Was I
ever wrong?
You're asking me?

I was
wrong nearly
start to finish.

Could I
make amends,
I wouldn't try.

I can't pretend
what I've
done is some

thing I can fix.

Don't erase
all the pain,
all the hurt -
you know it was me.

My failure
of feeling,
of motion,
and failure to see

You, as you, without
my perspective skewed,
without my intent
slipping from
benevolence
and into
malevolence.

Darling, the
dead night,
the lonely
bedsheets
fit my crime
fine, but
are not
punishment
enough.

Offer up some of your dollar,
get ready,
to win, to lose
a little bit.

Offer up some of your gusto,
get on down,
to the local
gambling hall.

Offer up some of your love,
baby doll, don't kick me,
kiss me, when I'm down.

Knowing what I know today,
I'm torn between honesty,
and never saying anything.

Pulling from my memory,
I recall expression
as a natural efficacy
of mine.

Fill me with love again,
love as the willingness
to speak as easily as
I can accept my errs.

Knowing what I know today,
I'm torn between standing out
and fitting into the crowd.

My slightly younger self,
saw my much younger self,
thought, my far future self
wouldn't have the gall.

My slightly younger self,
saw my much younger self,
thought, my far future self
wouldn't have the gall.

I'm torn between standing out
and fitting in, and surprise,
I did say it again.

Suddenly, from a distant past,
my eyes flash with recollection:
I've been here before --
Not to say another life, but,
another moment in time.

How do I defeat the enemy,
when the pattern -- mistake,
ownership, and growth --
keeps repeating?

Do I keep emulating
this useless thing,
when the distance I see,
or at least seek, shows
no signs of an enemy?

***** nilly sillies
point flagrantly
at every happy clown,
wagging finger, dismayed,
sending to wind "For shame"s.

Historians have always known,
you could always leap frog
the copy/pasted placement
of seasons as if to say
we're changing.

One person's happiness
is the next one's disaster.

Think other thoughts.
You're a master.

Best movements made are subtle.
Years, been record needle down.
Embrace the rubber ring
king of the loop.
Stuck in spin, too.

Spent, cored, spun,
inside the toilet.
Spent, cored, spun,
inside the toilet bowl.

A format, everlasting --
   good!
A poet, ******* banality,
   out of steam.

Cored, spun, and bored,
skimming porcelain.
Cored, spun, and bored,
kissing porcelain.

Flesh golem, walking toward,
you're not searching for me.
You're finding an end
with your kit of means.
It's obvious you've

*** to loose -

it's backed up high
enough it's the light
inside your eyes,
and do I see it?
Yes, I do.

Promising heavy
shades of heaven
within the pleasure
you bring -
thing is, dipping stick

is boring as ****.

What about the places
you forgot to touch?
I breathe *** deeply,
your lungs are shallow,
you're in a rush.

Oh, but you'll have your stories.
Construct the pulleys,
form factor, until you ascend.

Oh, but you'll have your badge.
The sheer facade of your fragile persona,
is simply crystalline.

:)

If I can identify the problems with
the actions that I take, and the moves that I make
mere seconds after flapping my lips, or
twisting my lips, then

why do I do what I do?
I don't know.
If you're asking whether I think
it's a good thing, or
a bad thing. . .


How long   is it before
"just what I do"    delivers
you to prison walls from paradise?
How far   is too far, to
let my personality drag my brain around?

If I'm self aware, I'm on the borderline.
Control me, will you, my rampant ways?
I have you centered in my sights better
than I ever have, and it's now I think to tell
myself, Action must yield choices more
than Piety or Wantonness. As a for instance,
if I see myself clearly, can I drop the gun
as long as I develop disclosure and transparency?

I'm ******* you, I already know my answer's yes.
From my experience, honesty invites
the utter end of communion,
and from this, you inherit an abject loneliness.

If I ever
get cold
and wield my
syllables
against
your hot
naivete,
it's
just because
you're intact.
Who am I
to
harden you?
It's
a problem.

If you die tonight,
which god's gonna save you?

I don't believe in a one.

So, you're telling me
you're God, now? You're nothing.

I don't believe in nothing.
Was there meaning in my birth
besides two ******* twenty somethings
playing at love games?

What's the point of human life
when existence is pointless?

Full potential of the pointed mind,
free as it can be, to discern & decide.

Are you warrior,
or are you peacewalker?

Are those the only options?

It separates us,
angel kin & demon.

