A gregarious culture
connected to a stream,
an electric herding
of mediocre self esteems.

A network of fringe
for the modern conformity.
A new breed of introverts
plugging antisocial irony.

The Queen of Hearts
makes her move,
adrenaline chess
to construe.

The enzymes melt
her painted frown,
with head held high
she adjusts her crown

She remembered who
she once was,
anticipating
breathless pause.

Around the King
her fingers grasp
to set him on
the Bishop's path.

And by her hand
he meets his fate
he is no more
by her, "checkmate".

The country can live
the king is now dead.
The rebellion exchanged
a crown for his head

The guillotine answered
the blade was released,
but third law prevails,
as actions repeat.

The uprising's father
was next on the list
for it to continue
for it to persist.  

A revolution can die
when they eat their own.
Sir Isaac was precise.
Robespierre should've known.

My body causes
a chemical reaction,
with the help from
the laws of attraction.

I store a nectar
my pheromones release,
it serves a delicious
butterfly feed.

Oxytocin
is what it's called,
in my belly is
where it’s installed.

The butterflies swarm
when oxytocin’s produced.
They come to digest
the catalytic juice.

Flipping and turning
eating ravenously,
filling me with bliss
a divine ecstasy.

There is no other feeling
that I can compare,
when the butterflies dine
from my stomach lair.

Trust is an illusion,
a complex metaphor,
that blankets insecurities
with the closing of a door.

Trust is just perspective,
of wanting to believe.
The power of our thoughts
can be easily deceived.

Trust can evolve.
It never stays the same.
It falls in and out of favor,
from the relationships you gain.

I only trust myself.
I can see my own self through.
Nobody has my back
quite the way I do.

Break a leg everyone!
The show’s about to start!
The scripts have been rehearsed!
Everyone should know their part!

The curtains will disjoint
under the spotlight’s glare,
while the audience awaits
in the elevated chairs.

The performance was electric!
An Emmy worthy play!
They bought it line and sinker
much to their dismay.

You showed them conflict
and fed them fairy tales.
An epic distraction
for dramatic ticket sales.  

The crowd will pick a side
and it will resonate,
cognitive dissonance
for us to captivate.

There is no left or right
in this theatrical brigade.
Self-serving is our mission.
We are one and the same.

And they will never know.
And will never ask us how.
Because the show is finally over
as we take our final bow.

I cursed the moon that day.
I cursed the moon that day.
Nothing’s been the same,
since you’ve gone away.
I cursed the moon that day.

I shunned the stars for you.
I shunned the stars for you.
For they won’t last,
they’ll fade out too.
I shunned the stars for you.

I cloaked myself in night.
I cloaked myself in night.
Bathed in darkness,
I’ll never see light.
I cloaked myself in night.

Orwellian madness
became fashionably late,
thirty six years
from the original date.

Fiction is front page
and truth is just a stranger.
A platform subscription
with prevaricator entertainers.

The witch is dead?
Can this be?
My sister is gone,
so why am I happy?

Am I the wicked
and not the good?
Are these feelings I'm feeling
to be understood?

If the wicked do not rest
will she find her peace?
Did the evil she possess
get passed on to me?

There's a smile on my face
to mask my pain.
I will mirror the Munchins
celebration in vain.

"Ding ****!",  They cheer
parading down the road,
celebrating Dorothy
and her little dog, Toto.

She murdered my sibling
by her twisting home.
She came from Kansas
a place unknown.

Who is the child,
that is getting applause?
A demon to destroy
the Witches of Oz?

I need to send her back
with a simple spell,
back to Kansas;
back to hell.

I may be the next witch
on her list,
to eradicate
with a house that twists.

The Emerald wizard will answer her call.
For there’s no place like home, after all.

Go ask Alice in her padded cell
how she took a tumble and fell
down a rabbit hole of illusion
now don’s a straight-jacket of confusion.

Go ask Alice with her veins full of Lithium
how she surrendered to her delirium
of smoking caterpillars and a
grinning feline,
now attached to an Intravenous mainline.

Go ask Alice about her sanity
how it vanished in this asylum of rhapsody
in a fog that is translucent and hypnotic
in her Wonderland of painted narcotics.

Rhetorical theory
taking me over,
conspiracy meltdown
ticking composure.

Cranial seizures
convulse in time.
The Dominos fall
in a perfect line.

