There's a stigma on this meat hook
are you baiting me?
There's no trust, it's a long-con demonstrating loyalty
wait and see,
you are the metaphor of a gun, your dangerous sexuality
at the hair-trigger of reason, you leap from reality
commitment, dedication, fate and destiny
you're someone's brother, someone's father, someone's son
insistent with your infantile ways; you martyr'd devotee
earning passage to something true is no novelty

I realize the lies behind a look
predatory stalking, watching, eyes
all you think you need is a chance to prove your worth, an opportunity
if you could just show them they are wrong, it's become such a dance and song, we could all sing along
why can't you be valued, so unappreciated, your appetite is quite the traitor of your nature, it blows the whistle you want wetted when you seek to have it sated
behind your backs they know you're swine, while you design to make a heart and mind your property,
out of body, she cannot be mine
but you must, love is long-gone, advantageous jocking, many arms with knives to backs, it can't be healthy
they start so young now, it has become a cash-cow, from seasoning each other as meat, to viewing their bodies as ways to either get lucky and/or wealthy

Acknowledge the damage that cannot be undone,
a man can be a mockery of the summary of humanity
as he prowls in heat with a scope and no aim,
only hoping to unload either in lust or anger, without shame
they alleviate their guilt, telling themselves they tried,
with the preemptive intentions from the start, no, you lied
if you think transparency in your duplicity is a quality,
and you try to justify vicious misogyny
then what can you offer, ******* and all, with your intimacy
that someone cannot get from a yapping, untrained puppy.

Absolutes, they're one way to get through life
people have been asking what is the meaning of life? What are we here for,
for as long as we've been here, since the first burnt end of a stick rubbed a figure on a rock
what's the meaning of the individual's life?
Is it to let the rock come to you, or to bring the charcoal to the rock?

Are you passing time, or is it the other way around?

We can talk all we want, pontificate until a filibuster philosopher considers it grossly verbose, but really, what's it all amount to other than keeping a record of thought

Proof that I thought, therefore I was,

Evidence of my life sentence, punctuated by what you see here, though know no word of mouth transpired in the transfer from what you see, hear?

I daydreamt a scene! Othello! A theater choir quieted a riotous audience with a sour note, a broken string struck from cello, blood dribbled down the composer's ear, a man who had never spoken to a crowd out loud, outside of the curtain of his mental symposium trampled the stagehands from the wings and took over the production, **** near, he had never allowed himself to perform, and an ice cold fist clutched his esophagus, crystals began to form, until he spoke and held a lofty ambition, thus, his voice started with a spark beneath the timbre that got it warm

"Oh! Hello! Pardon the cello, I'm no speaker of spoken word poetry, no rapper, no rhythmic artist, if I stumble and mutter, struggle to catch my breath, that's how those of you who know me, know it's me, to the rest in attendance in time you will see, I have a romantic idea of bardic magics, I love the idea that in time a rhyme can influence masses to act dramatically, you are now pyre logs for the flames of madness, this sacrifice-"

He coughed and cleared his throat, crumpling up a written note

"Was prepared with no small amount of sadness, I will see you rise and throw your chairs high overhead until they reach the ceiling, if you collapse in the coming violence, then rise up and strike yourself down once more with feeling! I will see you screaming, tears of the terrible unknowing streaming, you will glimpse through the trance of verse and cadence a forbidden energy, runic awakening, casting confusion, chaos and grave truths buried latent, witness the blind mind's havens, a pace that hastens as it doubles with valence, you have been taken by the belated, hated and unequated starving meat and ice sculpture carving, hedonistic, sadistic, pelt from the dead animals I offer at worship to my at-odds-ancient-gods, by the welts from my belt, masochistic, sick and twisted, motion sickness from head-spinning, furs I've felt, Bacchanalian Celt, kissed the devil and never got rid of the red stain, those lips stick, it was a burnt liquor and a bit quick, all nonsense or all sense gone, since all run, I sense I'm done."

Around him time rewound and the theater itself retreated from his words brick by brick back into the ground, the world itself dared not try to comprehend
nature knew a curse on the fell aura of his performance flew
as people traversed through matter perversed and minds that scattered and reversed, while ill symbols from his mouth broke the air, turning the fabric of reality into a blanket-fort to play pretend
he sat down on the stage he preserved, with one magic breath he sang his death
an offkey note, breaking a cello string across the flowing waters of time

"Nature be restored,
you have my word,
my grievous wound, I mend
with this I bow to you, Gaia
the end."

