there is an indifference in the steam
that clouds the undeserving

their effigy is finely plastered
on the buckled femur of the contemptible

who transcribed their vapid fate,
a day sleeper, or night dweller?

i think there's a split in their feminine and masculine; a pubecently, adolescently poignant

infant-grown mongrel bewitched by neurons obsessed with cyclical "whys"

reveal themselves as ignorantly circular
in a functional world of squares

i think of tragedy
to imagine a stream of love
pouring out for me

i think of cataclysm
to imagine big arms
comforting me

i think of death
to imagine life
radiating from me

i think of shade
to imagine colour
seeking me

i think of you
to imagine love
loving me

i think of tragedy
to imagine the good
i need

there is a ****** tension
between my ego and my self-loathing

they both love to **** each other,
it's almost alarming

looking in the mirror I'm so alluring,
I could blow a kiss

while plotting to sedate myself,
to fabricate a bliss

I legalize hate for myself
to encourage my fouling

I pollute the good in me,
so why would it surround me?

my fingers are laced in a chalice
of drugs that **** my sensations.
i used to resist them as a loner—
until the white coat angel
ignited my fouls with
radio-**** tweaking.

now i sprawl in expiring
fictions that come anew
and reprint their additives;
making me a king
of numbers, of colours,
of game.

until my world is all
mold and brain.

i hope you know I always was,
in my head with a million guns,
spraying leads and speaking duds.

i kiss his heart,
surrounding it—
and it dips with grace
inside me.

it's imbued with rose
pulsing veins; a living choir.
so let's recite our communal desire;
and bloom this flower.