Tell me a lie,
I can believe.
Tell me a truth,
that will deceive.

The glass of my conscious
slips and shatters.
The story will end
when nothing else matters.

A contest for an added section of a children's book, Thelma the Unicorn.

https://allpoetry.com/contest/2741918-Thelma-the-Unicorn


Thelma's Response To Otis

I’m not. I’m not perfect.....

How dare you, my friend!
I am deeply offended!
Perfection is boring,
and flaws are splendid

I am a mosaic.
A broken masterpiece,
an abstracted rainbow,
authentic and unique.

My blemishes are mine
They’re what I want to be,
perfectly imperfect,
whimsical and free!

Sarcasm is my home.
It’s where I hang my hat.
My comfortable surroundings,
a prosperous habitat.

Cynicism are my shoes.
I tie the laces tight.
A thousand miles I will walk
with a jaded appetite.

Enthusiasm is my glass.
It is always half full.
Because life is so exciting
and unpredictable.

Nihilism is my coat,
I wear when it is cold.
It shields me from conforming winds
from a world that has been sold.

Skepticism is my hat.
I question everyone.
The brim holds a query
for civilized discussion.

Criticism is my mirror,
it’s the reflection that I see.
I judge it when I stand before
my harsh realities.

There’s something about cliché’s,
how they never leave my pen.
I sketch them into my decay
every now and then.

There’s something about banality,
the obvious trite remark.
I recruit into my personality
like a discarded counterpart.

There’s something about satire
and how humor causes grief;
to the audience, it aspired
from an egotistical belief

To forgive is to forget,
or so I am told.
Erase the memories
you need to unload.

Self inflict amnesia
absolve from within.
Don’t bare the scars
of another mortal sin.

But I need to remember
I don’t need to forget,
the sorrow I swallow
in each Percocet.

Misery is a friend.
She reminds me often,
the torment I suffered
cannot be forgotten.

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,
a wise man once said.

Alas, the beholder of beauty is dead, gone away.
The internet killed him and left him to decay.

My candy heart bleeds with severity,
hemorrhaging despair and melancholy.

A new heartache for you to ignore,
what once was good will be no more.

My candy heart is achromatic,
devoid of color, systematic.

Black and grey is what I feel,
void of complexion nothing seems real.

My candy heart is numb and calloused,
paralyzed and unbalanced.

All that's left is anguish and pain,
the only emotions that remain.

My candy heart cannot be repaired
will not be saved can never be spared.

Demolished, some pieces lay absent,
shattered into a million fragments.

Generation of attention
with a dopamine bend.
Anti-social irony
is the fresh fake trend.

A pale heart will wait
to turn ruby red.
The ego's more shallow
on the numeric thread.

An invisible crowd
will have a new pet name.
Neurotic subscribers
will be led by the vain.

Just follow the lead,
and drink their arsenic.
The poison becomes sweeter,
in the cup that you sip.

My ventricle chamber
bleeds midnight,
pumping despair,
absent of light.

My atrium houses
a hemorrhaging ghost,
haunted isolation’s
conjured host.

The heart is a cavity
a decaying shell,
reality ceases
agony swells.

Love and Loneliness
were conceived together,
twins of the universe
separated by ether.

Strong-willed siblings
with an infinite fortitude
that Love is hope
and Loneliness is solitude.

They comfort each other
when life changes progression;
Love gives guidance
and Loneliness, reflection.

My mind is politically correct,
but my shoes have no soul.
I have gained some retrospect,
after losing self-control.

I’m washing my brain.
A clean slate is what I need.
Reprogramming my frame,
rinse and repeat.

Dorothy Gale,
are you okay?
Is the Clozapine keeping
your twisters at bay?

Do the brainless scarecrows
invade your dreams?
Is your sanity
unraveling at the seams?

No witches on brooms
are taking flight,
no flying demon monkeys
are coming tonight.

There's a yellow brick road
to your padded room.
where a straight jacket
waits to seal your doom.

There are no ruby slippers
to take you back home.
No wizard to cure
your psychotic syndrome.

Betray me with a whisper
cradle me in shame
put me in your midnight blue
and give me all the blame.

Ignore the words
that haunt me,
use them as you wish,
project them with your doublecross,
and treat me like your *****.

