Blackened shroud drags low,
sweeping floors; gently.
Giving company rodents.
Sometimes; plenty.

April cherry blossoms,
time hidden deep.
Grasping hands softly.
Grippingly; to keep.

Swirling shrunken head,
little lion crying loud.
"What can even be real?"
Hushing; my vow.

Rodents; quicken,
sickened with anxiety.
Skeletons bending knees.
Missing you, I am sadly.

Harlequin kiss chimes,
all delicately ready.
Sickle; sharpened and tall.
Guillotine sighs dreadingly.
Solemnly; the whisper echoes,
a final kiss goodbye.

Make sure it's to your favourite song.
Make sure, you're all alone.
Make sure it's over a distant friend.
Make sure it's pure and long.
Make sure they can feel it.
**** it up, no one is too strong.
Join palate to tongue.

"Do you want to see a hat-trick?"
Questioned the celebrity.
Slipping in a wink,
you know not with certainty.

Flick of his lip,
the landscape changed.
He did a little dance.
At the end, you felt the same.

A spell came over,
as if you ate bad cabbage.
Shortly, the man began to cry,
knowing he had goofed.

He admits the wrong trick,
yet you chuckle like a fish.
Exhausted with disbelief,
you instantly ****!

Beauty is unusual and unique,
in every sense, I agree.
What if gender is a cultural construct,
and we gauge mental illness subjectively?

What if we make the mistakes of shock therapy,
as did our Victorian ancestors?
Should maiming your body be a form of identity?
What separates us individually?

Why is it socially accepted to enhance your breast,
but frowned upon to partake in blocking estrogen or testosterone?
What's the difference when someone is over zealous with tattoos?
Do we have artificial standards?

What we do now has less latency and will show results quicker,
unlike ever before in human history.
Could we be taking a wrong turn?
Will culture acceleration devalue civil society?

We are engineered differently, to experience things persistently, with unparalleled thought.
Will the engineering of a universal theme plunge what we hold unique
into a maelstrom of monotony and decay?
In the end, how do we identify culture; if everything is grey?

I feel ******* stagnant.
Words I "pretty-up," justified; as if anyone cares.
The addiction I feed slows me down.
I'm getting older, even dumber.
The more **** I learn, the less I know.
Romanticize about **** that will never happen,
or history overly glorified.

I want to reach out for help,
but this facade is supposed to be stoic.
How am I to relate,
when every ******* thing I see is dreamed up, "imaginary?"

I am a husk, a shell of the former me.
A happier man, sickened with ego.
Heightened on the pedestal, I carry myself.
Sometimes, I can't even see the ******* ground below my feet.
Prior to before, everything now revolves around me.

I care deeply about people.
I cannot function in the day to day reality.
So, I soak and sit alone, most nights I feel like a drone.
Wanting to be intelligent, wanting to be artistic.
Wanting to help people, wanting to be iconic.
Honestly, just a speckle in the **** we call life.

Teach me Aristotle,
for my charm belongs Diogenes.
Babylon shall treat me,
like a sea of honey.

The Gordian Knot,
at the feet of Zeus.
I shall be its liberator,
and sharp be my sword.

Fifteen years I will conquer,
not a single day of defeat.
My name will ring true,
King of Macedonia,
Pharaoh of Egypt.
This is my fate.

Visit the palace of Nebuchadnezzar II,
and you shall rest vicariously.
I bring the legacy.
Alexander the Great.