Circumstantial evidence.
The urge in your eyes to **** is missing.
If we're drawing those lines in the dirt,
I see love in you.
You don't deify or deny -

- here you killed to serve,
yet we're exchanging words.

Loathe
Power verb
Direct, yes
Though,
Verbose is
How I wrote

Still I write in open circles
Even I don't know what I mean. Trust.
Looping back, is there not an artistry in that?

Together
Adjective for the ages
Cut to form,
Don't get me wrong,
It sounds fitting
With the way you lead your life.

Your confines.

Look at all my fitted pieces.
I bend the lines with word as waveform.
Looping back,
Fulfilling is
As useless
As it is
Useful

Spider on the wall in a shower stall
Immobilized

Skeleton to the end, a somber mule
Beast of burden

Each successive time I claim
I'm in a balanced state

Surprise!
Psychoses.

What is the commotion?
Can't you ******* keep it down?
Deception crawls &
Connivers chisel a network
Into the earth below their brains

& There's nothing you can do, so, please

Try to keep it down.
Identify the signs.
Shut your mouth &
Disengage, or you'll otherwise
Wake the beast - & you don't want that.

Let the covert lie, as they breathe,
& take a note. *******   take a note.

Don't you repeat the mistakes that keep
your mind & your heart wrapped in their affairs,
when the manipulative, & the easily led
certainly won't miss your meat, as they are
well fed in their reciprocal designs.

Don't waste your time.
Like I wasted mine.

Leg over leg
Blue to the face
Late monitor light
Cat napping nearby
For me, small sleeps
The numbers skip
Red won't betray

All my ends
Approach and collect   dust
Is it   worth it?
Probably
Not, but I am sense   less
Is it   worthless?

Take it from your
future self:
Yes, absolutely.
Let red devour
all your plans.
Reign supreme
where we
enjoy our curses.

How clean is clean
when the cleaning began
from the floor of a sunken ship?
Barnacles grace the walls in the place
of family, or a familiar face.

When filth is a given, and given
in projection to the overtly empathetic
as a matter of course, why implore?

Because you don't implore,
you explore as an entity
reaching for a meaning.

The question becomes,
do you fight, or do you invite
the coming cessation?

Even with a gun, and a view to ****,
the power the bullet affords
would surely fail to thrill you.
The best charlatans paint your hands red,
as you're sleeping in bed, preemptively.

Let the liars lie, let the builders connive.
Uninterrupted access to their own confines.
To Narcissus, the cool nod is colder than the knife.

Let the liars lie, let the builders connive.
When the company you keep requires the sacrifice
of your authenticity and your reality, just leave.

It'll never get good. It'll never get great.
It'll never be worth the investment.

I got dem B-Side blues,
perforated shoes
of my own design,
off color flag of mine.
I got dem prescriptions,
I'm passively shunned
by the typical,
like it matters at all.
I got dat bizarre brain,
patterns I contain
automatically
run 'crash.exe'.
I got dat problem child
run rampant wild
here within my ranks -
what deserves thanks?
Nothing at all.
And everything.
I know this well, now.

Navigate sewers
swinging dagger,
poor, poor poo rats.
Clout is the end
all be all means.
This is the beginning.

Tavern town, invite me in.
Odd jobs for experience.
Not long after, gold pieces.
Make my way, eternal ring.

Navigate mansions
slinging war spells,
poor, poor private (army).
Clout is the end
all be all means.
This is the rise.

Tell me, now, I'm slipping into
myself like I always do.
I see the needle point.
How many times will it run us
through?

Tired, now, of the games you play.
I need a heart to communicate.
Tired, now, of the games you play.
I need a heart to trust.

Moving less toward the past
than to the future.
God save my ghost.

Drilling lanes into my flesh
by turning the screws.
Tighten my plates.

Before I know it
come undone again,
eager for the dawn's
heavy noose.

Bowing as a point
to the morningstar,
witness, sufferer,
bane and boon.

Often, I think back.
Grip on the childhood
uncurls, slowly.
If the muscles don't fail,
bones will break. Oh,
Did you ever get
over your neglect?
Comes and goes,
Bexis, comes and goes.
Too high an expectation,
receive your input
and your feedback.
Grip on my childhood
memories loosens,
sudden. In your descent,
you grow terminal.
Your heart beats so hard
it might rip through
your ribs to fly upward,
back to the summit.
All your love, it is not lost, I
lap you up, still.
Is this separation unreal?
I can never figure out if
I'm naive or cynical,
if I'm worthy or worthless.
How did you feel,
when with me?
How did I feel,
when with you?
If the muscles don't fail,
bones will break.
If we play with what's at stake,
will we ever learn and grow?
And if so, is it worth this grinning ghost?
We'll make it,
either way.