My shattered porcelain heart,
broke on your concrete.
Piercing through the skin
underneath your calloused feet.

Drowning in regret
is all that's' left of me,
it grips me at my aching core
and will never let me be.

Speculative perspective
is the mood for tonight.
Investigating my reality;
ruminating the moonlight.

With a stilleto stemmed glass
filled with Chardonnay,
I'll take my first person
on a questionable display.

Do I judge too harshly?
Do people push me over?
Do my emotions control
my chemical composure?

Do I practice empathy
by wearing someone's shoes?
While trying to understand
a different point of view?

Do I come off as authentic?
Do I truly mean my words?
Or do I come off as crazy
and totally absurd?

Do I aim to please people
and forget about myself?
Do I take offense
with my pride being shelved?

Are my beliefs, the truth?
Or are they just an illusion?
Gaslighting me into
a state of confusion.

Honesty will protect me
from a world that's cold and bitter.
Hindsight's the appetizer, and
perspective, it's what's for dinner.

Cherry-pick the parts that fit your narrative.
Discard the others, they are imperative.

Cherry-pick all the "Yes Men" you like.
Trust what they say, believe the hype.

Cherry Pick this slippery ***** we're descending on.
Plunge down the proverbial landslide we came upon.

The stripes have gone dull;
the colors won't bleed.
Did we muddle it up?
Did we **** the dream?

Or was it disguised as a nightmare
for the ones that believed
in the black of the morning
with the dirt on their sleeve?

Was it the salt that you tasted
when it didn't go your way,
manipulating the stars
to make them all pay?

Did your servants make a mint
off a functioning back?
You still didn't earn
the empathy that you lack.

The party is over
the one I once knew
a voice will be counted
inside the small booth.

So, raise your glasses up high
and share this drink with me!
Here's to America!
My land of the Free!

AND.....SCENE!

Well done!
Now,  with your permission,
I need to critique your
acting audition.

Sit beside me, on this tufted couch.
We have a lot to discuss, a lot to talk about.

A diamond in the rough is what I see.
The silver screen is where you belong,
where you need to be.

I can polish
the rough parts of your exterior.
Compared to other actresses,
you will be superior!

Don't be shy! Relax!
Come closer!
Let me help....
I'll massage your back,
rub your shoulders....

Now, where was I..?

Yes! You will win Oscars
made of gold!
The spotlight is yours
to control!

Everyone will know
who you are!
A household name!
A shining star!

What's that?
I make you uncomfortable?..What of propriety...?
I just offered you a platform of wealth and notoriety!

Who do you think you are!?
Do you know who I am?!
All of Hollywood
is under my command!

Nothing is free,
there is always a price!
It is selfish of you
to think otherwise!

The buttons placed
on your blouse
will determine what
I will allow.

A song that's been sung,
the lyrics don't change.
You must pay the piper
for fortune and fame.

I can make or break
I do it all the time.
I have movie producers
waiting in line.

If you don't succumb
to my desire,
I will find another girl
to hire.

You will never be employed
it will be such a shame.
You'll become a pariah,
with a soiled name.

The choice is yours...
Do you want to be a celebrity?
It starts on this couch..
what's it going to be?

My therapy is chemical,
I go for weekly sessions.
My artery is femoral,
the site of my injection.

The venom attacks the mitosis
of my splitting cell.
Dyspepsia takes over
like a spinning carousel.

An odyssey of truth
across the seven seas.
An adventure of a lifetime,
take my hand and come with me!

I have a ship named Censor,
I'll navigate her wheel.
I'm the Captain of her anchor,
the master of ideas.

Perception is her mascot,
conscience is her sail.
A religion navigates
a balance on the scale.

Her starboard gravity
will tell you what to know.
Her mesmorizing port
will show you where to go.

They both conceal the waves
to capsize our ideas.
An agenda of our thought
to break a bending will.

The truth is just a scratch,
upon her glossy surface.
Concealing all the bias
will always serve a purpose.

I’m going to catch
the biggest one yet;
my headline is tabloid
and I’m all set.

I’ll sit here and wait
for you to scroll over.
Don’t be afraid,
scroll a little closer.

My ridiculous title
will reel you in.
The sleight of hand
is the deadliest of sins.

You click my bait,
caught in my trap,
reading through
each paragraph.

Integrity is gone.
It’s all about numbers.
A mouse click reveals
what it uncovers.