All important glimpse of mood
paperclip straightened through a cardboard filter
veiled understanding, their minds peer through
comprehend the heady attitude
every step forward, a chain rattles with weight
dragging feet, spitting curses a fight
bring it out before it's too late
ringing ears, faint legged, stumble into natural light
maggot-fleshed being, crawling on the floor
seems so quick with tongue as it cuts with gaze and word
to lock outside the interlopers, one side of the door
everything it has not dealt with it has not seen or heard
this is what you leave behind, the future is painfully bright
is this what you had in mind, passed down a blight

I sleep in an orchard on rotten eggshells,
far from the tree that I fell
a black sheep who will not let this empty nest sit well
my station overbears on my back, I bleat in agony
never letting up, I stand fast, I will not abandon you
I am a conduit for negative energy
I don't need light to see, the darkness does just as well for me too
all the shocking treachery, debauchery and base savagery
it reads as plain as a charge to me,
I let it wash over and it carries me through
when I lower these horns, count your sheep while you can
for you will see an animal bursts from this man,
when a goat leaves the herd to run over you
there will be a whole horizon of storm clouds following calmly, but I will strike like a bolt out of the blue

I am a medium who channels negative energy
and I return it to the world in an inane state,
from the frostbitten touch of a sunless place
I am a conduit for antisocial behavior, murderous rage, crusades, tirades and decades of lectures that second rate tyrant's blush to berate,
I host an oni, who meditates on carnage daily, and finds strife in others brings humor and grace, a verbal savage who kills ids with words and egos with actions, who never shows my face
I have the capacity for evil, but I make a conscious choice every time I use my voice
I am a middleman for idle-hands, I have always sought to create or isolate
if I have ever fallen off, I have never wanted to destroy,
my only love is to write now; it is one of the few things in life that gives me joy.

Phrases like embers from a bonfire besiege me, entwined in such noise
they light the way for wild and terrible mischief
such a scale burst drum skins to keep rhythm,
a cliff of imposing stature and will
conversations, mutterings and utterances, what-ifs left in the past
floating down in a swarm of amber and crimson leaves
like a great flame-tongue, to lick the world clean with unfiltered madness
so many strands of hair and one I chase over the ends of myself to collect
to hear a true remembrance and not an imagined back-and-forth
before Love was a frightening creature
set loose on back-crooked prey.

Manifest these bindings
hold these wrists
press head to table
bludgeon up a little kiss,
dredge up a hint of, a whistling hiss
photogenic with hidden bruises
covered cuts and no smile
going under, hold it down,
be back around in just a little while

Every pause for thinking
is a speedway, motorcars are racing
collisions just happen
explosions are an expectation
it's a spectacle
it's a miracle
there's two voices like percussive instruments
of destruction, concussive, getting into it
their never ending argument
a dance they perform, back and forth
ladies and gents may I present!

Me, myself, and all my imaginary friends
we have a raucous time, billowing smoke
charging through points, while others stop and turn on a dime
it's so **** loud with all the pathways, there's not much of this tree I can climb
there are so many interpretations of people in my voice, in my head, I'm not so sure if I'm-
left- behind- I can't handle the cross talk
they're falling over each other, I'm drowning myself out
twitching and flinching, memory not photographic
can't give you evidence to prove it, you're not gonna get it
I can't even read enough into life, I'm spent and lethargic
looking pale, smelling dead, shuffling around like I'm sick
I can't read into a book, the monologue of my voice interrupts the narrative
if my brain finds solace in movies and games, then I build a dam
that bursts with insects toppling over, screaming incoherent, collective regret in so many different names
I get it, there's so much, it's a collective
I can't keep myself in line, I can't even remember
some of the most important places in time

They don't know what plotting and scheming means
it's ambiguous purposefully,
this isn't even poetry,
my life goes on without me
I say I plot and scheme, when I begin work on a project
because I like the context to mesh with life somewhat vaguely
and like a razor-veil, peel the skin off reality
that I may dip a toe in its blood, to come and go from it freely
my focus isn't held by anything today
and only moments ago my heart swelled with overwhelming empathy
I loved all people greater than myself, I held them high in regards that they were made equally
now I feel so hallowed, there is no sanctuary, I have nothing to give from the heart, there is not an inner piece of me
I feel ready to collapse, weep openly, sleep until even my unconscious is empty, and then I will wander without aim, hand in hand with misery, my most loyal company, lackadaisically, make my way back from where I sent this resented, repented, pent up part of my history.

