These fools
writing hard
oh you're one

skint by days
inexpensive
brandless

wishing to be
victrola
just known

as a song
playing
on us

fat
fleshy
instruments

un-played
and
soundless

oh god i just want to say
****  you

i just want to scream
*******

i carve my hate
*******

you think
you don't

deserve this
you do

*******
and

---------------------------

it's simple
this existence

that sings
if you let it

you don't
let it

That would
down vote
an up vote

negate
and
position

and you
smile
down upon

the victims
of your
imposition

talent-less
fools
i name you

that fashion
yourselves
"right"

its a
chicken
of an opinion

accompanied
by a self-satisfied smirk
of a ****

I'd like to tear you up
no
I'd like to butcher you

Carve your opinions
on
your face

so that you feel
your
farce

Good
you think you know
good

you know
only
fear

your dog
bites
everyone

and feels
bitten
inside

I have a different vision
of life
now

That's what's perfect
about
now

i don't have
to win
now

this is
foreign
land

drink
this
elixir

that kills
yesterday
and tomorrow

imaginary
things
beyond now

outside of
real
distract

to where
i no longer
live

I'm crushing the notion
of superposition
into whine

Of days hanging
on a clothesline
fluttering

in some breeze
carrying the scent
of high

its the
explanation
of the day

thank gods
and universes
for scents

flattened
minutes
haunting me

like the feared
forgetfulness
look away

look away
simply
look away

I create these
things of beauty
to me

That you
dance
about

with scissors
running
at

stop i'm not
a poem
yet

and you're
not
even real.