It can’t rain all the time
the clouds will make room
for colors to seep through
this gloomy afternoon.

A bow of colors
provided by the sun
follow the rain clouds
after they are done.

Red, green, blue
and everything in between.
Prisms of marvel
for all our eyes to see.

You can’t have colors
without the grey days.
Rainbows will appear,
they always find a way.

My tiny little atom
sitting all alone.
This tiny little atom
make up my chromosomes.

Another little atom
will form a molecule.
More will come together
and make a soluble.

The building blocks of life
with electrons spinning round
will latch on to each other
forming chemical compounds.

Revolution is calling.
The guillotine responds
to his list of names,
it called upon.

Spewing propaganda,
he doesn’t hold back.
Pen in hand
with a medicated bath.

Drawing out anger
through a written word.
A Radicalization
that was never heard.

Death is the answer,
it sets us free.
A decapitated head
for liberty.

The uprising continued
just as he planned,
for revolution ends
where it began.

My aged calloused sweetheart,
is not what it used to be.
The harden tissue’s numb
but, remains sugary sweet.

The bitter licorice years
did not alter any flavor.
The black root didn’t spoil
my saccharine behavior.

The lemon drop months
did not make me sour.
My face did not pucker
with each ****-full hour.

My sweetheart remained sweet
and it will always be.
This world will never change
my sugary pulse beneath.

A little irony goes a long way.
Give me a mile
and I’ll have something to say.

But I’m all out of irony.
My pockets are bare.
Are you even listening?
Do you even care?

Do you have some to lend?
I could use some right now.
My field has gone stale
I have no row to plow.

I’m accepting donations.
I am reaching out,
for someone to hydrate
my ironic drought.

Catching the Flu
starts with a sneeze,
a tickle of the throat
and a little wheeze.

My nose starts draining
an abundance of mucus.
The sounds from my throat
are becoming a nuisance.

Fever, chills,
my body is infested.
My head and joints ache
so Tylenol is digested.

I’m now a pariah
to the common health,
people in close contact
brace themselves.

I’m stuck inside, I have nowhere to be.
Come over darling and keep me company.
Sharing is caring, can’t you see?
Do you want to catch the Flu with me?

Pushing some narcotics,
of yellow, red, and green.
A rainbow of biotic’s,
to match the color scheme.

I have an abundance of diuretics
all different shapes and sizes.
An organized aesthetic
for commercial enterprises.

Love your Mother, because she loves you.
She brings you rainbows with radiant hues.
She brings you purples, reds, greens, and blues
on every flower petal, drenched in dew.

Celebrate your Mother, for her hand, is the sun.
Her gown is the wind that birds glide upon.
Her hair is babies breathe, free and undone;
growing wild in the fields where violets do run.

Blanket your Mother with adoration and time,
give her the space and peace of mind.
Her womb is a melon succulent and divine,
a grape that drips off an emerald vine.

Nurture your Mother, for the nature she holds,
never let her be compromised, bought, or sold.
Her pollen is life's one true mold.
Her soil is richer than diamonds and gold.

Karma doesn’t forget.
She always comes to collect.
She has a lengthy list,
No one goes unchecked.

Days, years, months may pass; time means nothing.
She glides in undetected,
you will never see her coming.

Sweet Mother Karma may my vengeance be yours,
there is a price for my sorrow and hurt.

“Be patient” she said “ and do not be sour”
“I have felt your agony, but I chose the hour”

“Hold your head high, do not dwell on the past”
“Leave the justice to me, no questions asked”

Karma delivers her price depending on how the pain is received.
So always remember to practice self-control and dignity.

Keep moving forward, with grace and class,
because Karma is watching to see how you react.  

To the people you hurt or have lied to before,
I would make amends to settle the score.
Mother Karma is coming, she knows what you did.
A thief in the night, she does not forgive.

“The Devil is in the details”,
is my demon’s favorite quote.
The surface under the layer;
a metaphorical antidote.

My demon demonstrates
that evil is absolute.
Even goodness can possess
a sinister root.

My angel shows me
a different aspect.
That divinity can be buried
under a diabolical effect.

Can’t have one without the other,
or so, I am told.
They are one and the same,
an unbreakable mold

The monster in my closet
I wish was pretend.
He’s real as can be
but, hard to comprehend.