Accept the flaws in myself,
lasso the breadth
of my errors
with no regret.

I believe there's a switch
where the matter
lives in a state
of yes or no.

Commit to the wind in word,
I won't wrestle
control from
anyone but me,
and my worst self.

Empathy on high,
Sympathy on low,
Compassion on,
for transparency.
Compassion off,
for sympathy play.

I am not a means,
I am a world.

My worth
is not measured
in the weight
of my faith in
and the care I take
of others.

On my way to this place
what were some traits that I missed
recognizing as my own things?
I can't separate my own from your things.
That's always been my great undoing.
I lose control of my self so quickly.
Once looking like a dove, I become
oil slick and grounded in a swamp,
where the flighty thing becomes a being
made up of the rant and the cry and the yell,
*****, not as a state, but as the state of things.
I can't separate my own from your things.
Now I'm alone. I'm alone. And I feel.
This bird's alone for the first time.
On my way to this place, I've hurt
and I've caused big hurt. Now I'm free to see
through these eyes, all alone.
Now I'm alone. I'm alone. And I feel
Like myself. Purified.

This a song for me.
It's a song for the others, too.

We know who we are.
And if we don't, we will,

It's only timing.
If you look into the eyes

And witness unveiling,
This is a song for you.

Broadcasting Now. . .

Your self is you.
(reject the ones at odds)
Self is your truth.
(the predators you choose)
Truth is self love.
(prey on your sense of self)
Love is within.
(you're not a monster)
You,
(you're not a monster)
You,

See hidden knives,
Apparently.

Broadcasting Now. . .

This is a song for me.
This is a song for you.

Fingertip
dipped
in white
powder,

My visage
drawn
with black
grease paint,

Who am I now?
Have I been the same?
What validity is there
to your lover's claims?

I've become the goblin king,
so who am I to want to heal myself,
when my self and its persistent sick
continue to do their poisoning?

Buck naked,
drenched
with sweat,
dancing.

My brain
quenched
by my
purpose.

Move and move.
Strike, tow, bend,
twist, and snake the lines.

There's a truth beneath the truth
that first surfaces, the truth as it exists
without a spin from prying minds.

To obscure the err to serve the ego
splits your merger with heavy veils.

Have you no shame?
I must know shame,
and accept shame's
innate dark side,

where shame is fruitless.

Looking on both sides of the fence
sure takes some stiff upper lip, I
haven't succeeded.
Have you, yourself, found success?
See, it's so easy with a different kind of head
to absorb the different energies around
you, so much so, you can't draw a difference
between yourself and the other.
In fact, you'll only draw in threes.
Holy? I'm no ******* fool. I see a loop
in the trinity that's ***** as my breathing.
Looking on both sides of the fence
sure takes some stiff upper lip, I,
to see the positive, won't erase the negative.
Giving credit, where I must just to survive,
I suppose I've found mild success.
Do I regret living? No. Not one ******* bit.
Give credit to myself, where I must to thrive.
I can't be the void that eats the positive
charges and value life.
I won't deny the beauty inherent in myself,
as I see it outwardly in all the lines preceding,
and the lines to proceed.

Have you seen me?
I'm missing.

In a little town,
that I've been around,
I've found the one
and only hole in hundreds
leading to a separate world
below.

Asphalt and all,
cold hearts,
nearly bare feet travel lengthy
streets, small in complaint.

Asphalt and all,
dead brains,
nearly there, but wrapped in
politic, fighting over what's real.

Have you seen me?
Apparently, I'm gone with no reason.

I've been around.
Everything is strange lines coming
out of nowhere, taking root as patterns,
meaning what you make it.

Asphalt and all,
**** brains,
nowhere near, but covered
in politic, fighting over what's real.
-- but I'm alive.

They can fight me.
-- but I'm alive.
All your brains can fight me,
fight their eyes.
They can fight me.
All they want to fight.
They can fight me.
-- but I'm alive.
                 I'm alive.
                       I'm alive.
                             I'm alive.

Fight me.
I'm smoking ****,
diving into dreams,
barely leaving my house.
Come on, *****, fight me.
If your heart does so explode,
when your eyes cast sight on what you know
is abominable, then come and arson these
paper walls with me inside.
Fight me. Take the life.

