist.
I'm like a monk, but more peaceful, if that were
possible. I make Gandhi look like Genghis.
Even nuns look at me, and think,
"That brother is one chill dude."

When I take that time to sit and meditate,
I often think about what others got that I ain't.
Like my friend, Charles, and his shinier benz,
it's red and newer, and somehow runs better.
When I think and I think, and I sit, and I
fester, I just want it so bad, that I want
to beat him down, and take it from him, cause
he don't deserve it anyway. A car like that
belongs to a king like me, not that drooling fool.
What was I saying? Oh, yeah, I never envy or
covet other's stuff, because I know it ain't right.
Cause, like I said, I'm the greatest man that ever lived.

Some say that pride comes before a fall,
but hey, Narcissus didn't fall off a cliff.
He turned into a flower, cause he was so ****
pretty. But compared to me, he might as well be
manure. Don't go saying I'mma be falling.
Cause my feet are secure, and my earth grounded.
I'm watching for every crack in the 'walk,
for every bump in that winding road.
I ain't ever gonna fall, ever going down.
I'mma keep on rising, till I'm shoulder-to-shoulder
with the angels on high, and don't say I can't,
cause all y'all know by now who you're talking to,
The greatest man that ever lived, and will ever live.

As he runs further away from his home,
he unravels like a ball of red yarn,
with nothing but torn fabric does he roam.

As it is told in this sorrowful tome,
of the ones who forced him from his red barn,
as he runs further away from his home.

His ragged feet pummel the earthy loam,
with his shabby hat ripped and torn by thorn,
with nothing but torn fabric does he roam.

All that his soul owns is one bamboo comb,
a possession from one who he does mourn,
as he runs further away from his home.

His pained heart beats a dreary monochrome,
still paining from they who gave him much scorn,
with nothing but torn fabric does he roam.

Sighing, he retreats to the catacomb
a man whose fate he did not truly earn.
As he runs further away from his home,
with nothing but torn fabric does he roam.

Everything passes,
from kidney stones
to the worst heartache
for better or worse,
like a gift or curse,
everything passes.

So when you're down and out,
feeling like nobody's got you,
remember that it won't last,
those sweet times'll come back,
just because everything passes.

And you'll be back on the path true,
where you know you rightly belong,
like nothing had ever gone wrong,
like you were silly to even complain,
because everything passes.

Everything passes from taxes
to relaxation, from weight loss
to exhaustion, from parties to pain,
from loss to a gain, it all goes on,
and everything passes.

Even when you're feeling great,
and like you know you ought to,
life follows that great circle,
and you're bound to feel that pain,
but it's okay and you'll be on that train again,
because everything passes.

Life is a cycle of joy and anguish,
that's just the way the game is played,
The question remains, all the same,
will you let it play you, or are you
going to be the one holding them controls?

Everything passes, including all us,
but when life has made that call,
will you have savored every morsel,
like the finest dish in a five course meal?
Or will you have been someone who
let it all happen listlessly, while you
sat and worried restlessly?

One must make the most of their time here,
when they're young and thriving high,
when they can truly take things in their two hands,
so that they can say it loud, and say it proud,
when the movie theater closes for the last show,
everything passes, and from that, I made the most.