At night is when he comes
out the closet door;
exactly just the same
as the night before.

He whispers in my ear
in a maniacal tone.
All my fear and doubts
that I tried to disown.

I start to feel the panic
as my heart palpitates.
Believing all the words
he tries to elaborate.

Worrying sets in
sleep will not occur.
He robs my peace of mind,
an insomnia connoisseur.

Anxiety’s demon
sent to destroy,
positive thoughts
I wanted to employ

Ladies and Gentlemen,
may I have your attention, please!
I have something I need to share,
something I need to Tweet!

This came up,
but I don't know the source,
Citation is not needed,
because there’s truth in these words.

Did you read?
Can you believe what happened!
We need to use force,
we must take action!

We are right
they are wrong,
no need to be debated.
No exchanging of ideas,
no words will be communicated.

My loyal followers,
I know you agree with me!
I have the right to my hate,
and a right to be angry!

Let's pass this around,
create a meme,
make it go viral.
Send their life on a downward spiral!

My loyal subjects,
you make my Dopamine levels rise!
Every time you leave a comment,
every time I get a "like"!

Stereo's type A
completely predictable
in typical ways.

Come one, come all!
I invite you now to the narcissistic ball!

A herd of manipulators will dominate this masquerade.
It will be a sight to see, get your ticket now and don’t be late!

The theme of tonight’s event is sociopathic tendencies,
preying on other people’s vulnerabilities.

Infatuated with themselves, lack any feeling.
Making love to their reflection is what they find appealing.

Mirror mirror on the wall
who is the grandest egomaniac of all?
They will be crowned tonight, didn’t you know?
You will find out if you dare to show!

T-cells counting down
the immunity's response,
marrow has gone stale
with no resistance.

The tourniquet cuts off
a life that used to bleed,
with each passing drip
into an I.V.

I built a straw man
of perspective,
out of fear and hate.
I built him out of issues
I know you can relate.

The straw man is a ruse
for my vanity.
A spotlight is what I crave
for all humanity.

My straw man gives me purpose;
on a podium, I stand.
An audience attention
is something I demand.

I talk about propaganda.
I talk about pretend.
I talk about my straw man,
I want to break and bend.

I'll destroy what I've created
this I have no doubt.
Setting fire to my straw man
with a flame you can't put out.

Plump me with Botox
so I won’t grow old.
Un-sag my skin
watch it unfold.

Can you tell my emotions
by my ****** expression?
Then it isn’t working,
need more injections.

Tighten my skin,
stretch it over my cranium.
Fill it with chemicals,
shine like titanium.

My lips are thinning,
and the cameras are ready,
hyaluronic acid, please,
just keep the needle steady.

A microscopic pathogen's
epic odyssey,
started his quest
of comradery,
across many lands
beyond the seven seas.

Vincent the Virus
but you can call him Vinnie
holding luggage full of tricks,
with mutations of plenty.

On a cruise ship, he sailed
and planes he did fly;
freeloading his way,
from travelers passing by.

Ashes to ashes
and host to host.
A viral sensation
from coast to coast.

Becoming famous
virtually overnight,
collapsing economies,
tripping lymphocytes.

With each new holiday,
we are told to purchase,
fake plastic memories
for a fake plastic purpose.

Fake Plastic trees
for Christmas to usher.
Fake Plastic hearts
for Valentine's lovers.

Fake Plastic wreaths
for a New Year’s front door.
Fake Plastic pumpkins
for Halloween decor.

For Easter we have
fake plastic eggs
and fake plastic grass
fake plastic time, for us to pass.

Now we have plastic oceans
and plastic rain.
plastic forests
and plastic terrains.

Plastic is what the fish and whales feast on.
Plastic is what we base our economy on.

Plastic plates with plastic silverware,
Plastic here, plastic everywhere.

A fake plastic earth will be forming soon.
With a fake plastic sun and fake plastic moon

You took my sunshine with you
that dark and mournful day.
Turning my world around me
Into the color gray.

Your voice was like concrete
that I learned to lean upon.
When times got cold and hard,
I turned you up and sang along.

Now my lovely days are broken,
scattered in the breeze.
A song I’ll keep repeating
to set my soul at ease.

Farewell Mr. Withers,
your memory will stay.
I’ll keep your rhyme within me
as I walk on life’s pathway.