-- but I existed.
                 I existed.
                       I existed.

i don't like
to be upbeat
time is killing
i'm in the sheets
i don't like
to be awake
time is wasting
there goes the sun
so, hello, moon
you missed me?
i've been missing you
weighted words
won't leave
my lips
even in whispers
the absent
voice goes
missing
then, unnoticed, when
you make the ink run.

flame in a dark pit
rain on a mountain
ice
   in the veins:
                          blockade
one of these days

techno nightmares will break
through
   analog purity,         of course
      they will but,         then
   you'll have it your way,
where dust becomes you more
than your electric
   dreams,         of course,
you would rather be muted

i won't

not only is beauty supposedly
in the eye of the beholder, it
also reportedly emerges from
an intangible depth within

okay, then, so that means ugliness
comes similarly from within,
or doesn't it, baby?

so then, ugliness must begin and end
in the pit of your stomach, and in
the words that pass the tongue
on the exit from your ugly mouth

so then, ugliness must begin and end
in the nerves buried in sleeves, and in
the actions that slip the heart
sneaking past the brain, and vice versa.

on the grab from your dead hands.
on the grab from your dead hands.

not only does it tend to work
unlike the excitable pretend it works,
the implication is, that half of your
worthiness is linked to the mercy

of the mass effect.
as for a thought, a dream,
an intent, an outcome,
a vision, a nightmare,
a hermit knows the good folk
permit attractiveness to good lines.

Check errata, pressure chests,
minds of razors edges, vie to
stress knowledge for the win:
You second guess yourself, then.

Flip the cold and oddly coded
engine as if you're blind to it.
It's happening again, now.

Verses nurse the wounds.
Wounds nurse the verses.
Pain's slyly subjective hooks
have hooked the meat of me.

Like accountants slicing numbers,
I slice the mountains into soft shapes.
Earth and water, earthen urns, hold
Life to carry, to gift, or, to displace.

Choirs sing on high, of rightful things.
I was frightful, once. With enough
ignorant vehemence poured upon me,

poured upon me, a bath in love's less
eager refuse, has turned my dreams, too,
into excrement, excrement. Utter ****.

I was excited, once. I swear I was.
Holding out for ****** touch, left cold,
hopeless and wanting when the only
validation, validation I was taught

set my value in cash and beauty, cash
and beauty, two matters of strict
adherence to social standards, but what

if two fat, hairy legs make my tongue wet?
What if otherness keeps me lonely?
What if it keeps me lonely? Can I take
that pain, after all, into the ground of my grave?

2 long 2 incubate
do u not c the stakes?
go fast, kiddo
faster than your
progenitors

move it faster,
skin disaster
move it faster,
u skin disaster u

4 lorn 4 lack of love
were it 1 4 u n 1 4 me
praise Aristophanes?

move it faster
move it faster

get baked, get gay
dance 2 com truise

move it faster,
u skin disaster u

On split finger webbing,
blistered metatarsal pads,
catlike: left left, right right.
You're just over there?
You call this chasm just?
On split, sore patella,
charred hands,
the head hanged loosely,
as dead: left left, right right.
My head down, eyes up, right?
Compensation has been tendered
for the services rendered, right?

                          Right?

Coffee time.
Breakfast, too.
Wait -
I'll skip the food.
Cigarettes?
Not no more.
I'm sure
I'll find a horrible. . .
(replacement)

{dance to dying}
{the alternatives}
{dance to dying}
{don't appeal to me}

Sit too much.
I stand, too.
Move?
It hurts to move.
I do move -
Right through pain.
Pain = Life.
And so I flagellate.
(substitution)

Look and see
it's right there, splashed upon the screen.
Pixel will dance,
pixel will craft, for those
within those means.
A whole world all
apart from worlds
where I walk less than wander.
Everyone looks dazzling,
and so together, too.
It was sad once, now the sad's passed,
and I'm mostly confused.
Faces on the screen share their
pointed lives like it means a thing.
Meaning lives in the thought itself. . .
Dazzling. And so together, too.
If this game makes so much sense,
what is wrong with me?
What is wrong with me?

In a minute,
I'm a *** smirk.
A shiny fang to show.
This pleasure, bundled
into nerves,
will decompose.

There isn't one chance.
Not one savior.
Evolution,
it still takes
its molasses-sweet-***-time.

I won't pray.
I won't wait.
As I am
& I shall be
the anti-divine.

I'm a literal *******.
I've long since comes to terms,
to terms with it.
I'm a depiction of the pits.
I've long since loved my worst,
my worst and best.

(...)

