To be a Poet,
One must **** them self slowly,
To be an Artist,
One must **** them self fast,
To be a Musician,
One must **** them self in time,
To be a human,
One just dies.

We are not just human.
We are sacrifices

One last step
Through the forest before the trees are cut down.

One last flight into space
Before the the satellites keep us in.

One last read
Before the library cuts the sentence by toll.

One last champion
Before his logos show.

One last man.
Before he places the devil around his neck.

One last word.
Before they charge me for every other after.

Freedom doesn't have "a last".
Freedom is lasting.

If I had two better hands
I'd write out a list of all my plans
But one of them would be crossed out in a red inked pen
Two words that do nothing but weaken my message
How useful is atonement if it doesn't make amends?

It could be my clown teared eyes
Or the masquerade I use to hide
All my riddles and blues are part of a balancing act
I can juggle while I'm crying and say two offense
I must look like such a fool in my angst performance.

But when you speak to me
I slip into a dream like trance
Where poetry makes love to me
And two words are never at the end of every sentence
But you're not the type to let this go
I can feel it when we hold hands
It's so simple to be regretful
But harder to forget.

I know two words
And That's all I ever say
Time is a glass house mime with silent parties within
I bang on every door screaming, "Let me in",
She comes over to the window just to shake her head.

I could change like a fantasy
Pretend I'm a Jester singing to a Queen
Pulling out a veil of blue and green
Charm her with my comedy and ****** her with magic
If I could pull out more words from my sleeve
I would lead with a compliment instead of plead apologetic
Two words are like a hook and I'm caught on them again.

Wallflowers bloom brightest in the cold
I could be picked if I didn't try and control
I know you need peace
And I just need it to snow
Freeze my words and wait for Springs' thaw
I'll wait for you to come and pick a bouquet
I'll look lovely in your window
If I can just stay frozen.

I promise to be more patient
Hold my tongue and count back from three
On my list I'll take two words
And cross them out of my vocabulary
It must not mean that much coming from me
But I got a list of plans
You and I will just have to wait to believe.

Mirrors stand on trial.
As my reflection has become treason.
Iris' clawing itself out of their sockets.
Screaming for blindness.
This cannot be who I am up close.
This isn't who I am on the inside

As touch becomes apocalypse.
Finger tips shaving and ripping
romantic runs down a spine
into an escape from hell.
The monster, applauding my imagination.
All fears confirmed by reflection.
The monster is me, stalking to taking stage.
Every pulsing orifice oozing out reality,
bites and endures flesh.
Pieces of everyone I try to get close to
becomes food.
Leaving the gluttons pink-red and full.

No dimension displayed without cauterized scars.
Deformation of the mind and DNA
Playing jazz backwards as the big band
Scolds its tune from the inside
I can hear the power tools of natures orchestra.
Brackish change, Chimera's blushing to proposal.
This is my favorite song
And it ends with anxiety of a new face.

The mirror telling it all.
Clumps of hair,
Eyes in hands.
Festering humanity in fetal position begging for death
after birth.
Blowfly meals for two lovers, eaten alone.
God's hands in face peeking through her fingers.
Blood dripping from immortalities ugly head.

Tremors of night and knocks on the door.
Coagulating depression finally answers.

Come in.

This is what I am on the inside, up close.
Make a plate for your eyes.
Anxiety is on the menu.