What haven't I felt in all the to do
radioactive anger, paranoid betrayal,
suicidal heartbreak, that I still writhe over you
general consensus is if given a teaspoon of faith I'll leap headfirst over heels in leave of my senses
I have seen happiness without this
this spineless need to be a codependent
it is my addiction, the root of my true affliction
to excuse myself I will blame someone else
so I built a community, with loving intentions
and looking upon my architecture, I see
happiness is a complacent echo chamber
where one is consoled and petted until their tears are dry
where one is assured and rests that way, with no resolution,
inner turmoil only needs be quieted, and the sniveling only turns to sigh
where the sparks of outrage and bitter cries for revolution
turn their heads in shame, conflict is a pursuit that upsets the status quo, oh no, and so, it is starved to die
there is peace at the cost of thinking with any form of fuel
there is sedated calm, nice and easy, no dogs bark, no fouls on the fool

Mine is a minefield mind of prolific hate that does proliferate
it seethes with time and quiet, while you wither in your comfort
I anticipate and scheme and plot, restless as I hear branches of thousands of ideas breaking off to riot
they sear like cattle brands through every conceivable outcome in my head until the pills I take to hold my skull together become my diet
the considerable effort that it takes just to go to bed is so much hurt, I debate in a court of pointlessness not to **** myself instead,
how can anyone alive sit still, even now I can feel blood coursing, boiling and forming a clot against me, my legs rot, my eyes are cracking like desert plains they're broiling hot, how can you be patient unless you're in a waiting room someone tell me please because I cannot!
Immediacy, anger, I had been so mad as that before
once
there is a sort of ethereal skeleton, like the spirit
mine was caught in a slamming door
and it would not be a revolving one, that I swore
so I took a pummeling through it only several times more
battered and broken bones, no scars to show for any of them but you
no blots on my psych report, no instantaneous remorse, death wishes from one retort
this whole timeline, it's what was never meant to be,
I hate the limelight, it even burns sour, striking me,
it doesn't really matter what anyone believes
what they don't know can fill my entire biography
it wouldn't grant me any relief,
to have to shoulder another minute of being your friend, it's too much responsibility

I've been as mad as I can bear
and as guilty as I'll get without going to a real trial,
I've gutted myself like a dead trout, and looked in those lifeless eyes
and asked myself what kind of man am I, but I've not let myself feel both good and sad for a while
I've been relieved and happy
I've pined so sorely, and been so sorry, and whined, and been sick with worry
and I've missed you, and wished you awful things and all the best
when it all comes down to it, I'm disowned, so does it matter what I say anyway
I just need to let myself feel the things people do when people go, and then this image of you in my mind's eye will be gone in a blink,
maybe then I'll know what it's like for the first time, in such a long time
to want to look back when I think.

I could not be more secluded
the truth gets harder to swallow every day I am away
I can't help anyone, I don't want to
**** you, I hate that I care, I hate that I love you!
What splendid friends, I alienate, for my own little world
to keep getting smaller
I taste blood in my throat, mournful grief
and I must digest this on my own
once and for all, one for all, I force it down again
and again, exercising the emotional restraint
until in my dreams when he appears to me
comforting, accepting, the man he used to be
I remember the purgatory of consciousness
this torture of waking, I'm not fit to be a broken piece
in the puzzle of his life, merely a lobotomized spectator
to which I declared, good day! We are not friends!
I choose to remember you as my little brother
but we are not on familial or familiar terms,
as you wanted! You said you'd never be scared away
unless I pushed you to break,
it was the most selfish thing I have ever done
to make the silence stop
now I am removed, I have strode through hallmarks that seemed impossible before
I haven't even glanced at your art, which speaks volumes unto itself
and I push all the loving arms and watchful eyes aside
so I may grieve, in the perpetual chaotic motion of this world.