In a minute,
I'm a lost eye.
A stab wound, deep & old.
This sadness, bound
in my synapses,
wants me to know:

There is no escape.
No dissuasion.
Neurodivergence,
it wrestles
my ill logos for control.

I won't pray.
I won't pray.
As I am
& I shall be
funny chemicals.

I'm a literal *******.
I've long since comes to terms,
to terms with it.
I'm a depiction of the pits.
I've long since loved my worst,
my worst and best.

How's it going, these days?
   Pretty good.
How's your family been?
   I wouldn't know--
   I renounced the blood.
   In doing so, I kicked the sick.
   I can't make a better world, but
   I can pen an ending to this ancient curse.

   I can choose a family,
   & I chose the
   vertebrae that
   puts my spine back
   in alignment.

I always had this choice.
Now I can see it.
I can let the blood,
and guarantee the world,
I'll have no progeny.

Trust me, when I say
it's my gift
to you and yours.

;)

If I'm on the mend
are you mad at me?
I can quit.
I choose you,
over most things.
I am
The Fool.
Are you conscious of what you want?
You confess all your want for me, and it's sweet,
but the important details are missing.
What do I do for you? What can I do for you?
Can you name one?
I thought not,
but that's okay,
you silly thing.

Speaking of recurring themes,
these days all of my dreams
display in pallor,
static
salt and pepper gray,
where once they held a spectrum
vivid in decadence.

I won't die screaming, though,
I
will laugh until I
drive someone to violence
and come to grasp the consequences, full,
defined in foreign definitions
I will surely come to understand.
Then, in all likelihood,
wind up screaming, anyway.

If I
told you
what it is I want
like you
ask I tell,
would it matter much?
Matter at all?
You forget
over
and over
we've ever had this talk
so if open up,
spill my lair for you,
how I am I to find the confidence
in spite
of the fear?
And I
ask you
to give me a hand.
Explain
what it is
that will satisfy.
You agree to air.
Close your eager eyes.
Wake. And forget.
Until it happens again.
Every single bed time.
Til I hit the grave.
Pinpoint.
Comet style.
Crush the earth.
Leave a bitter hole.
Never quite sure if
I'm hurting myself
or hurting someone else.

If I got a headache
every time someone wrote about natural beauty,
I'd have an aneurysm.

And now I have one more.
Headache.

I'm still waiting on the aneurysm.

Shower, you
touch me, still,
hotter than
clumsy fingers.
Clumsy advances.
In the water,
I see shapes
rising in steam
built by the
confidence
I can manage,
alone with you,
when I sing.

. . .

Lights out, cast a dark net.
Got the      yellow lights outside,
though,
catching my plans
on the
unbalanced heel,
but the      assisted glow
just makes my. . .
my aura cut out
a visible,
protective shape.

More than this,
in the music,
wearing my skin,
proud, yet naked,
I
      bravely emanate.

Oh ((oh)) Oh ((oh)) Oh ((oh))
I won't live forever.
Oh ((oh)) Oh ((oh)) Oh ((oh))
I just want some      infiltration.
I just ((just just)) I just ((just)) ((just))

I just --
wait. It's no meager thing.
I'm no meager thing.

Come to think of it,
I've strung a string of selfish lovers,
since the first lover to covet my heart.

Enter the present,
I'm of the morose understanding,
the cutthroat waters of the waking world. . .

Temper the mind to take,
raze, and ****.
Take
        Take
                Take

Temper the heart to quake.
Quake
           Quake
                      Quake

at the fulfillment
of practical demand.

Quake
           Quake
                      Quake

on bended knee,
in dream,

for love for free.

They,
they call me greedy,
exclusive,
taciturn. . .

That I've learned
from my disease
--chronic listening--
which voices
I'd rather not hear.

Most of these sing song smiley faces
beat you to the punch as if they're racing
past you after a ******* badge.

You want a badge?
Well good for you.
Go online and buy one.
They said "spill your guts"
And So you spill out *******.
Thinking that you're making friends,
while I'm hard pressed to believe you
would be believed by anyone worth friending.
You want a badge? Good for you!
I'll make you a deal if you decide to buy one.
I'll pay the cost for the custom laser engraving:
"Sheriff Big ****" in the land
of      "No      One      Gives      A      ****"

Grind you up into portions.
Serve you up to the horde.
What was
temporarily
yours,
will feed
the meat
of
the future seed.
Sure enough
the scene
before the
excited mind,
the silent mouth,
shall
seemingly go
completely
unnoticed
til the matter mounts.